by Jade Astor
“I told you it’s under control,” he heard Logan say. “All he wants is more screen time. That’s easy enough to agree to.”
“That’s all he wants for now,” Sandra shot back. “What’s next, Logan? Screenwriting credit? Half the proceeds from the series? Hell, you’d be lucky to get away with half. Try three-quarters, or even all of it. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop him.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” Logan said. “He has as much to lose as I do. Maybe more.”
“You might want to remind him of that. He seems to be laboring under the delusion that he’s the one in control here.”
“Just let me handle it. I have years of experience dealing with him, and this is no different than the hundreds of other petty demands he makes of me on a weekly basis. Right now we need to get back to filming. We’ve wasted enough time today already.”
“Oh, that’s rich. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you exactly why we’re so far behind schedule. It’s going to get worse, Logan, much worse, unless you do something fast.”
“This conversation is over,” Logan said flatly. Careful not to creak the floorboards, Darian ducked back into the guest room and stood behind the door until he heard Logan and Sandra sweep past. When he was sure they had gone, he hurried downstairs.
On the set, Chuck was painstakingly adjusting a filter on his camera while Jamie and Victor ran through some dialogue. Logan had joined them, script in hand, while Wes was at the makeup table with Sandra bending over him. Everything seemed perfectly normal and peaceful. Yet the argument he’d heard upstairs confirmed that powerful tensions were bubbling just below the surface. He couldn’t figure out what, exactly, Logan and Sandra were implying. Was Jamie just using his relationship with Logan to engineer more and better perks for himself on the set? Or was there outright blackmail involved? Wes’s suggestion of risqué films in Logan’s past made that scenario possible.
Spotting Darian across the room, Victor paused his rehearsal and flashed him a grateful smile. Darian gave him a distracted wave back. He recalled Victor saying he had high hopes for a role in an upcoming detective show. Copies of an old, uninhibited performance might put the kibosh on his chances. Had Jamie mentioned the existence of such footage, prompting Victor to send him a message written in blood?
“Hey, Darian,” Sandra called, jerking him back to the present. She held out a stipple sponge, used to texture his zombie complexion, toward him. “You want to take over here? I need to get Jamie’s costume change ready.”
“Sure,” Darian agreed, sliding into her place beside Wes’s chair. Wes’s amused expression suggested he’d engineered the swap. Sandra had probably gone along with it out of simple exasperation, since Darian doubted she had much interest in acting as an on-set matchmaker. He began to regret playing along with Wes’s attempts at flirtation earlier.
“Go light on the decomposition fluids,” Wes said, tilting his head to the left. “Don’t want to neutralize these spectacular dimples. Even Jamie admits they’re far and away my best feature.”
“Okay. I’ll try for a subtler approach.” Darian worked on his cheeks, trying to give them a sunken, cadaverous look. Wes did indeed possess a naturally cherubic face, so this was no small achievement.
“Not too subtle, or the audience won’t get it. No one ever went broke pandering to the lowest common denominator, especially when it comes to horror flicks.” Wes laughed. “Maybe we should add some glitter, too.”
“We’d better check with Logan first,” Darian joked back.
“And speaking of Logan—oh, man, this won’t end well.”
Wes tipped his chin toward something happening behind Darian. When Darian turned, he saw Jamie pressing against Victor with the entire length of his body, planting such a passionate kiss on him that Victor’s blush crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. Even Chuck looked up from the lens of his camera, open-mouthed. Sandra simply rolled her eyes.
“Enough,” Logan shouted. “The script calls for Caleb to give Thaddeus a flirtatious peck, not suck his soul out through his lungs. Jamie, what the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, lighten up, Logan,” Jamie said when he rocked back on his heels and ended his little performance. “I was just letting Victor demonstrate his expertise in the fine art of seduction. It’s not like I get to learn from such a master every day. Say what you want about Victor’s other qualities as a leading man, he has a mouth that won’t quit.”
