Best Man Wins [Episode Last part]

Later.

The smell of soil and oil. Damp wood. Rope tight against skin.

Charlie woke up on her side, hands tied behind her back, knees curled inward. Her head throbbed, a hot, angry pulse above her brow. The floor was cold.

"Quinn," she rasped.

A groan.

Quinn was maybe a foot away, bound the same way. She was blinking slow, lashes sticky with dried blood at her temple. "What... the fuck..."

Charlie tried to sit up and couldn't. Her back hit something and a rake? A bag of fertilizer?

The shed.

Dorian had put them in the goddamn shed.

It was small, packed tight with gardening supplies, rusted tools, spiderwebs hanging in the corners. The only light came from a slit in the warped wooden wall.

Charlie's breath fogged the air.

Quinn winced, rolling a bit onto her side. "He—he hit me."

Charlie nodded faintly. "Well now we know He's hiding something."

Quinn licked her split lip. "You think Owen's..."

Charlie didn't answer right away.

Then, steady and low: "Yeah."

A long silence.

Outside, wind rustled trees. Somewhere, a screen door creaked.

They weren't screaming. Not yet. Not calling out.

Charlie's voice was just a breath: "Alright uh we need some kind of a plan."

The shed door creaked.

Not kicked open. Not burst through. It just... creaked, like someone entering their own kitchen.

Dorian stepped in, outlined by the last slant of evening light. His silhouette looked taller in the frame, casting long shadows over the cluttered walls. He ducked slightly, careful not to hit his head on the rusted gardening tools above.

Charlie didn't speak. Neither did Quinn.

He stood there for a moment like he wasn't sure how to start. Then he smiled, not a friendly.

"You're awake."

Charlie sat still, shoulders braced against a plastic tub of soil. Her wrists ached from the rope, but she didn't move.

Dorian glanced down at them both like he was observing something in a gallery. He looked well rested?

For sure pale.

"I figured I owed you an explanation," he said simply.

No one replied.

He took a slow breath through his nose. "It wasn't premeditated. I want you to understand that. I didn't drive up there planning to hurt him."

Quinn flinched, voice raw: "You killed him."

"Yes," Dorian said. Not a blink of hesitation. "I did."

Charlie didn't move. She kept her eyes on him. But her body went still in a way it hadn't been in years.

"I drove up to talk," Dorian went on. "Just talk. We hadn't spoken in a long time before the ceremony, not really. But then I saw how well he was doing, new projects, new people around him. That damn award coming up, that I worked my ass off for. He barely even looked surprised to see me.

Charlie shifts slightly. "Hey, did you drug us?"

He gives a small smile, regretful, almost. "Only what I had to. Didn't want anyone getting hurt." A pause. "Well, any more than already has."

He leans back, looking past them now, like he's watching it play out on some invisible screen. "The award. That night. The moment they said his name instead of mine. You were there, Quinn. You saw it. He didn't even look surprised.

"That's because he deserved it," Quinn snaps, voice trembling. "He worked for it."

Dorian shakes his head slowly. "We worked for it. He was good. But I was extraordinary. You know it, Quinn. You watched us both grow. You chose him anyway."

"I'm his agent."

"You were my friend." The words land with quiet weight.

Then he sighs.

"I just wanted him to acknowledge it. That I should've won. That it was stolen. But he laughed. He actually laughed."

Charlie's breathing shifts. Not steady anymore.

Dorian leans forward, voice low and intimate. "He said, 'It was just a role, Dorian. Let it go.'"

Silence again.

Quinn flinched as he reached for her. Not fearinstinct. He didn't touch her. Just unhooked the knife from his belt and placed it on the ground between them. Deliberate.

Charlie laughed, hoarse, wrong. "That for us, sweetheart?"

Dorian's eyes flicked to her. No amusement. No anger. Just study. "For perspective."

He stood again and walked a slow lap around them. The air felt thick with wood rot and old oil. No windows. Just the single door behind him.

