Fade to Black

by Graham, Heather

  Then Marnie’s phone rang. This time it was Jeremy Highsmith.

  “Marnie?” Jeremy spoke her name almost hesitantly, as if he might be afraid that he had the wrong number.

  “Hey, Jeremy. How are you?” She felt a flash of fear for him—she figured she might when she talked to any of her surviving cast mates in the future.

  “I’m fine, fine. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you. What’s up? I’ve agreed to come to the horror convention. I’m bringing an entourage, including a PI and the FBI.”

  She didn’t know if she was saying all that as a way to make Jeremy feel better or as a warning, just in case he knew the wrong people.

  “Excellent. But that’s not why I called,” Jeremy told her.

  “Oh?”

  “I have another proposal for you.”

  “Aha. And what would that be?”

  “Well, you know Vince Carlton? He contacted me again yesterday.”

  Marnie could feel Jeremy’s miserable hesitation through her cell phone.

  “He called me because Cara is gone. I guess everyone considered her the key in our family—when we were and weren’t in character.”

  “I guess so,” Marnie agreed softly.

  “Anyway, he was gung ho about getting it all together again. Not replacing Cara. He said she could never be replaced. But he’d be growing the cast. In fact, he promised an episode dedicated to Cara that truly honored her.”

  “Jeremy, you know I don’t really want to work in television anymore,” she reminded him. “I believe I’m going to be able to start my theater—”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “I guess you haven’t seen Seth Smith’s latest words to the press on the Abernathy.”

  “What has he said?”

  “Oh, he’s just gone on and on about how the Abernathy is truly a great old dame. She’s never been tainted by any scandal. That they’d never allow her to be part of anything that isn’t entirely legitimate and aboveboard—or involved with anyone who isn’t legitimate or aboveboard.”

  Marnie felt the hardness in her tone. “I am totally legitimate and aboveboard!” she snapped.

  “I know that. Anyone who really knows you knows that. But sadly, perception is part of every world—not just Tinseltown. I’m sorry, Marnie, and I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re going to have an easy time—not at this moment—getting the Abernathy. Maybe in a while... Besides, Carlton was talking about reviving the series, but maybe they’ll just do a couple of tie-up specials. You know, perhaps mourning Cara’s character and setting the family back on a good path. Specials would be perfect. You could commit to just a few months, and then you’d be free again. It can’t hurt to earn a little extra to sock away until your thing gets going.”

  “I’m not sure just what it is you want,” Marnie said, feeling a little deflated. What he was saying was true. Making some more money didn’t hurt, and Seth Smith was a snob. He and Wexler Realty might just sit on the Abernathy, rather than rent it, until they were happy. They controlled huge investments.

  They could do it.

  “Just meet with Vince Carlton? He’s invited us all. Same studio address. They used our old standing sets for a TV movie about werewolves last month.”

  “I have to check out my availability,” Marnie said drily.

  “This afternoon? He’ll be out at the studios this afternoon.”

  “Okay, as I said—let me check my availability.”

  Her availability? Sit here—except for Horror-palooza! Wait until someone else dies, wait until someone figures out what the hell is going on.

  “You have to check with your guard dogs, eh?”

  “Pretty much. And I have an actual guard dog now, Jeremy. He’s great. But yeah, I have a very fine PI working for me right now, and he has some really fine FBI agents with him. Hang on.”

  She’d wandered into the kitchen earlier; she muted the phone and headed back out to her living room.

  Angela was on the computer. Jackson and Bryan were reading over her shoulder.

  Bridget was sitting on the sofa. She had gotten George to come up and sit next to her. He was a big dog; he didn’t look really comfortable.

  He looked at Marnie, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow—as if she might save him.

  She called him. He bounded off the sofa to her. She stooped to scratch his ears as she told the others, “Jeremy Highsmith is still on the phone. He wants me to come out to the studio this afternoon.”