“Look who’s talking,” Wes mumbled.
“Didn’t you say you wanted romance, passion? Well, I was trying to give you all that. Believe me, Logan, I want this film to be a success just as much as you do. My new agent told me—“
“Oh, are we back to that again? Spare me the lecture on professionalism,” Logan said. “We’re going to rehearse this scene again, and this time we’re going to stick to the script. Jamie, why don’t you sit down on the sofa, and Victor can stand in the doorway behind you? Maybe that way you can keep your lips to yourself until you get through your dialogue.”
“Not yet,” Sandra said. “Look at his face! I’m going to have to wipe his whole mouth down and start over.” She pointed to the chair Wes currently occupied. “Over to the table, Jamie. Now.”
Obligingly, Wes vacated the seat while Jamie flounced over, his smirk framed in a giant red splotch. He’d been laying the lip action on thick, all right.
“You might want to reconsider your opinion of Victor,” Jamie said to Darian as he passed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Shaking her head, Sandra upended a bottle of clear makeup remover over a sponge and swiped it over Jamie’s lipstick-smeared mouth.
Seconds later, he was howling in pain.
“You witch!” he screamed, leaping out of the chair. The glass bottle of cleanser hit the floor and shattered. “That burns! What in hell did you just put on my skin?”
Everyone rushed over. To where Sandra stood, staring down at the small tan sponge in her hand. If she was faking her astonishment, Darian figured she had a shot in front of the camera as well as behind it. Meanwhile, a red welt rose on Jamie’s cheek, in the very same spot Sandra had just sponged. He clawed at it, unleashing a stream of curse words Darian’s students would have admired.
Taking charge, Logan grabbed a baby wipe from a nearby dispenser and pressed it against Jamie’s wound. “You’re okay,” he said when he pulled it away and examined the spot. “Just an allergic reaction of some sort.”
“Allergic my ass! I’m not allergic to stage makeup! She put something in there!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sandra said. Logan took the sponge from her hand and sniffed it. Darian thought he detected the faint odor of bleach in the air, but Logan didn’t seem concerned.
“Nothing strange as far as I can tell. Did anyone tamper with this?”
“You can’t expect them to admit it,” Jamie raged. “What if that had gotten in my eyes?” For once, Darian could understand his fury—at least until he stabbed a finger in Darian’s direction. “I can’t help but notice it only happened after he came back!”
“You think Darian spiked your makeup? That’s ridiculous!” Victor said. “Why would he?”
“Because of you!” Near tears, Jamie whirled on Victor. “The two of you were in on it together. That’s why you met up in town this morning. You were plotting this all day. One of you sneaked something into the bottle when no one was looking!”
“Maybe we should call Argo and have the police test everything,” Darian suggested. He reached for the sponge, but Logan held it out of his reach.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The police don’t have time to investigate Jamie’s thin skin. Once again, we’ve lost valuable time to a bunch of stupid histrionics. Jamie, go splash some cold water on your face and have Sandra put new foundation on. Then get back on the set and pick up where we left off!”
“Like hell I will! You think I’m letting her anywhere near my face again?” Jamie shrieke
d. “That’s it, Logan. I’ve had it with you, your crappy movie, and your backstabbing friends and family. Don’t even bother begging me to come back, because I’m finished!”
No one spoke as he fled the room and thundered up the stairs. Next they heard a door slam on the top floor.
“Great.” Wes flung both hands in the air, incongruously forlorn in his purple zombie makeup. “No more Caleb to fight over. Now what?”
“Let him stew,” Logan said. “We’ll just film some Thaddeus and Osbourne scenes until he comes crawling back. We all know he will. This is just another one of his ploys to get attention.”
A murmur of agreement rippled around the group. Darian wasn’t so sure, though. When he looked down at the broken bottle on the floor, he sucked in a breath. The fluid leaking out was steadily dissolving the varnish from the wood.