"I liked you," he said, like it was something sad. "Both of you. Smart. Not like the others."

"You killed Owen," Quinn said. Her voice cracked halfway through. "Because of a trophy."

Dorian stopped. Turned.

"That wasn't why," he said. "But if it helps you sleep, go with that."

"I waited until after the ceremony," he said, eyes fixed on some point just past her shoulder. "He was drunk. High on attention. He thought I wanted to celebrate."

Charlie's breath caught.

Dorian kept going, voice flat.

"He was in the living room. Half-asleep on that ugly couch. I was in the kitchen. His meds were right there in the drawer,antidepressants. Big orange bottle with his name on it." His eyes flicked between the two women. "I crushed half the bottle with a spoon. Mixed it into his drink. Stirred until it disappeared."

Charlie didn't move, didn't blink.

"Owen looked up at me like he always did. Like I was still the guy who'd drive him to auditions. Said, 'Thanks, man.' I sat beside him. I watched him drink it."

Dorian's voice was almost... fond.

"We talked about the old days. Sleeping in coats. Boxed wine. He told me he thought he'd lost before they said his name. That he wanted the win to mean something."

He met Quinn's eyes directly now.

"Then he got dizzy. His chest hurt. His fingers started twitching. He tried to stand. Asked me what was happening."

Dorian's mouth pressed into a line.

"I sat there and watched."

Quinn felt her throat tighten. "He trusted you."

"He pitied me," Dorian snapped, just once. Then, back to calm. "Everyone did. They just didn't say it out loud. He got everything. The statue. The press. The love. And he still told me I was better. That I didn't need people to love me."

He gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Turns out, I did."

Outside, thunder rolled.

Dorian took one last step forward, gaze fixed and even.

"He died thinking I was his friend. Seven minutes. That's how long it took."

Charlie's jaw clenched. She shifted slightly in front of Quinn, subtle but protective.

Dorian didn't seem to notice.

"I wrapped him. Tarp, duct tape. Took him out on the lake with a couple cinder blocks. Dropped him. Simple."

Quinn's voice cracked. "Jesus."

"No blood. No screaming. Just quiet." He looked past them now, distant. "It was clean."

Charlie's voice was low. Cold.

"You're sick man."

"I was tired," Dorian said. "Of being the runner up in a life I was supposed to win."

Charlie shifted beside her, shoulders tightening with effort. "This all ends the same, Dorian. They're already looking."

"No," he said. "They won't."

He walked to the far corner, dragging something metallic from a stack of old tarps. A gas can. Red plastic. Half full, by the way it sloshed.

Quinn stared at it, her mind suddenly loud with everything she hadn't said. Everything that might still matter.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

Dorian didn't answer right away. Just poured a line of gasoline along the baseboard like he was marking territory. The scent flooded the air,sharp, dizzying.

"I do," he said finally. "Because you saw me. And now you know what I am."

He paused at the door, hand on the frame. Rain was heavier now. Steady.

Charlie met his eyes,

"We already knew."

Dorian looked at her for a long time.

Then he stepped outside.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Click. A padlock snapped into place.

Quinn's breath hitched. Her fingers slammed against the cold metal door, rattling it like it might shatter."Fuck. The lock."

Charlie leaned back against the far wall, eyes sharp despite the rain dripping from her hair."We're trapped."

Quinn twisted, searching the shed.

Old tools hung on racks, none close enough or sharp enough to cut through the lock.

"We need to find something. Anything," Quinn muttered, panic rising but her voice steady.

Charlie's jaw clenched. "Dorian's outside, Quinn we mind as well accept this fate"

Quinn's pulse hammered in her ears. She felt the cold sweat bead on her forehead.

"We can't just wait here," Quinn said. "We need to figure out how to get out before he comes back."

Charlie nodded, eyes darting to a small window high on the wall. "That's our best shot. But it's nailed shut."

Quinn moved over, pulling at the nails with trembling fingers. Her heart slammed against her ribs as each one gave way slowly.

