Dark Video

by Peter Church

  Alistair’s eyes flicked back and forth. “You’re going to have to handle all the camera work.”

  “You sure, Alesandro? And you’ll…take the final shot?”

  Devon stared into Alistair’s eyes, made a gun with his thumb and forefinger. “Bang bang?”

  Alistair nodded.

  Devon looked him up and down for a second, broke into a smile. “Come on, Alesandro. You’re telling me you can go through with this—you can shoot the girl? Dead?”

  Alistair’s face hardened. “What choice do I have, Devon? Our lives are in the balance. If this all comes out, I’m finished. I’ll lose everything. Implicated in murder, abduction. Jail time.” He grabbed Devon’s collar, eyes wild with aggression. “What chance have I got in jail?”

  “Hey, cool it. Just cool it,” said Devon. He dropped his hands over Alistair’s, slowly removed them.

  “I’m not cool, Devon! I’m fucking terrified.”

  Devon patted him on the cheek, nodded, Alistair’s motives approved. He turned away, continued with the plan.

  “Surprise is what we’re looking for.” Devon closed his eyes and envisaged the scene. “I give all the instructions, you lead her to the location. She strips like before. Counts. Then she takes off the mask, sees you pointing the gun at her face. Right in her face. The moment of surprise. It’s crucial. That’s the money shot. Then bang.”

  Alistair nodded. “You haven’t spoken to Carlos yet, have you? About this?”

  “It’ll be a surprise,” confirmed Devon. “I’d like to see Carlos’s face. Or the client’s.”

  Alistair looked him in eye. “There had better be good money for this, Devon. I want my pay and then I want out. And I think it’s reasonable to say I want my cut for the shark vid now, too.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Alistair gripped Devon by the collar again. “Devon. This is it! Once Terri’s gone, it’s over. We get our money from Dark Video and walk. It’s a condition of the sale, you hear me?”

  “We’re two of a kind!” chuckled Devon, easing him off to arm’s length, brushing off his shirt. “Don’t worry, Alesandro. We’re out after this.”

  In the living room, they found Terri on her back, slowly waking. She shook her head, struggled lethargically to free her hands.

  “Right on time,” announced Devon, looking down at her on the carpet. He turned to Alistair. “Now, Mr. Scriptwriter, I’m going to get the set ready. Why don’t you wake up our young star and get her ready for the show?”

  Alistair nodded consent, squatted down to Terri’s prostrate form.

  “Try find something a little….more appealing than this,” Devon continued, indicating Terri’s grey tracksuit. He grinned. “I don’t think we’ll be needing a bra.”

  Alistair lifted Terri off the floor and carried her through to the Anchor Room. He placed her on the bed, loosened her bonds without untying her, propped up some pillows against the headboard and leaned her against it.

  “Quiet,” he whispered. “Just stay calm, Terri. It’s me, Alistair.” He dabbed her forehead with some water from a glass, gently patted her cheek. She coughed and he held his hand over the gag that covered her mouth.

  “Shhh!”

  He sat down alongside her, one hand stroking her arm.

  “Terri, can you hear me? Listen closely. Just be calm and don’t scream or make a noise, you understand?”

  She nodded. He removed the blindfold and gag.

  “Where am I?” Her face was puffy and red, her eyes swollen.

  “Arniston.” Fear flashed in her eyes. Alistair held a glass of water to her lips. She hesitated.

  “Alistair?” Her eyes were pleading, desperate.

  “Trust me, Terri. You have to trust me.”

  She sipped from the glass, her eyes locked on his. “What’s happening? Alistair. What…”

  He pressed his hand over her mouth. “Shhh. You’re in the Anchor Room.”

  He removed his hand.

  “I got your letter,” she said.

  Alistair’s heart iced over, he sucked in his breath. “Which letter?”

  “Silverman brought it to me. Alistair, I….I was so worried. I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

  “Shhh.”

  She coughed again and he raised his hand quickly to her mouth. He took it away and hugged her. She felt limp in his arms.

  “How did I get….There was a man—Devon! I thought Silverman had come back. But it wasn’t him. He said you’d had an accident. That he’d take me to you. I don’t remember…”

  “He drugged you and brought you here.”