Chapter 14
The following morning, they woke to snowflakes as big as cotton balls, coming down fast and thick. According to Darian’s phone, the softer stuff was only a dress rehearsal for the main event, which promised ice and a subzero wind chill. In anticipation of a rip-roaring Nor’easter, a few roads had already closed and the newscasters were warning about possible power outages. Residents were advised to charge up their devices and keep batteries and flashlights on hand.
They also woke to find Jamie gone.
“This is just like him,” as everyone stood around on the set after breakfast, fidgeting while they waited for Jamie to appear. “He’s getting a kick out of holding us all up, trust me.”
“Another one of his petty little power trips,” Wes agreed.
“I’m glad he finds it amusing,” Sandra grumbled. “The rest of us sure don’t. When did you last talk to him, Logan?”
“I wouldn't exactly call it talking,” Logan admitted. “Around eleven last night, I banged on his door. He told me to go away. So I did.”
That was true, Darian knew. He had witnessed the whole exchange from the cracked door of his own room.
“We’ve called his cell at least a dozen times since yesterday,” Victor confirmed, though Darian couldn’t verify that. After filming had ended for the day, he had avoided Victor by taking a sandwich to his room for a solitary but peaceful dinner. Victor hadn’t pressed the issue beyond giving Darian a few sad looks from a safe distance. “Nothing. Goes right to voice mail.”
“He must have turned it off,” Wes said, and everyone agreed.
“Why don’t we go up to his room and check again?” Chuck suggested. “Victor, do you have a key we could use? You know, in case he’s passed out drunk or something.”
Victor nodded. “I think my mom has a ring of them in her desk. I’ll go and see what I can find.”
This, Darian assumed, was the same delicate desk Argo had attempted to use when he’d questioned them about Brother Lew. Again Victor shot him a questioning look, clearly hoping Darian would offer to accompany him, but Darian pretended not to notice. Finally Victor wandered off alone.
A few minutes later, the group reassembled outside the door of Jamie’s room. While Logan tried knocking again, Darian noticed a dried smudge of stage blood on the frame beside the hinge. They’d missed it during their clean-up operation, he supposed.
“Nothing,” Logan said when his renewed entreaties for Jamie to come to the door got him nowhere. He stood aside to give Victor access. “Go ahead and unlock it.”
It took Victor a few tries before he found the right key and pushed open the door. The room stood empty except for Jamie’s clothes, toiletries, and two emptied-out suitcases in the closet. Wherever Jamie had gone, he hadn’t taken his luggage.
“What the hell?” Sandra asked first.
“He must be in the house somewhere,” Chuck said. “Could he have gotten lost? Or fallen down some stairs and hurt himself, maybe?”
“Chuck’s right. Seems unlikely he’d go outside in this weather.” For the first time, Logan appeared worried. “We’ll have to start a room to room search. We could split up into pairs, maybe.”
“Darian and I will take this floor,” Victor offered, somewhat to Darian’s annoyance. Still, the important thing was locating Jamie. Presumably Victor, being familiar with the house and all its nooks and crannies, had the best chance of succeeding. This way Darian wouldn’t have to wait as long for answers. “There’s a back staircase on the other end of the hall, originally designed for servants. Maybe Jamie tried to sneak down it and went through the wrong door on a lower floor. Or he found a storage room full of antiques or old books and couldn’t resist sorting through them.”
Though the others probably considered this as unlikely as Darian did, they seemed willing to give Victor’s idea a try. No sooner had the rest paired off than Logan’s phone began to shrill.
He looked down at the screen and gaped. “Hang on! It’s an email from Jamie.”
They crowded around him, jostling for a view while he read it out loud.
Logan,
I’m sorry but this film isn’t working out the way I had hoped. Frankly, the script is not flattering to my character and I don’t think it will do my career any good—or yours either.
