Audition Notice – Fiction (Thriller/Suspense) Audiobook – PFH

Title: I Know You Killed Them

Word Count: Approx. 59,000

Rate: $200 PFH (payments via electronic bank transfer)

Narrator Summary: Female, Strong Character Skills, Standard American

Audio Required: Raw WAV, Punch & Roll.

Audition Deadline: November 12th, 2023

Full Recording Due: January 15th, 2024

Pickups: January 30th, 2024

Submit the audition as mastered MP3 plus your latest resume (if available) to team@royalwavemedia.com.

Click here for PDF Version

Thank you.

Character and Setting Notes

Psychologist’s office. Male doctor and female patient speaking.

Audition Script

Something inside me twisted, and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly against stinging tears. Home.

“Sadie,” Dr. Williams said again, his voice a little firmer, “did you hear what I asked?”

I met his gaze. “I don’t remember.”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

I looked out the window again. Just beyond the courtyard with its scrawny trees lay the road that brought me here. Full of potholes, it led to the middle-of-nowhere, Georgia. My house and family were hours away in a suburb outside Atlanta. Thinking of my parents brought a dull ache to my abdomen.

“My parents would rather send me here than listen to me,” I said, twisting the hem of my shirt around my finger.

“Your parents?” Dr. Williams repeated idiotically, like he didn’t know what parents were.  “And my shrink. He thinks I’m crazy, too,” I added, lifting my chin just a tad.

Do you know what delusional means? my old psychiatrist asked me. It means you believe things to be true that are just fantasy and make believe. Like the comics you love so much.

 “We don’t like to use that word here,” Dr. Williams said with a little frown.

“What—shrink?”

“No. Crazy. No one here is crazy. Everyone is just dealing with a lot of different stressors. It’s my job, along with the other therapists, to help you learn how to manage them appropriately.”

I considered him for a moment. That would be nice if it was true. I’d been called that word more times than I could count. By other kids at school, by teachers, and even my own family. I’d never gotten to the point where they locked me in a psych ward before, though.

Not until now.

“I don’t want to be here,” I said, trying to hide the waver in my voice.

Dr. Williams just watched me, impassive as any other shrink I had cried in front of. They were all immune to tears. “I understand that, Sadie, but you need a facility that can give you constant care.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “How long will I have to be here?”

“That’s up to you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “How involved you are in your therapy is the key to getting stable.”

I am stable! I wanted to scream at him, but I figured it wouldn’t go over well. “What kind of therapy?” I asked instead.

“We do a combination of medications, group therapy, and individual therapy here.”

I had a sudden urge to escape right then—I hated taking medication. My old psychiatrist always gave me too many, and I ended up feeling like a zombie. At home, my mom didn’t monitor it closely. She assumed I took it as prescribed, but I didn’t.

I wouldn’t get away with that here.

“The first step,” he said, pen hovering at the ready above his notepad like I was about to say something profound, “is for you to tell me why you’re here.”

My hands curled into fists. “Don’t you have a file on me? Paperwork that tells you exactly what made them send me here? Why do I have to tell you?”

“It’s important that you understand why. That you don’t just see it as a punishment.”

I leaned forward. “It is a punishment,” I said through clenched teeth.

“We’re going to work on changing that perception,” he said in irritatingly patient tones. “For now, just humor me.”

Like a sudden wave, a powerful grief crashed over me. I shook my head as tears broke the surface, running down my face like rain. “I don’t know.”

“You do. You can do this, Sadie.”

Images flashed across my mind like lightning:

My sister and I, huddled together in a tent we set up in the living room, reading comics together with a flashlight.

Fire, eagerly consuming the pages of my favorite books.

My sister, screaming.

 “Amber,” I cried.

Dr. Williams sat up straighter. “Amber, your sister . . . ?” he prompted.

“She’s dead.” My voice broke. “Because of me.”