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.
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.