"Come on," she whispered.

Outside, the rain pounded like a drumroll.

They worked quickly.

The window creaked open just enough for them to squeeze through, if only barely.

Charlie looked back once, eyes fierce. "Ready?"

Quinn swallowed. "As ready as we'll ever be."

They slipped out into the storm.

EXT. WOODS BEHIND THE SHED – NIGHT

Dorian stepped into the rain without flinching. It soaked through his shirt in seconds, but he didn't react. He just stood there, listening to the storm smother the sound of everything else.

Behind him, the padlock held.

He turned away from the shed and walked slowly through the trees, mud clinging to his shoes, breath fogging in the cold. His hands were bare now. He flexed them once. No tremble.

INT. LAKE HOUSE – NIGHT

The front door creaked open. Dorian stepped inside and stripped off his wet shirt in the dark. He dropped it on the floor, walked barefoot through the house like it belonged to him. Like it had always belonged to him.

The whiskey glass Owen had used still sat on the mantle.

Dorian picked it up. Stared into the empty bottom.

He set it down again, gently this time.

Then he moved to the bookshelf in the den. Behind a row of screenplays, he reached for a weathered journal. Leather-bound. Not his.

He opened it to the middle.

Owen's handwriting: chaotic, rushed. Notes about roles. Lines he wanted to remember. Scattered thoughts about the award.

"I think I beat him. I think he knows. I don't know if I feel proud or just scared. He'll never admit it, but I saw his face. I saw it."

Dorian read the page twice, then closed the journal.

He took it to the fireplace.

Lit a match.

Held the flame to the edge of the cover.

The leather curled, then caught.

He watched it burn.

INT. OWEN'S BEDROOM – LATER

The room was minimal, almost surgical. No clutter. Nothing personal. Just a wardrobe, a bed, and a mirror.

Dorian stood at the dresser, wiping down a black handgun with a cloth. It gleamed under the lamplight clean, cold, loaded.

He set it down. Looked at himself.

His reflection didn't blink.

Under his breath, he said:

"They'll try to run."

He picked up the gun.

Turned off the light.

EXT. WOODS – MOMENTS LATER

Branches claw at their faces as they run through the trees, shoes slipping in wet mud, lungs burning. The cold is slicing through their soaked clothes. They don't talk. No time.

A flash of headlights in the distance Dorian's truck, heading the opposite way around the lake.

They veer off the path, crashing through ferns.

EXT. LAKE HOUSE PERIMETER – NIGHT

Quinn trips over the edge of the gravel drive and lands hard, palms skidding. She doesn't stop. She grabs Charlie's wrist and pulls her toward the main road. But the house is in sight now, two windows glowing.

Quinn yanks her phone from her jacket, fingers shaking. She fumbles the screen awake.

No signal.

She turns in a circle, holding it up like a lifeline. Nothing. Then—

One bar. Flickering.

She steps toward the edge of the property, closer to the water, where the signal catches. Two bars.

She hits call. Dials fast. 911.

It rings.

Then clicks.

OPERATOR (V.O.)"911, what's your emergency?"

Quinn covers her mouth, breath hitched. Then:

QUINN"Hello, this is agent Stacey I—I'm at a lake house just outside Crescent Hollow. Off Route 6. Private road, no street sign, please, just trace the call. There's been a murder. We're being hunted—his name's Dorian Cass. He's armed, he's dangerous, he's—"

CHARLIE"Quinn—"

Headlights swing through the trees behind them.

QUINN"He's coming. Please send someone. We're still on the property—"

She cuts the call. Shoves the phone in her pocket. No time to explain more.

CHARLIE"Boat house. Come on."

They sprint again, toward the back of the property. Toward the shed Dorian never touched.

EXT. BOATHOUSE – NIGHT

They reach it out of breath, soaked to the bone. The door's locked, but the latch is old.

They slam the door shut behind them.

In the darkness, Quinn gasps for breath, pressing her back to the wall, shaking from adrenaline.

