Watch Them Die

“It was just a bad dream, Mom.”

“Sure it was,” she agreed, patting his shoulder. “Now get some sleep. It’ll be morning soon.”

Three

For the last five minutes, they had been looking at static on the TV screen.

Hannah and the store manager, Tish, were in the cluttered closet that was the employee break room. There were a desk and chair, and several shelves crammed with old receipts, defective tapes, office supplies, and one tiny television with a built-in VCR. Tish screened allegedly flawed videos on this TV to make sure complaining customers weren’t just trying to score a free comp rental.

But this morning, Hannah and Tish were crammed in that little room, watching the Goodbar copycat video. It was a continual gray blizzard. Standing behind Tish in the chair, Hannah reached past her and tried the fast-forward button. Nothing. More static.

“Sure doesn’t look like Diane Keaton,” Tish cracked.

“I don’t know what happened,” Hannah murmured.

“Do you think you brought the wrong tape back?” Tish offered.

Hannah shook her head. “I couldn’t have. I remember last night taking it out of the VCR and putting it on the kitchen counter.”

“Well, maybe you taped over it by accident,” Tish said.

Bewildered, Hannah stared at the static on the TV screen. Had she erased the tape? She couldn’t have been that drunk last night, though she certainly had a hangover this morning.

“Well, fine,” Tish sighed, getting to her feet. “My one shot at seeing a snuff film, and you bring me fifteen minutes of snow.”

A buxom black woman in her mid-forties, Tish had a beautiful face and long, straight hair she always pulled back with a barrette. She wore a pair of jeans, boots, and an oversized purple V-neck sweater. Tish, along with her girlfriend, Sandra, had been the owner and manager of Emerald City Video for almost eleven years.

She squeezed past Hannah and started out of the break room. “C’mon, let’s get these returns checked in before the store opens.”

Hannah ejected the tape from the VCR, then wandered toward the front counter.

Tish was at the register, stacking up the returned videos and DVDs.

“You know, I woke up early, early this morning,” Hannah said. “And I thought someone was in the apartment. Maybe somebody switched the tapes.”

Tish stared at her. “You had a break-in? And you didn’t call the cops?”

“I said I thought someone was there.” She shrugged. “When I checked, I didn’t see anyone, and nothing was missing. I figured I was wrong. Only now, I don’t know.”

Tish looked at her as if she were crazy.

Hannah started filing away DVDs. She couldn’t explain it. Hell, she didn’t know what to believe. She’d had a run-in with a bitchy customer last night, gone home, skipped dinner, and downed a glass of wine. Then she’d started to look at a video, and it scared the hell out of her. Two and a half glasses of Chardonnay later, she had thought someone was in the apartment. She didn’t want to share any of this with Tish. She didn’t want her to know that she sometimes drank too much.

“I don’t get it.” One hand on the counter and the other on her hip, Tish frowned at her. “I mean, if you really think someone broke into your place last night to rip off what looked like a snuff film, maybe it really was a snuff film. You might want to contact the police.”

Hannah tried to keep busy with the DVDs. She sighed. “They’ll just say it was a hoax. It’s what you thought last night. You were trying to convince me it was someone’s project for a film class. You said so yourself; there’s no such thing as a genuine snuff film. They’re all fake.”

“Well, maybe you found a real McCoy. What’s the harm in putting in a call to the cops, huh? Let them know what happened—”

“No,” Hannah said. “It’s too late to call them now. There’s nothing to back up my story. The video’s just static now. I’ll come across as some nutcase. Please, let’s just drop it. No need to call the police, really. I don’t want you to.”

“You sure?” Tish asked.

“Of course,” she replied. Hannah finished filing DVDs and started in on the tapes. She could feel Tish studying her. After a minute, Hannah glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the door. “Time to open up,” she said. “And Howard’s waiting. He’ll want to know What’s new in new releases?”

“Yeah, goddamn pain in the ass,” Tish muttered, sauntering toward the door. “Always wants me to recommend something, puts me through the wringer, and never rents a damn thing I tell him to.” She unlocked the door and opened it. “Well, Howard, how’s my favorite customer?”

“What’s new in new releases?” the older man asked.

“Come on over here,” Hannah heard Tish say. “Let’s take a look….”

Hannah continued to file away the DVDs. She hoped she’d gotten through to Tish about not calling the police. If the video had still been intact, and they’d determined it was real, she would have asked Tish to handle everything. She’d have asked to be left out of it.

Only a week ago, she’d confirmed once again that it still wasn’t safe for her to become involved with the authorities in any way.

In the store, they’d been showing a new comedy called Way Out There. Hannah had recognized one of the actors as a fellow student from her days in Chicago’s Second City troupe. They used to hang out together.

Way Out There was still playing when Hannah took her break. She dropped ten dollars in the change box, pulled out a roll of quarters, then went across the street to the mall. From a pay phone, she called an old friend in Chicago, Ann Gilmore. Ann had also been at Second City.

Hannah caught her at home.

“Hannah? Well, hi. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m doing all right. It’s so good to hear your voice, Ann. Makes me homesick.” She meant it, too. She wished she didn’t have to call her from some public pay phone with all these people around. She covered one ear to block out the music from Old Navy next door.

“Is Guy all right?” Ann asked, concern in her tone.

“Oh, yes, he’s fine, cute as ever. I just haven’t talked with you in so long, I wanted to catch up. You know, I thought I saw Rick Swanson in this movie, um, Way Out There.”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s doing really well. We talked just about a month ago. Your ears were probably burning. Rick was going on and on about how you were the prettiest and most talented of our group.”

“Oh, please,” Hannah groaned.

“No, he’s right. I can’t help thinking, you might have gotten the same kind of break as Rick—if only things hadn’t turned out the way they had.” Ann paused. “I guess you don’t need to reminded of that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really,” Hannah said with a pitiful laugh.

“Rick asked if I ever heard from you at all. I—um, I told him ‘no.’ I hope that’s okay.”

“You did the right thing,” Hannah murmured. “Thanks, Ann.”

“A few weeks ago, I had another visit from a private investigator, a new one this time. Apparently he talked to a bunch of people from our old group. Of course, none of us could tell him anything.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know, Ann.”