  Bryan, Angela and Jackson had looked up when she’d entered.

  “Excellent,” Bryan said.

  “Yes, very good. I think it is time we get to know the rest of the Dark Harbor family,” Jackson said.

  “The surviving cast members,” Angela murmured.

  “And this producer who loves the show so much,” Bryan added.

  * * *

  Through his parents, Bryan had been on set enough to have a pretty decent concept of how it all worked.

  The massive studio building with huge double doors was still impressive, he thought as they pulled up in the seven-seater SUV Jackson had rented.

  Dark Harbor had been filmed in a giant space owned by one of the cable networks. Every once in a while, an episode might be filmed on location. The studio was big enough that they didn’t need the space for other shows, and it was more useful to them to keep the Dark Harbor mansion and other sets as permanent shooting spaces.

  The standing set had received many changes since the original show had been canceled, but much of that had been cosmetic—set dressing and decorating. The bones of the old sets were the same.

  Arriving in the studio, Bryan was impressed with the quick reconstruction that the producer, Vince Carlton, had managed.

  He peered around the plywood flats to see that the family living room had been set up with the original Victorian reproduction sofas, love seats, wingback chairs, hutches, fireplace and more. Carlton had clearly pulled some strings to impress the Dark Harbor family.

  They’d been greeted on arrival by the other cast members and Vince Carlton. He knew Marnie already, and he and Bridget had met at some kind of award ceremony somewhere along the line, according to Bridget. He was extremely courteous to Bryan, recalling that they had met at the funeral, and to Jackson and Angela, as well.

  The group stood just inside the studio building, half-immersed in the fantasy world of the show, but with the doors open to the lot behind them.

  “FBI, huh? I suppose you can never be too careful,” he said.

  “We really need to find a killer,” Jackson said politely.

  “Of course. We’ve had security all over this place, so no one unauthorized can get close,” Carlton said. He was medium to tall in height, lean and wiry. Bryan figured him to be somewhere in his midforties, a decent-looking man, and—being a working producer—probably fairly popular and quick to accrue friends: real ones, along with those just desperate for stardom.

  “So, I’m open to a lot of things. Bridget, glad you’re here. I’d love to get you in my writers’ room. As you can see, we’ve got the basics and the groundwork for what we need. I’ve even received a few treatments and spec scripts. We’re still in negotiation as to whether we’d reboot the series or perhaps pick it up for a few special shows.” He paused, looking at Marnie, and then continued, “Obviously, we would honor Cara Barton. We would not replace her with another actress. We will have new characters.”

  As he spoke, another car pulled up.

  “Ah, yes, and here is one of those characters,” Carlton said with pleasure. He sighed softly. “Nothing like when timing works—and on the fly like this!”

  The car was a limo with a driver.

  The driver hopped out and opened the b
ack door. The passenger was Malcolm Dangerfield. He looked at the group and grinned. “Hail, hail. The gang is all here. Marnie, Roberta, Jeremy, Grayson, hi! Mr. McFadden, we met at the funeral. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. Will you two be on the show?” He was addressing Jackson and Angela.

  “No, we’re investigating,” Jackson said, taking Malcolm Dangerfield’s hand, which went a little limp.

  “Angela Hawkins and Jackson Crow are FBI,” Bryan explained to him. “They’re here working on the Cara Barton case.”

  “FBI,” Dangerfield said. “Oh, my God, yes, of course. Because first there’s poor Cara—and then that was your pool that man was found in, right, Marnie?”

  He looked over at her with very wide eyes.

  Such a pretty boy.

  Bryan lowered his head, drily amused with himself. He didn’t have anything against Malcolm Dangerfield. The man had checked out okay. He wasn’t known for tantrums or being difficult to work with. He didn’t seem to have any scandalous relationships in his past or bad habits to hide.

  He just really was...pretty. And it was obvious that Malcolm was here to be Marnie’s love interest on the show.

