“What are you trying to do?” he said. “Ruin the film?”
Then he aimed the gun right at my chest and shot me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I know this place. I’ve been here before. I am lying on my back and I’m looking up at the ceiling. Just like the last time… yes, I was in an apartment building then, in the middle of a city, people above and below me, down the hall and all around me in every direction. My partner was on the floor next to me, the light slowly going out in his eyes. There were sirens on the street below. It was hot.
Now I am alone on the floor, in a cottage next to a lake, in one of the most remote places I’ve ever seen. The man standing over me may be the only other person within miles. It is silent here and it is cold. Everything is different. Yet exactly the same.
There was a single shot. It made a strange alien sound as it came out of the white tube. I know in my mind, in that high place above everything else where I’m looking down and seeing it as it happens, that the slug was slowed by the wipe barrier, that the gases were trapped inside the tube, and that this is why the sound was so foreign to me. My ears are not ringing.
He has put the gun down on the counter. I am lying on the floor and I am looking up at him. He flips a switch and a light goes on. It hurts my eyes. Then he leaves the room and I reach toward the gun. I can see the black handle extending over the edge of the counter. It is four feet from my hand. I cannot reach it. I am bleeding.
He comes back into the room and now he has a black movie camera in his hands. There are knobs and dials and a lens that he points at me now. Around his chest he has slung another machine. A wire leads to a microphone and this he extends toward me. Both machines are smoothly humming, so softly I can barely hear the gears turning.
“Tell me who you are,” he says to me.
I cannot speak. I am bleeding.
“Did you bring the film?”
I try to make a sound.
“You realize this entire project is on hold until I get that film back. It is in limbo. It is dead in the water.”
He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer?
“Please tell me you didn’t come up here without bringing the film.”
More staring. I am bleeding. I am-
“You know what? You look like a cop. You ever play a cop before? Have you ever played a state police officer, say? I bet you have.”
The man closes his eyes for a moment. He shakes his head. But he keeps the machines still.
“You’ve got to be more careful when somebody’s developing film, you know. You may have exposed it, which would not be good at all, believe me. I’ve had enough problems on this project without having to reshoot.”
He turns off both machines, takes the strap off his shoulder, and puts everything down on the counter. He has to move the gun aside to make room. The gun is even closer to me now.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t go away.”
He turns the light off. I am back in complete darkness. I hear him opening the door to the small room. The door closes behind him. I hear his voice from the room but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I try to move my arms. My right arm, I can move. My left arm is numb. I wedge my right elbow underneath my side. I am bleeding. I try to push myself up. My head spins. I feel something shift in my rib cage and it makes everything go white for a second. Then black again. I try to push myself up again. A sound is coming out of my throat. I can taste blood in my mouth.
I try to lean my head forward. Push myself up even more. I can slide my right knee under me now. I can almost sit up. I try to reach with my left arm but I cannot move it. Lift the right arm. Keep my balance. Reach with my right hand. I cannot see anything. It’s too dark.
The edge of the counter. Right there. Slide my hand this way. Nothing. Slide my hand back, feel the cold metal. I close my grip on it and the whole thing falls to the floor.
The door opens. He comes out, goes into the other room, comes back.
“It’s okay, I can turn the light on now,” he says. “The film is drying. We’ll see how it turns out.”
The light goes on and I see the gun with its long white homemade suppressor, right there in front of me. I reach for it but it’s gone before I can touch it. He takes it away and he puts it back on the counter.
“You realize I have to develop the film here now. Everything’s locked up down there in Bad Axe. No developing, no editing. So I can’t put the new scenes in. I can’t dub in the sound track. I’m totally stopped dead here.”
He’s down on one knee now, looking at me.
“Do you think Hitchcock ever had to develop his own film in a closet? Huh? You think?”
He’s about to stand up, then he comes back down to my eye level.
“You’ve played a cop, right? Did I already ask you that? You sure look like one.”
I’m dizzy. He’s starting to waver back and forth in front of me.
“You played a Michigan State Trooper, right? So how many people did you put away in prison?”
I make a sound. There’s more blood in my mouth.
“How many families did you tear apart, huh?”
I am starting to slide backward.
“Let me ask you this,” he says. “Here’s the big question. How many kids did you chase down, so you could drag them back to hell?”
I fall backward and feel the wood against my back. I’m half sitting, half lying. Half alive, half dead.
“How about it? How many kids did you personally stop from climbing out of hell, so you could drag them back and cast them over the edge ?”
He sits back. He tilts his head.
“I’m not sure if we can use you,” he says. “What’s the context here? How does it even fit?”
He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them.
“Tell you what, let’s see what you’ve got. If it’s good enough, we’ll find a way to use it.”
He gets back up, goes to the counter, and slings one machine back over his shoulder. He picks up the other machine and now he has them both pointed at me again. I don’t want him to be doing this. I am bleeding. I raise my right hand.
“Okay, action,” he says. “Go ahead.”
I’m trying to breathe. I’m leaning against the hard wood. I’m bleeding and I’m trying to breathe.
He doesn’t move. He’s silent. Time passes.
“Any day now,” he whispers. “Come on, I’m going to run out of film.”
Breathe. I’m trying to breathe.
“Here’s my other problem,” he says. “All I’ve got are old short ends. Real ancient stuff. It kept pretty well in the basement, but it’s hard to shoot for more than a few minutes at a time. And I already used some this morning.”
He gets down on his knees. He has the gun in his hand again.
“There’s nothing like the look of film, though. Am I right? The most expensive digital video in the world, it can’t touch the look of film. Just ask my grandfather. Or hell, ask my cousin. He’s right in the other room.”
He’s pointing the gun at me. That white tube is aimed right at my forehead.
“Sean was supposed to bring the film up here with him. He specifically promised me that he would. Understand, it’s not like he was supposed to bring twelve things and the film was just one of them. He was supposed to bring one single thing and that was the film.”
He moves the gun closer. It’s inches away from me now. I try to reach for it.
“And now I have to reload. The camera, I mean. Ha ha, not the gun. If you’ll excuse me.”
He gets up off the floor. He takes both machines, and the gun, and he leaves the room. I can still hear him talking.
“One thing you were supposed to bring, Sean! Bring the film with you! One thing!”
I am going to die here. I will die here on this floor unless I get up.
I raise my right hand and I feel for the edge of the counter above my head. I grab on tight and I pull myself up. I weigh a thousand pounds. I slide against the wood and I can feel the blood slick against my back, until I have my chin up on the counter and then my elbow and my head is spinning again as I finally get both feet beneath me.