My new agent called and offered to pick me up. I accepted. Better yet, he has an audition for me in the city and we need to get there right away. I’m leaving the car so you and Sandra can find your own way home when this ridiculous movie is over. Can you gather up the rest of my personal effects and take them back to the city with you? I’m traveling light and had no time to pack.
We need a break from each other so please leave me alone for a while.
You can use the footage of me that Chuck has already shot, but for now there won’t be any more. Sorry.
“Is that the whole thing?” Wes asked when he put the phone down.
“Yep,” Logan said. Behind his glasses, his eyes blazed with anger. A flush of red covered his cheeks.
“Well, that’s it, then.” Victor shook his head in wonder. “He’s really screwed us this time.”
“Wait a minute,” Chuck said. “Does that mean we’re scrapping the whole film?”
“What do you think?” Logan shot back. “Our movie no longer has its leading man!”
“So he finally went through with it,” Sandra said, sounding as though she almost admired Jamie’s gall. “He did just what he’d been threatening to do. Left us high and dry in the middle of the production.”
“Not exactly the middle,” Victor pointed out. “We haven’t really filmed that much, mostly thanks to his shenanigans.”
“It was like he was trying to sabotage this series from the beginning,” Wes added. “Little weasel. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him.”
“Stop it!” Logan shouted. “This isn’t helping.” He started to put a hand over his eyes, but remembered he was wearing his glasses and dropped it to his side again. “Don’t worry, everyone will still get paid, though maybe not as quickly as we’d all hoped. For now, though, I don’t see any way around shutting the whole production down. What the hell are we supposed to do without Caleb? The entire plot revolves around him.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Victor told him. “The original script revolved around him, true enough. And we already shot a few scenes of my character trying to kill him. That doesn’t mean we can’t adapt.”
Darian knew where this was going. “Victor, this isn’t the time,” he warned, but Victor waved him off.
“You know I’ve been giving this some thought, Logan. I tried to tell you the other night, though I guess I wasn’t making much sense at the time. That doesn’t mean my idea won’t still work. In fact, I don’t see how we can avoid giving it a try, at least.”
“What’s he talking about?” Chuck asked, turning from Darian to Sandra and then back to Victor again. “What idea?”
Victor smiled triumphantly. “A way to rewrite the rest of the script to eliminate the need for Jamie altogether. Come on, let’s be honest. Every single one of us was expecting this. Now it’s happened for real. Jami
e’s run out on us, probably with the help of this shyster agent he lined up. Well, I say let him go. We can use the footage we have and do something entirely new with it. Meanwhile, Darian can step in and take over Jamie’s part in the story.”
“Darian?” Chuck asked. Again, no one paid any attention to him. Every pair of eyes focused on Logan, who stood motionless, his lips pressed together and his fists clenched at his sides.
“Think about it. We’ve already filmed Wes and me fighting over Jamie. My character snapped, killed his brother, and started chasing Jamie around so he could throttle him.”
“I think they call that method acting,” Wes interjected.
“Anyway, how hard would it be to film my character actually killing him? You know, we could shoot it from the back, like we were seeing the murder through Jamie’s eyes. Everything could go blurry and then…that’s it. Just like that, we’re rid of Caleb. My character can have his servant, Fenwick, bury him out in the woods and then the two of them make a connection. Slowly, though, Caleb’s spirit starts to possess Fenwick, played by Darian. Pretty soon Darian is playing Caleb after all—but Caleb lives in Fenwick’s body. See? It’s so simple. And I’d be willing to bet Darian won’t run out on us. He’s here for the long haul. Aren’t you, Darian?”
“I don’t think so,” Darian said, his anxiety riding the more Victor talked. “I’m not an actor. And if anyone from Birchwood ever found out—”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Sandra assured him. “I can get you a wig and some facepaint, and we can bill you under a stage name. No one will ever know it’s you.”
“Personally, I think it’s a great idea,” Wes said. “It’ll spice up the storyline, eliminate the need for Jamie’s participation, and save all of us from parking our sorry rear ends back in the unemployment line.