Misery Bay (39 page)

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.

I stay there for a while and I see the thin line of blood running across the countertop. I know the gun is gone. I pull open the nearest drawer with the hand that still works. Batteries and old keys and junk. I pull open the next drawer and I see white plastic silverware and there, a knife with a long serrated edge. I take it out and now I’m ready to do something at least. Have some effect on the night instead of having it all taken away from me, gunned down like a stray dog in the gutter.

I take a step forward. I’m still leaning against the counter, using it as a rail now, moving forward along this straight line until I hit the edge of the refrigerator and almost go down again. I grab the handle of the refrigerator and drop the knife. I cannot bend down to pick it up. That would be impossible.

I can see through to the other room now. On the other side of the chair, Sean slumped on the floor. Dead and gone and three steps ahead of me. I grit my teeth and push myself toward him, find the back of his chair and now I’m leaning over him like I’m about to tell him a secret. I’m next, I’m next, wait for me.

I see the glass door and the night outside. The door still open an inch or two from when I came in. There’s a new strip of film hanging on the board. Two of them now, with my own performance about to be added to them. It’s a long way to the door but I’m up and moving now, almost floating it feels like, until I hit the glass and smear it with spit and blood and where the hell is he, anyway? He’s loading the film but he must have heard me by now in this tiny house.

I wedge myself into the door’s opening, thrust my arm through and then my shoulder, push it open with my head until my side touches the metal edge and everything flashes white again.

I fall through the doorway and now I’m spinning in the night air until I hit the gas grill and hold on to stop from falling to the ground. I see trees ahead of me and water in the impossible distance. If I can get to the trees. It is all I can think about now. I move across the rough ground and I slide through a patch of snow and feel myself touching its coldness with my right hand, pushing myself back up to rebalance and to keep moving forward.

I must breathe. I need air. I am bleeding.

I come to the first tree and I grab at the rough bark with my right hand and there is a low branch there to catch me. I slide around to the far side and lean my weight against it. I am in the dark now and I press against the pain in my left shoulder. Hand, shirt, coat, anything to stop the bleeding. I cannot stay here.

In my mind’s eye, I see my truck. It is far away through an endless forest. Across a continent. But it is my only hope.

Breathe. Breathe.

I go to the next tree. I grab for another branch. I lean against it and catch whatever breath I can find.

Then the next tree. And the next.

I see light. It is coming from behind me. I am casting a long shadow through the woods as I stumble from one tree to the next. The light is coming from behind me but I do not look backward.

I hear the voice now. The low whisper.

“Yes. This is good.”

I will not let this happen. I cannot go down this way. I move to the next tree. The light follows me. The light and the voice.

“Perfect. Keep going.”

I find a measure of strength from somewhere. It is impossible, but I suck in a breath of air and it seems to fill my lungs, finally. I push myself to the next tree, then the next. I am actually moving now. I am almost walking. I am finding branch after branch and then I trip and catch myself. I hang by one arm and I’m twisted around. I see the single bright light shining down on me. It is over his head. He is wearing it as he follows me through the woods. He has the camera. He has the audio recorder. He is a walking movie studio and he’s following my every step.

I taste the blood in my mouth. I pull myself up and turn. I have so far to go.

No. It’s not that far. I can see the truck. I am close.

Another tree, then another, and this time a broken branch scratches against my cheek. There is water at my feet and I feel it soaking into my shoes. It is cold and it comes up through my body like electricity. My left arm is still dead and useless and I’m swinging my right arm and hurling myself forward like something from a monster movie. Which is exactly what this has become. I know this. He is right behind me and there’s no way I can get away from him. Unless …

I see the boat launch, the concrete slab angled down into the lake. I know if I take one step on it I’ll go right in and never come out. I reach out and grab the rough wood of the dock. The platform over the water, where I first stopped to look at the edge of the lake and to wonder if he could possibly be here somewhere. My truck is just across the street here. A few yards away. It is waiting for me. If I can get in I’ll find a way to put the key in. I’ll turn it and I’ll press the gas pedal and then steer down the long empty road until I reach something. That’s my only way out of this.

I see my shadow in front of me again. The shadow grows shorter and I know he’s close. I turn and try to swing at him but I feel myself going down onto the dock. I feel the wood against my face. I can’t breathe again. I have to breathe.

“Bravo,” he whispers to me. “I’m getting every second here. This is beautiful.”

I roll away from him. I feel myself come to rest by the post at the end of the dock. I reach out for something to hold on to. Something I can grab and throw at him. Or plunge into his neck. There is nothing but the post and cold water, inches below me.

He comes closer. The light is getting brighter and brighter. He is wearing it on his head like a miner’s helmet. As he bends over me, the audio machine pulls down from his chest, straining against the strap. The camera is on its own strap, looped around his neck now. He pushes the microphone closer to me.

I wave with my right hand. Come here.

“What a great scene,” he says. “I’m so glad you showed up now.”

I wave again. Come here.

He comes in for the close-up. Time to say good night.

I push myself up. I reach out and grab one of the straps. All I have is dead weight now, but it might be enough. I fall backward, bringing him with me. He collapses across my body and rolls right over me, head first into the water. I hear an instant of hiss as the hot light hits the cold water and then his body follows with a great splash. I am lying on the edge of the dock and I’m soaked and it is icy cold but it feels good. It wakes me up and lets me take one more breath. I’m still holding on to that strap. I roll all the way over so my arm is in the icy water and I’m reaching below the dock. I feel for a cross beam and I pull the strap through and around and then I pull back as tight as I can. He is thrashing now and for one second his head comes back above the water. He is spitting water and screaming and then he says his last words, “Cut! Stop rolling! Cut!”

I pull harder and he’s back below the water. He’s half under the dock and I hold on to that strap like it’s the last good thing I’ll ever get to do on this earth. I hold on to it for as long as I can until the thrashing grows quieter, until he is still and it’s just me facedown on the dock, looking through the narrow slit between the planks and I see his dark form below me. I hear a drop of my blood falling into the water. Then another. Then another and I finally see another light moving across the water. It sweeps across my face and then it’s dark again.