  They heard the kitchen door slam, a shout: “Alesandro, action time! Get her out here!”

  “Listen, Terri,” Alistair whispered. “We’re both in great danger. Just follow my lead and do as I say, OK?”

  TO THE EDGE

  “Hey, Alesandro, what’s taking so long? Let’s get this thing going.”

  “Coming, coming. We’re almost ready.”

  Alistair walked Terri from the Anchor Room into the corridor. The blindfold and gag were back in place. He had let her hair down and brushed it out; raided Shelley’s cupboard, found a pair of jeans to go with a little white tank top, stomach exposed.

  “Not bad. You weren’t thinking of seconds, were you?” Devon winked at him from the kitchen doorway, the .38 held loosely at his side.

  “Nah. Had my fill.” Alistair puffed out his chest, macho, calm. Heart racing underneath.

  “Come on through.”

  In the kitchen, Devon addressed the blindfolded girl. “I know you’re scared, Terri. But nothing’s going to happen to you as long as you do what I say.”

  Terri’s body shook. Alistair could make out her nipples pressed like buttons against the thin fabric of the tank top. His mind flashed back to that first morning; the car ride from the police station. It seemed like yesterday—and a lifetime ago.

  “Remember the morning in the forest?” Devon continued, paralleling his thought. “Well, it seems you’re in demand now. So we’re doing the sequel tonight. A quick film shoot for a high paying client. Then we’ll let you go, just like last time. You understand?”

  Terri nodded.

  Devon tested her bindings and blindfold, untied the gag and dropped it on the table. “No more need for that.”

  Terri sucked in two deep breaths through her mouth, shaking even more. Her legs buckled and Alistair caught her at the elbows, lifted her up. He wished he could wrap her up in his embrace.

  “Relax, Terri. Relax,” said Devon, stepping forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Everything’s going to work out just fine. Now, we’re going to take a little walk outside. The weather’s pretty nasty but that just adds to the atmosphere, makes the film a bit more exciting. When we stop, we’ll untie your hands. You may not remove your blindfold yet, understood? But I’m afraid the clothes are going to have to come off.”

  Devon ran the barrel of the gun from Terri’s neck, down her breastbone, between her cleavage. “Once your clothes are off, count to one hundred. Then it’s over. Like last time.”

  The gun continued to trace a path down her clothing, stopped briefly at her exposed navel, then further, under her jeans, prying them forward. Devon leaned forward, looked down. “Let’s see if you’re wearing some….alluring underwear.”

  Terri gasped, jolted back, twisting and squirming. Devon responded with a vicious slap across her cheek with his free hand, clutched her hair, pulled her head forward.

  “Don’t fuck it up!” he hissed, mouth to ear. “You understand?”

  Her head bobbed in nervous acknowledgement, tears streaming from beneath the blindfold.

  Devon released his grip, softened his voice: “Just remember last time. Follow my instructions and you’ll be safe. Here we go.”

  He swiveled quickly and wrenched open the back door. A clamor of wind and sea air whipped into the kitchen. Turning and indicating for Alistair to follow, he stepped out into the night.
Alistair picked up the heavy black Maglite from the kitchen counter and led out Terri with his free hand.

  The three tunneled into the inky blackness, the wind buffeting their progress. They edged cautiously along the path, beyond the walls of the house where it opened onto the exposed promontory. Alistair narrowed his eyes and lowered his head, his shirt flapping wildly like a restrained kite, Terri’s hair streaming behind.

  No way back except along the path.

  They came to two lighting units and a camera on a tripod. They swayed in the wind, held fast by large rocks propped at their bases, filming ready to begin at the flick of a couple of switches.

  Devon stopped, pulled Alistair aside and thrust the revolver into his hand. He jabbed a finger to his lips and stepped back.

  “You want me to shine the torch for you?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll keep it,” said Alistair, pushing the gun into the belt of his jeans. He steered Terri further along the path, continuing slowly across the rocky terrain. They stopped alongside the cairn of white stones. Behind them, a burst of light appeared, then another, illuminating the ground around them: patches of sand between ominous rocks. Exposed to the gusting wind, clumps of dry yellow grass whipped against their legs.

