Sinking (2/13)
Title: Sinking, Part 2
Series: TCR (real, not fake)
Rating: PG-13 for spookiness and language.
Warnings: Violence and mental instability.
Summary: Producing a television show is no easy feat, but it's fulfilling work-- until a strange presence begins to break everything down.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. IN SHORT: None of this is real. I just like scary stories.
(Jump to: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13)
“Run it all by me again,” Jon said. “Last night was hectic, to say the least.”
“We don't really know what happened,” Stephen replied. “We were gearing up for the show and we needed a prop at the last minute, so we sent her upstairs to get it. Next thing I know, the police are being called because she ran outside screaming with her face cut open, and she wouldn't come back in.”
“Someone in the studio attacked her,” Jon said.
“We don’t know. She wouldn’t say, and everyone was all so busy that I’m really at a loss to figure out who was missing that could’ve done that to her.” Stephen took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The police questioned everyone, but they wouldn’t tell us if they had any leads. I want to believe someone snuck in from outside, but Katie was so unwilling to say anything...”
“When you find out, whoever it is, they’re gone. Now.”
“I know. If I knew who it was…”
“Fucking gone.” Stephen could tell Jon was restraining himself from longer strings of expletives.
“The thing is, I can’t think of anyone here who would do something like that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what they always say after the fact, you know? The neighbors. ‘He was so quiet’ and all that.”
“Jon, I don't want to think that we hired someone like that.”
“That may be, but keep an eye out.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You all okay with doing a show tonight?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Stephen rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. “It'll be weird, but we can do it. Probably use most of what we planned for last night.”
“Okay. Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Can do.”
They said their good-byes and Stephen hung up. He stretched, rubbed his head, thought about the night before. Instead of spending the evening entertaining an audience, he and the staff had fielded questions from police officers. All in all, not a good night.
There was a knock on his open door and he looked over. Allison stood in the doorway. “Hey, it's meeting time. Do you want me to talk to them or do you?”
Stephen nodded. “Yeah, I'll do it. Is everyone there?”
“Just about.”
Minutes later, they stood in the studio, facing the audience bleachers. The show staff stared attentively back at them.
“Well,” Stephen said loudly so everyone could hear, “I think everyone knows why we're here. By now I'm sure you've all heard about what happened to Katie.”
He looked from face to face, looking for that guilty glint, afraid he’d find it. But he could only find sympathy, worry, and disgust, and he still could not bring himself to suspect any of them. That only made him angrier, that one of these people he trusted would do something so vicious.
“We don’t know who did this,” Stephen said, keeping down his rising temper. “Honestly, with how busy we are around that time, a whole lot of you are suspect. We are in full cooperation with the police. This is unacceptable. This is disgusting. I will not have a person who could do that to another human being working in this studio.
“If anyone of you has any information, come to me or Allison immediately.”
He scanned the group again, but still could not find any guilt, only uneasiness. He took a deep breath. “Alright. Let's get to work.”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
When Stephen walked into the writers' meeting, Allison and Richard looked up at him with wry smiles on their faces. The other writers looked at each other awkwardly.
Stephen put down his notepad at the head of the table. “Alright, just say what you want to say so we can do what we have to do.”
Allison shook her head. “It's just that the interns, apparently, have their own ideas about what happened to Katie.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow expectantly and sat down.
“They think,” she said, propping her elbows on the table and twisting her pen in her fingers, “it's a ghost.”
He stared at her, brow furrowing. He didn't say anything.
She shrugged. “We were just saying we thought it was silly.”
“Yeah, it's silly, but what happened the last night was serious. I don't know why they'd feel the need to make up stories like that.”
“Carrie felt the same way,” one of the writers spoke up. “She's wrangling them up in meetings of her own. She's pissed.”
“Well, they're not twelve anymore,” Stephen said, more harshly than he meant.
Lucky the writer seemed to understand the hostility wasn't directed at him. “Never too old to believe in ghosts,” he said.
“But old enough to know where ghost stories belong in the professional workplace.”
Richard raised an eyebrow at this. “Well, shit, I forgot to wear my suit.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You gotta admit,” said someone at the other end of the table, “what happened was pretty fucked up. I don't think it's weird that they're more comfortable thinking it was a ghost.”
“Comfortable, but not realistic,” Stephen pointed out.
“I get the feeling you don't believe in ghosts,” Allison said.
“I never did,” Stephen said. He shrugged at her surprised look. “Never seen one. There's most always a rational explanation when people think they've seen one.”
“Rational explanation talk from our own Catholic?” Richard said with a grin.
Stephen smiled back. “Hey, fans say I've been touched by the hand of God, and it's done me well. I've also interviewed people looking for Bigfoot, and let's just say it's enlightening where ideas about ghosts and aliens and monsters come from.”
