My Final Muse

By Jae T Ryter

Love turns to obsession in this tragic love story of a writer and his final muse.

Matthew Morrow is a prolific horror writer who moves into a small Los Angeles apartment complex and meets the cute redheaded actress next door, Regina. As their friendship develops, the two of them find themselves attracted to each other with a slow-burn to love. As their passion burns, a spark ignites in Matt's imagination for a new novel centering on his love with Regina, his new muse.

While writing his opus to his new love, Matt unleashes his own demons that drag him into his own story, turning his love for Regina into an uncontrollable obsession.

Originally released as A MUSE IS BORN, under the pen name J. R. Morgan. This second edition contains a new edit, plus a newly released prologue and epilogue. Book is written by Cyan LeBlanc, writing under the pen name Jae T Ryter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Posies & Peacocks
• Release date: Nov 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223409557

Book preview

Prologue

Whenever I published a book, I never asked for criticism or opinions from anyone. The important people have always given them to me. You know, people like my editors and publishers. I hate opinions. They are like assholes. Everybody has one.

I hated book readings as well. Sitting in front of a group of people reading from my recent novels was never my idea of fun. I’d read a few chapters, then sit for an hour just so people could ask me questions about it.

What is there to know, really? Why did I write it? In chapter nine, paragraph two, what is the great meaning? It’s a story, people!

Today, I am about to tell my last story; the most prolific story I will ever tell in history. Mine! It is everything I hate about being a writer; yet I am about to take the prolific stage and read my story to my peers. An opus of sorts.

This state of flux allowed me to rewind my life, revisit the protagonists, and understand their past thoughts as well as their current. I had the freedom to peer inside the souls who touched my life in order to write the story which will decide my fate among my peers. If this knowledge had been present while I breathed earth’s air, I might have made different decisions. Ultimately, I’d still be here, now, giving my final reading.

I take a deep breath and let it out. They call my name, it’s my turn. Another deep breath. I walk on the stage of a huge auditorium. It’s white. Everything is white. Everyone in the seats are wearing white, so much that it hurts my eyes. I see people in the audience. Familiar faces and some unfamiliar ones too. The ones before me, with the same agenda throughout history. They have read their ultimate story.

I clear my throat, and with another deep breath, I speak, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Matthew Morrow. There are many stories and tales I could tell tonight. Each of them open my soul, but there’s only one which truly defines who I am. That’s why we are here today. It is an honor to be standing before the greatest writers, novelists, and poets of history. I hope that this, my ultimate tale, will define me enough to join your league of greatness. And so, I present to you my final work, ‘A Muse is Born’. Chapter one..."

Chapter 1

My three roommates and I were unloading the moving truck and hauling furniture over to our new home. Situated in the greater Los Angeles area, this apartment reminded me of Hollywood’s glory days and looked like a bachelor pad for the elite, with its aged wooden panels and archways. Canopied under a gathering of palm trees, it was a smaller complex, with about two dozen apartments. The neighbors were friendly, and the atmosphere was quiet. Our three-bedroom apartment sat in the upper-level corner, next to the staircase. It was the perfect setting for four male roommates to adventure through life together.

Kevin, my brother Scott, his boyfriend Chris, and I had been friends since youth and we were pretty excited about moving out on our own and together sharing a place, although Scott and Chris were used to overnight visits from Kevin and me far too often.

Kevin and I grabbed another load of furniture to haul up the rickety stairs. Our young neighbor stopped in front of our apartment door while we dropped the sofa into our living room. The auburn-haired girl, about twenty, greeted us with a wide, toothy grin and peppy demeanor. Moving in, I see? Welcome to the building.

Kevin said thanks as he crossed in front of her, ready for another load of boxes. I welcomed her presence as an excuse for a break. Her hospitality suggested a sweetness that I wanted to know. Thanks. I’m Matt.

I’m Regina. Regina Spencer. Nice to meet you.

And that was Kevin. He’s antisocial, so don’t mind him.

Got it. I’ll give him his space. Her high cheekbones grew more pronounced as the corners of her mouth spread. Regina’s smile was contagious, and I found myself grinning back at her in the silence.

Then, my two other roommates joined us with a load of stuff from the van. I introduced them as they walked by. That is my brother, Scott, and his boyfriend, Chris.

She waved to the guys as they passed. When Scott rejoined us after dropping his load, he punched my arm in jest. Matt, are you going to converse with the pretty girl for the rest of the day, or are you going to work?