  “Perfect!” said Devon, peering into the viewfinder. Terri and Alistair were centered in the frame.

  Alistair knelt behind Terri and loosened the cord binding her hands. She wriggled her hands free, held them in front of her chest, massaging her wrists.

  “Terri,” Alistair whispered softly as he rose behind her. “Remember, don’t look into the light. Look down.”

  “Camera rolling!” Devon shouted, from his vantage point, his words coming at them with the wind, blasting them like a sheet of sand. “Scene one, take one. Alistair, out the way.”

  Alistair took two steps back, directly behind Terri.

  “Take off your clothes!” shouted Devon.

  Terri reached up and lowered the blindfold, blinking, keeping her head down.

  “No!” shouted Devon. “Not yet!”

  Alistair thrust the Maglite into Terri’s hand, stepped forward in front of her, hand covering his eyes, dominating the shot.

  “What the fuck! You’re ruining…”

  “Come out, Devon,” called Alistair, as he raised the .38 with his right hand. Behind him, Terri shone the torch directly at the camera stand. They squinted into the lights.

  Devon stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the torchlight.

  “It’s over, Devon!” shouted Alistair into the wind.

  Devon dropped to his knees. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it! This is brilliant!” He clutched dramatically at his chest.

  “Devon, stand up.”

  “Alesandro, you are truly a master. What an absolutely brilliant piece of thinking!”

  “I said, get up!”

  Devon stood up slowly, raised his hands, a manic grin spread across his face. “It’s over! I love that! Was it planned? It’s over! Classic. Carlos will love this. We’ll call it the Double Cross!”

  “You’re delusional, Devon! It’s finished.”

  A fresh burst of wind raged across the promontory, harder than before. One of the lighting stands crashed to the ground in a flurry of sparks, halving the brightness.

  “Shit!” said Devon loudly, looking around. They could make him out more clearly now, the remaining light stand illuminating the scene from an angle. “But one should do.”

  He reached into his pocket and removed a remote control, waved it in the air. “Action from both sides,” he called, gesturing to his left. Alistair turned, spotted a red light peering out from the darkness, the profile shot.

  “Cut it, Devon,” he said. “Just cut the cameras, cut everything.”

  “Are you crazy, Alesandro? Scene one’s just begun. I can’t wait to discover what’s next.”

  Alistair took one step forward, gun held firmly, pointed at Devon’s chest. They were five meters apart. Behind Alistair, Terri kept the powerful torch shining into Devon’s eyes.

  “This isn’t a movie, Devon.”

  Devon roared with laughter, stamping his feet. “Brilliant! This movie, this movie…is not a movie!”

  Alistair took another step forward, gun before him, brought his left hand up to the handle.

  “What is it, Alesandro? What magic script have you dreamed up?” Devon opened and closed his eyes, adjusting to the beam of Terri’s Maglite. “You would’ve loved my last. Richard. I wish you’d been there. A simple script. Richard takes a tainted speedball and we document his downfall—after a little horseplay, of course. Quite disturbing. Agonizing. I couldn’t watch. But some people like that kind of thing. I’m calling it ‘Brain Drain.’ Not exactly consensual, but it’s time we waive that proviso now, don’t you think?”

  Alistair stared at him, the information flowing through his numbed mind, a revelation. Another one. Of course. But nothing surprised him now: the shark, the body, the drugs, the guns.

  A collection of tumbling grass swept past Alistair, out of the light and down to the depths below. Devon laughed again, wild hand gestures swirling in the wind.

  “It’s showbiz, Alesandro. Ritchie was a good boy. Innocent to start. We had a…thing. But he was too clever for his own good. Came close to discovering a few home truths.”

  Alistair’s mind raced. Richard, murdered. And Johnny, dead. It suddenly occurred to him that Devon had never lost control on the boat; one way or another, Johnny was never coming back from that trip. And what else? What other horrors was he involved in?

  The gun shook violently in his hand—the horror of realization consuming his fear, masking the cold that beat at him. Was there a way to resolve this without pulling the trigger? Devon deserved it, he knew that now—deserved to die in agony for what he had done. But could he end a human life? He was always a negotiator, a manipulator even; he had a way with words.