CHARLIE"Think they'll get here?"

QUINN"They have to."

Thunder cracks overhead.

Then—

A creak.

A slow one.

From outside.

Boots. On wet wood.

Charlie grabs a crowbar laying on a table.

Quinn grabs the emergency flare gun from the wall hook.

They look at each other.

CHARLIE"We finish this."

QUINN"Together."

The doorknob turns.

The door groans open—

DORIAN steps inside, silhouetted by rain. His soaked jacket hangs off him, dark hair plastered to his forehead. He's holding the same iron bar he used earlier.

DORIANThere's nowhere left to go.

Quinn raises the flare gun.QUINNTry me.

He stops.

Eyes flick to the flare. Then to Charlie's crowbar.

DORIANYou think that's going to stop me?

CHARLIENo. But this might stall you.

She hurls the crowbar at him, not to hit, but to startle.

It clangs hard against the wall, just missing his head.

Dorian flinches. That's all they need.

Quinn lunges forward, grabbing a heavy tackle box and smashing it into his side. He grunts, stumbles back but he's strong, and he recovers fast.

DORIAN(through clenched teeth)You don't get it. This was supposed to end quiet.

He swings the bar, misses Quinn by inches as she ducks. Charlie dives at his legs, bringing him crashing down.

The flare gun clatters across the floor.

INT. BOATHOUSE – CONTINUOUS

Scrambling limbs. Wet floor. Wood groaning under the fight.

Quinn grabs the flare gun again.

A foot connects with her ribs, Dorian's. She gasps and falls back, flare gun sliding out of reach.

He climbs on top of Charlie, one hand on her throat, pressing hard.

DORIAN(low, almost sad)I didn't want it to be you.

Charlie's face is reddening.

Quinn grabs a fishing gaff from the wall, long pole, sharp hook at the end.

She doesn't think.

She swings it. Hard.

CRACK.

The blunt end hits the back of Dorian's head.

He slumps forward.

Then—

Still.

Silence.

Charlie coughs, rolling out from under him.

CHARLIEJesus.

They both stare at Dorian's body. He's breathing. Barely.

QUINNThat's not gonna hold him long.

Charlie nods, staggering to her feet.

Sirens, faint, distant, start to bleed in through the rain.

Quinn looks at her, eyes wide.

QUINNThey're coming.

CHARLIELet's give them something to find.

They drag Dorian's unconscious body outside into the rain.

EXT. LAKE HOUSE PROPERTY – MOMENTS LATER

Red and blue lights slice through the trees.

Two cruisers skid into the gravel drive. Doors fly open.

Officers rush forward, guns raised, but freeze when they see the two women standing there, soaked and shivering, with Dorian Cass sprawled unconscious between them.

OFFICERHands where we can see them!

Quinn lifts hers slowly.

QUINNHe's the one you want.

CHARLIEYou're late.

EXT. LAKE HOUSE – NIGHT — LATER

Flashing lights strobe across the wet trees.

Crime scene tape is going up. Officers cluster near the shed and the boathouse. A few detectives speak in clipped tones, faces set and pale in the rain. A stretcher wheels past.

DORIAN lies on it, wrists zip-tied, head wrapped in gauze. His eyes are closed.

Quinn watches from the back of an ambulance. A blanket's draped around her shoulders. Her boots are soaked through. Her hands won't stop shaking.

CHARLIE sits beside her. She's got a gauze pad at her temple, blood crusting in her hair. Someone tried to offer her cocoa. She let it sit in her lap, untouched.

QUINN(low)Do you think he planned to do it tonight?

Charlie doesn't answer right away.

CHARLIEHe didn't plan to get caught. That much is clear.

A medic leans in.

MEDICYou okay to answer a few questions?

CHARLIEYeah. Sure.

EXT. LAKE HOUSE DRIVEWAY – MINUTES LATER

Two detectives stand with notebooks, recording. A cruiser idles nearby.

Quinn explains what she saw, how they found the id, how Dorian admitted it. Her voice trembles in places, but she doesn't stop.