Chris followed him out, and, with a pointed glance at me, proposed his own tease. Oh, I think we have officially lost him now. Nice meeting you, sweetie, but we need our butch man here to lift the heavy stuff downstairs.

I rolled my eyes at Chris’s campy, gay male attitude and turned back to her. I guess I need to get back to work.

I’d better be going, too, Regina said, as we descended the stairs together.

I’ll see you around? I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.

Sure. Later. She headed out for the day with a bounce in her step.

Hours later, upon her return, Regina noticed the moving van still parked outside, but she didn’t see us working. She stopped at our open door to find boxes piled into the living area. Our furniture looked as if we were settling everything into a permanent home. As she paused and peered into our lives, her curiosity grew.

I entered the living room to find Regina staring into our apartment. My presence startled her, and she rushed down the walkway to her apartment. I stuck my head out the door to witness her fiddling with her keys at her door. Her innocence intrigued me. I called across the walkway. We ordered pizza. Want to join us?

She looked up calmly at the sound of my voice. In the safety of her own domain, her confidence and humor had resumed control. Depends on what kind of pizza?

Her comment took me off guard because I had to think about pizza instead of her. I think it has everything on it.

Sure, let me put my stuff away. Come on over. Regina motioned for me to follow her into her home. With her hands full of shopping bags, she walked into her bedroom. I followed her and stood in the doorway like a proper gentleman, not entering until requested. She unloaded as she spoke, So, did you get everything moved in?

We emptied the truck. Now, to unpack.

Regina had been racking her brain all day long, trying to figure out where she had seen me before. I had a familiar face, but she didn’t know why. She studied my face for a moment with a bewildered glare. I questioned her inquiring gaze, What?

I have tried to figure out from where I know you and seriously, I can’t place you.

I’d heard that before. Normally, I’d roll my eyes, but for her, I let it slide. I am a writer, so you may have seen my hideous face somewhere in a book or on the internet.

Just then, Regina walked to her bookshelf, glancing at the titles that filled the corner of her room. She grabbed one, looked at the inside cover, and grinned. I noticed the familiar jacket cover. My book.

You’re Matthew Morrow?

It impressed me that Regina owned one of my books. I see you have read one? I asked, pointing at the book.

Regina pointed to a row of books. I peeked around the door frame at where she pointed. Actually, a bunch of them. You’re an incredible writer.

Thanks. My modesty shined. I never considered myself as incredible, though I’d heard the compliment before.

I’m an actor myself. She tried not to brag about her success.

Not surprised. We lived in Hollywood, so people were either actors or struggling to become one. Anything I may have seen?

"Probably not. I’m on a family television show on cable, Witches of Beverly Hills."

The name of the show wasn’t familiar, as I watched little television with my hectic writing schedule. Really? Well, I’ll have to check it out. It was not a lie; I would watch a few episodes when it was on.

My problem with quasi-celebrities was that they needed acceptance. With other new authors, they sought praise and opinions on their work. They gave me copies, hoping I loved it. The same applied to actors starting their journey. By telling me she was an actor, I hoped this girl wouldn’t be one of those people.

My mother, who was a painter, taught me to never seek people’s opinions. If someone gives it, accept it and say thank you, she would say.

At the apartment, my roommates had raided the pizza boxes and adjourned to their rooms to unpack and eat at the same time. Regina and I grabbed some pizza and relaxed into the leather sofa, which was haphazardly placed in the room. Around me, the living room called my name. The chaos of boxes everywhere halted any reassurance I had about my work in progress; I felt overwhelmed.

Regina noticed my hesitation at unboxing the mess. I really hated unpacking when we moved. Then, I learned to enjoy it because I treated it like spring cleaning. Now, trying to decide where everything goes is the real nightmare. I’ve been here for two years, and I still hate organizing.

Kevin and I are sharing a room. With two beds, it’s pretty cramped, but I think we figured out our game plan.

You have three bedrooms here? Regina noticed the three different bedroom doors, wondering which was mine.

Yeah. Scott and Chris share a room. Kevin and I took the smaller room. I pointed to the middle door. Chris’s studio is another one.

What does Chris do? she asked.

He draws comic books for one of the big studios. Can’t remember which one, though.

Really? That’s cool. What about the others?

Scott is a chef at a hotel downtown, and Kevin is a photographer.

Regina’s face twisted with a curious expression on her face when talking about Kevin. Photographer? As in, one of the paparazzi?

No. He works for National Geographic as one of their wildlife photographers.