  “Devon, we must stand up to Dark Video. If we don’t, we’ll never be free.”

  “Dark Video?” Devon laughed. “It’s not about Dark Video. It’s about me! Finally, I’m meting out justice in return for suffering.”

  Alistair rubbed his streaming eyes on the sleeve of his free hand. What was he talking about? “You’re crazy, Devon. You’re sick…”

  “Oh yes, Alesandro? Crazy, sick? And what about you? Terri, has he explained everything to you? Your rescuer, your savior—has he told you about his role in the forest the day he met you?”

  Terri stepped forward, holding onto Alistair’s waist with one hand, pressing against him, the light beam from the torch shaking.

  “And you rush to him now, your savior—when he was one of your attackers in the first place. When he spent weeks coaxing a dying man into being eaten by a shark. Who’s sick now, Terri? Or hasn’t he told you that one yet either?”

  “Don’t believe him, Terri. He’s insane, he’s fucking insane.”

  “Rich coming from you, Alesandro. How do you explain your actions? At least I have an excuse. Look, I’m the burned boy.” He lifted his shirt front, letting the wind gust under, blowing it higher. A pox of welts and burn scars tattooed his skin. He spun around to display his back.

  “My uncle. The man with the boat. The Karoo farm. You never asked about him, Alesandro. He liked to use young boys for his fun. I was his favorite. I learned a lot from him. Funny thing about youth, they say you always bounce back. Not me, though. It became a recursive loop. I’d think about what happened and, halfway through, the same scene would start again and again. An endless rerun. Every time he did it to me, another scene was added. I couldn’t stop the playback.”

  Devon paused, a moment of bitter reflection as the wind continued its assault. Then another burst of laughter, mocking, manic. “But he died. A violent death. The start of my therapy.”

  “OK, Devon, OK.” Alistair held his hands out in front of him, palms up, gun pointing off at an angle. He was hoarse, shattered. “I understand. I understand why you’v
e done it. Let’s just all calm down. We’re going to go get the police around, explain everything. You need help.”

  “Police? Did you say call the police?” Devon cupped his ear with a hand. “How boring! And I thought you had some scriptwriting talent. No one will buy it! I’m deeply disappointed.”

  “Devon,” Alistair shouted. “There’s a letter…”

  “A letter?” Devon knelt quickly, picked up a rock, hurled it toward Alistair in a burst of rage. Alistair ducked, turned his head, shielding Terri.

  “What the fuck, Devon!” shouted Alistair, pointing the gun. “No more! It ends now.”

  Devon put his fist to his forehead. “I have an alternative to your police ending. Either you shoot me or I’ll kill you both. Choices, Alesandro, you have to offer choices. Don’t think I made you read Dice Man for nothing.”

  Alistair gestured again with the gun. “Don’t be insane, Devon. Nobody’s killing anybody. Let’s just go back into the house.”

  Devon picked up another rock, took more careful aim and threw it hard. Alistair recoiled as it struck him flush on the thigh.

  “I’m not afraid to die!” Devon shouted. “Life’s not been exactly golden for me. Perhaps you’ll put me out my misery. Be brave, Alesandro. You know you want to do it.”

  Alistair turned to Terri, gripped her by the shoulders, looked into her face. She trembled uncontrollably, face streaked with tears. He felt a hardness well through him. Could he pull the trigger to save her? He felt the steel of the gun in his hand, looked down at it. Was the safety catch on?

  Behind them, Devon took a step forward. “OK. No choices. You shoot me. Bang bang! A sure thing. But with a catch…” He knelt down and picked up a large rock of limestone, lifted it above his head. His shirt flapped up, the scars on his body an obscene sight in the flickering torchlight. “I’m coming for you. If you don’t hit me, I’ll kill you both with my bare hands.”

  “Devon!” Alistair’s body was rigid, his call a plea and a warning in one, the gun swaying in his hand.

  “I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again!” Devon roared. “My uncle, my lover, my housemate, other perverts, assholes, druggies. It’s no loss to the world. I was doing everyone a favor!” He took a step forward. “But the star and the princess—that wouldn’t be nice, would it? You must shoot me. You have no option.”