Charlie fills in the gaps.

CHARLIEYou don't kill your best friend by accident. You don't wrap him in a true crime inspired tarp and dump him in the lake because you panicked. This was methodical. This was ego.

DETECTIVEYou're saying the motive was jealousy?

QUINNNot jealousy.(beat)Entitlement.

The detective scribbles that down.

A silence follows. Then Charlie speaks again, softer.

CHARLIEHe didn't snap. That'd be easier to stomach honestly.

The detective nods.DETECTIVEWe'll take your full statements downtown. Tonight if you're able.

Charlie exchanges a glance with Quinn.

QUINNWe'll come.

⸻

INT. AMBULANCE – A LITTLE LATER

They sit together again.

Quinn closes her eyes for a second.QUINNI really thought he was gonna kill you.

Charlie doesn't look at her. Just says—

CHARLIEI really thought he already did.

A long breath passes between them.

CHARLIEYou did good.

QUINNWe did lucky.

Charlie leans back against the side of the ambulance.

Rain ticks softly on the roof.

CHARLIELet's not do this again.

Quinn huffs out a laugh.

QUINNNext time I hear the name "Dorian," I'm walking the other way.

Charlie finally lets herself smile.

INT. POLICE STATION – EARLY MORNING

The lobby's quiet now, emptied out after a long night of statements and paperwork.

Quinn sits on a plastic chair, arms folded, staring at a vending machine like she might punch it.

Charlie walks over, two bad coffees in hand. She offers one.

CHARLIEIt's terrible. Still drink it anyway.

Quinn takes it without a word.

Charlie sits beside her, exhales slow.

CHARLIE(quiet)You know, we ghosted the hell outta each other.

Quinn glances over, startled.

QUINNWhat?

CHARLIEBack in L.A. we bailed on one another. No call, no note, no dramatic slow-motion airport goodbye. Very rude.

Quinn blinks, thrown.

QUINNI thought you didn't do the whole, sentimental thing.

CHARLIEI don't.(beat)Except when I do.

Charlie sips her coffee. She recoils.

CHARLIEJesus, that's bad. Tastes like someone brewed it through a sock full of tax receipts.

QUINN(smirks)You could've just said you missed me.

Charlie shrugs.

CHARLIEI'm saying it now, aren't I?

Another pause. This one easier.

Charlie glances at her sideways.

CHARLIEDon't make me say it again. It'll kill me.

Quinn smiles, small and real.Then sips her coffee. Makes a face.

QUINNGod, that is awful.

CHARLIETold you. Now we're even.

QUINN(soft)I didn't mean to disappear like that. I thought... maybe you'd be better off without me.

Charlie looks at her, eyebrows raised.

CHARLIEYou think I'm some delicate little flower?

Quinn laughs quietly, but it's shaky.

QUINNNo. Just... didn't want to be a mess you had to clean up.

Charlie leans back, arms crossed.

CHARLIEMesses are my specialty. You're not a mess. You're... complicated. And yeah, sometimes that's a lot. But I don't run from complicated.

Quinn swallows hard.

QUINNI was scared. Scared I'd get too close and it'd end like everything else.

Charlie's expression softens.

CHARLIEYou think I haven't been scared, too?

She reaches over, nudges Quinn's shoulder.

CHARLIEWe both got scars.

Quinn's eyes drop to the floor. Then she meets Charlie's gaze.

QUINNMaybe... maybe I want to try. To stop running.

Charlie nods slowly.

CHARLIEGood. Because I'm not going anywhere.

They sit quietly.

Then, almost without thinking, Charlie moves closer.

She wraps an arm around Quinn's shoulders.

Quinn leans into the touch, surprised but not pulling away.

The hug is brief a promise neither says out loud.

When they pull apart, the space between them feels smaller.

CHARLIE(half-smile)Now. Let's go get some real coffee.

Quinn grins.

QUINNDeal.

They stand together, stronger for the storm they weathered.