  “Yes,” she said, and she sounded strong. “It was my pool. And whatever is going on, my friends here will stop it. And catch the killer or killers responsible.”

  “Bravo,” Carlton said. “Excellent. For now, let’s look forward. Let me talk to you all about the various possibilities of what might happen if everyone is willing.” He proceeded to walk into the center of the studio.

  “You all remember your living room!” he said dramatically.

  As he spoke, a technician somewhere started up the fire in the “living room” hearth.

  It was a nice effect.

  “Concept one for the show. In a segment that honors Cara Barton, Mrs. Zeta has passed away. But with her passing, Marnie suddenly acquires the ability to speak with the dead. Along with that, she also has tremendous strength—not just physically, but with the power of her mind. There is a touching scene where the family is at the graveyard, in tears. It’s there that Marnie sees her mother. By the family tomb, we discover Archibald Dixon—you remember him? The vampire with a bloodlust who disappeared in a cloud of smoke from season four, episode six, ‘Blood!’ He’s back. Marnie is in mourning when she discovers he has been killing again, and he comes after her in the graveyard. Because of her mother’s warning, she is able to turn and see him in time! With her newfound strength and the help of the man who has been falling in love with her—werewolf Oliver Douglas, Malcolm here—she defeats the vampire at last!”

  “Exciting. What does it have for the rest of us?” Roberta asked drily.

  “Oh, well, you are acquiring the same abilities as Scarlet. She doesn’t want to believe in herself. Roberta, your character, Sonia, has to convince her it is all real, and she does have strength and power. Jeremy, your character is devastated by the loss of the love of his life, and you’re lost when it comes to protecting your family because you’re in so much pain. And, Grayson, as Nathan Zeta, you have to deal with the fact the women in your life tend to inherit more strength than the men. Some of the writing really is great. There is so much in this that follows the paranormal trend that is always lurking out there, and then the emotions we all have to deal with.”

  “So, it’ll be the ‘Marnie’ show,” Roberta murmured.

  “Look, Scarlet Zeta was always the sweetheart of the show,” Carlton said. “But please know you’re all incredibly important to me—especially now...now that we’ll have to go without Cara Barton. Rest assured, all the details will go to your agents so that you can discuss the various options and possibilities.” He stopped for a moment, looking at Roberta. “I hope you realize what a tremendous opportunity this is for all of you. I’ve come this far, aware I would not be taking you from any other major commitments at the moment.”

  “Ah, Roberta!” Jeremy said. “Life isn’t fair, and acting sure as hell isn’t fair.”

  “What would you do with the show if you had the rest of the family but didn’t have Scarlet Zeta?” Marnie asked. “There could be a long-lost sister who appears at the funeral. There’s a plotline for you.”

  “There is no show without Scarlet Zeta. We’ve done market research. It could be a massive hit, but only with Scarlet.”

  “Marnie, we need you,” Roberta said, the sound of her voice a little desperate.

  “And Malcolm,” Carlton said.

  “I am...high on every chart out there,” Malcolm said flatly.

  “Ah, to be young again!” Grayson said and shrugged. “I’m just an old hack myself, Mr. Carlton. Ready and willing to do what’s offered. You have me.”

  “I never said I wasn’t ready and willing,” Roberta said. She brightened. “Maybe Marnie could be a fool and not see what’s right in front of her. Maybe, in his torment, Scarlet’s lover turns to her sister, needing a kind touch.”

  She grinned and looked at Bridget. “If you were writing on the show, you could write that magnificently, right?”

  Carlton didn’t react to Roberta’s comment. “Scarlet turns to her sister for help. She doesn’t understand her new power or her feelings for her lover. Trust me, we want a lot of family issues involved, as they were before. People loved the show because they loved all the characters and the way the family in the show—paranormal though they might be—interacted. The Zeta family had all the usual situations—falling in love, getting hurt, hurting others...the kids on the show grew up on the show, and people loved it.”