She expressed surprise and excitement. Wow. Now, that sounds like a great job.

Regina gazed at me with an endearing smile. And you’re a writer.

Something like that, I shrugged. I didn’t enjoy talking about myself.

What? You don’t enjoy writing? Regina asked with curiosity.

Yes, and no. My original work is fun, and I have creative freedom, but I take jobs writing books based on movies and television shows. Those are a little annoying; you have no control over the characters or storylines, but it pays the bills. I rose from the sofa, tired of talking about myself. The box closest to me had Living Room scribbled on the side. I opened it to see what it contained. With four guys merging into one home, there were four different styles and personalities for one space. Regina glanced in the box with me.

Inside were a bunch of tchotchkes from Kevin’s travels wrapped in newspaper. I think we should just throw everything away and start over.

You know, some people do that.

As she leaned over the box with me, I took in the strawberry scent of her perfume. I never knew guys had this much stuff.

Aren’t two of them gay? They can be worse than girls sometimes.

We opened more boxes, enjoying each other’s company. Most of the items belonged to Scott and Chris, who lived alone, before Kevin and I moved in. Their design style leaned toward the gay lifestyle. Regina pulled something out of the box and unwrapped it to reveal a phallus-shaped clay sculpture and held it up for me to see. What is this?

We heard a yell from the door, Regina!

A middle-aged woman with familiar, high cheekbones and a mortified expression gaped at us. She came looking for her daughter and found her with the penis-shaped artwork in her hand, all alone with a strange man in his all-boys den. In her eyes, this did not bode well.

Regina recognized her and dropped the sculpture immediately. She then turned to me and excused herself. I should go. I’ll see you later. Thanks for the pizza.

Regina followed the scowling woman to their apartment. What’s wrong, Mom? You look upset.

Mrs. Spencer went about her business of unloading the groceries. I don’t like the idea of you hanging out in the new neighbors’ apartment alone. A girl alone with strange boys is not the safest place for you. You never know what could happen. And what was that you were holding? she squeaked, face contorted.

Regina understood her mother’s concern but wanted her to feel a little more comfortable about it. Would it make you feel better knowing that two of them are gay?

Oh, Lord. Now, I have to worry about two of those boys? Regina’s mom knew her daughter would argue her case.

One’s a photographer who travels all the time, so he’s never there.

And now we’re down to one. Her mom leaned on the counter with a quizzical brow, waiting for her daughter’s excuse about the last one, which meant me.

Regina knew her mom was joking at that point and took a breath. They had a staring contest while Regina pondered what to say next. When she couldn’t think of anything, Regina conceded and threw up her hands. Yeah, I got nothing for the last one. I guess we only have one to worry about.

And apparently you like him? she persisted.

Regina walked around the kitchen like a love-sick teenager. I don’t know. I guess so. It’s rare we get people my age living here, especially cute ones. He invited me over for pizza. I figured there wasn’t anything wrong with pizza. You know, he’s a writer. I have a bunch of books he wrote.

Which ones?

He wrote those haunted carnival books. You tried to read one and gave up, saying it had too much gore for you.

Her mother wrinkled her nose in disapproval. Oh, yes. I remember that one.

He seems nice. If nothing else, I have someone to talk to around here. Regina had low expectations of anything developing between us, since all of her previous romantic interests were duds.

Just humor me and be careful. Boys may act nice until they get you alone and want more than you will give. And you know me; I must worry. I’m your mother.

Will do, Regina said, resigning to her mother’s suggestions.

Once in her bedroom, Regina glanced over at her collection of my books on the shelf. She grabbed one and found my website listed on the credits page. Pulling the thin laptop off her desk and plopping onto her bed, Regina pored over a list of all my original publications, from novels to adaptations of movies and television shows. She could not believe the amount of extra work I did on top of my major novels. There were many she didn’t know existed.

It wasn’t like she followed my works like a rabid fan, although she believed she owned my newest- until she learned about my current series. Given the depth of my bibliography, she worried about a potential age gap between us. She dreaded the click of the biography link on my website. Early when we met, she thought I couldn’t have been over twenty-five. Now, with the knowledge of my complete works, she debated herself. With a scan of the page, she read I was twenty-four, which pleased her. This should please my parents. She thought. Being in Hollywood, they worried about her being dragged into a dangerous crowd, even though she was an adult.

Like a star-struck fan, she continued to read all about me on my website so she could feel closer to me. Although walking next door was an option, stalking me in secret seemed more fun. She