  “It will still be an ensemble cast,” Malcolm said.

  Bryan had been observing silently. He meant to do nothing but protect Marnie—to make sure everyone knew she had people looking out for her.

  This was Marnie’s work. But he’d grown up with Maeve and Hamish McFadden, and had an inkling of how the business worked, and so he had to ask, “Malcolm, you are at the top of your game. Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

  Carlton cleared his throat, annoyed.

  “Ah, clearly he’s being offered a great deal of money,” Roberta said sagely.

  “Listen, if this show comes back, I do believe it will be a massive hit again. Marnie was actually voted one of the sexiest up-and-coming stars about a year before the show folded, but we need to attach a really big name to it to make it a guaranteed success. Putting Malcolm Dangerfield into a cult show brings together two huge fan bases,” Carlton said.

  “Aha,” Jeremy Highsmith murmured. “Hey, the boy is looking like son-in-law material to me!” he added.

  “Look, you all know this isn’t the way things usually work. I call your agents, they get the offers, you take them or pass. That would be the usual. Negotiation would take place before you all ever looked at each other again. The agents would be in play, not you in a group, here like this. I’m offering you this first look because—as a series again, or even as a series of specials—this could be good for everyone involved. Today is a courtesy. And yes, I’d love to see this happen. But I have a lot of irons in the fire.”

  “We’re certainly pleased to be here!” Jeremy said. “Very pleased.”

  His words seemed to break some of the rising tension. Everyone laughed.

  “You have to see this,” Carlton told them. “Follow me!”

  He lifted his hand. The unknown tech—wherever he was—raised more lights, revealing scaffolds that were obviously there to allow cameramen to obtain different angles. But the scaffolding surrounded other sets, making it hard to determine where they were.

  “Right through the living room, ladies and gentlemen. You’re going to love this...”

  A hallway that supposedly led to the back of the house, and was always just off camera, was generously wide and led to another door. Carlton waited until the whole group was gathered at a door.

  Then he threw it open.
>
  “Enter the graveyard!” he said dramatically.

  The “graveyard” was a stunning piece of design work. The floor was moss-covered underfoot. The horizon, painted in detail onto stretched canvas walls, faded away into mist in the dim light. Angled stones appeared to have been in the “ground” from the time of the revolution and were littered everywhere. There were mausoleums interspersed throughout—one larger than the rest with the name “Zeta” carved into what appeared to be stone, though was certainly not. Everything had the gray tinge of an old cemetery around it. Gargoyles graced the Zeta tomb, and angels and cherubs rose above many graves.

  “Fantastic!” Roberta said. “I love this set. Does my character—”

  “Get to have all kinds of cool fun in the graveyard? You bet!” Carlton told her.

  “I have to see the movie this set was designed for,” Jeremy muttered.

  “Incredible, right? This was what got me thinking about Dark Harbor. Imagine filming here. I do think now is the perfect time for a revamp. You’ve all seen my intention. I’ll be in touch with your agents. Now that maybe I have your interest. Of course, it’s all about the bottom line—we’ll see where we go from here. Lastly, there’s lunch for us all in the office. If you will?”

  It took a moment to pull everyone away. They were taken with the amazing atmosphere of the fabricated cemetery.

  One by one, the others began to turn. Bryan saw Marnie wasn’t moving. He stood near her, setting his hands on her shoulders, ready to comfort—or protect—as needed.

  “Marnie?”

  He murmured her name softly, and then he saw why she had lingered.

  The ghost of Cara Barton was leaned against the tomb that bore the chiseled name “Zeta.”

  She was smiling.

  “I love it,” she said aloud. “Marnie, please, even if it’s just a special, one show—you have to do it. Please. Let them honor me. It would mean so much.”

  “Cara, we’re still looking for your killer—a killer who might be after Marnie,” Bryan said. He didn’t know how Marnie would feel; here was Cara, in the ghostly “flesh,” just as the producer had intended she be as her character.