“Bit of an evasion there.”
“Well, we're supposed to be talking funny, not spooky. Now unless anyone here has actually seen this ghost-or any ghost, as a matter of fact-what do we need to laugh about today?”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
The day went as normally as it could have with the strangeness of Katie's absence and the various stories of what had happened to her lingering throughout the studio. The gossip was only encouraged by the police's reappearance for their follow-up investigation. As the taping drew nearer there was a wariness between staff members, as if they were afraid another bloodied intern would come flying down the stairs before the audience was even brought inside. But no such thing happened, and the show went on with only the usual snags.
It was odd and awkward, after something so terrible, to go on with things as usual, and to know that eventually things would get back to normal. Stephen thought about this as people stopped by his office to say goodbye as for the night, when a few even stumbled by in laughter. There was something sad in how the world kept turning, but a relief at the same time. He'd gone outside to see Katie before the ambulance took her to the hospital, and it wasn't a picture he liked having in his head. Her wide eyes stared off into nothing, wind whipping her hair into her face, strands sticking to the not-yet-dry blood welled up in the gouges in her cheek.
Richard and Allison came in for their final short meeting of the night. It was only about fifteen minutes; Stephen was eager to get home to his family. They reviewed their plans for the next day's show and discussed some changes before calling it a night.
“Hey,” Allison said as she and Richard got up with their notepads. “Wanna hear a joke my niece told me the other day?”
“Sure,” Richard said.
“What's green and has wheels?”
“What?”
“Grass. I lied about the wheels.”
It was simple and silly, and it was just what Stephen needed. He laughed with them, feeling the tension leave him for the first time that night. He was reminded how he enjoyed where his life was at, working with people he loved in a job that seemed tailored for him. Everything just fit; despite inevitable problems, he felt happy.
The laughter in the room was cut off by the sharp sound of shattering glass. Allison shrieked and Stephen spun around in his chair. Only jags of glass were left in the window, letting the cold air stream in. Richard rushed to the ragged hole, peering outside as far as he could without sticking his head through.
“Who was it?” Allison asked.
“No one,” Richard replied. “Don't see anyone.”
“What did they throw?”
“Nothing,” Stephen said, staring at the window. “The glass broke outwards.”
“What are you talking about?” Allison said, searching the floor.
“It broke out,” Stephen said again. “Otherwise there'd be glass all over the floor.”
Allison looked at the few bits of glass on the carpet, then gave Stephen a look. “That doesn't make sense.”
“I'm sure there's an explanation,” he said quickly.
“Freezing in here already,” Richard said, heading out the door. “I'll get one of the custodians.”
“Someone had to have thrown something,” Allison said firmly. “You know, those kids are out there practically every--”
“That's not fair,” Stephen snapped.
“Maybe they were trying to get your attention.”
“Since when do they do it like that?!”
“I'm just saying maybe--”
“I'm tired,” Stephen replied coldly, and it was true. It was like all the good feeling had crashed through the window, escaping into the night. “After they look at this, I'm going home.”
Obviously aggravated, Allison didn't look at him and gathered up her things. “Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.”
After offering little more than a shrug to the custodian as an explanation for the window, Stephen grabbed his coat and keys and headed out. No fans were waiting for him, and he found himself thinking bitterly of Allison's accusation. But as he climbed the stairs in the parking garage, he slowly realized that it wasn't really that far-fetched for her to suggest, even though it wasn't as plausible as a trouble-making passerby. Of course, neither of those made much sense when they couldn't find what had been thrown through the window, when it had shattered outwards as if someone in the room had smashed it with a fist.
He pushed the button on his keychain that unlocked his car, and the beep echoed throughout the near-empty garage. Nothing was different than any other night, yet as he opened the door a strange tightness twisted in his stomach. He looked for movement between the other cars, on the stairs, coming up the ramp, but he was alone.
“Stupid,” he muttered, getting into the driver's seat. The anxious feeling thankfully dissipated by the time he got home.
Series: TCR (real, not fake)
Rating: PG-13 for spookiness and language.
Warnings: Violence and mental instability.
Summary: Producing a television show is no easy feat, but it's fulfilling work-- until a strange presence begins to break everything down.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. IN SHORT: None of this is real. I just like scary stories.
(Jump to: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13)
“Run it all by me again,” Jon said. “Last night was hectic, to say the least.”
“We don't really know what happened,” Stephen replied. “We were gearing up for the show and we needed a prop at the last minute, so we sent her upstairs to get it. Next thing I know, the police are being called because she ran outside screaming with her face cut open, and she wouldn't come back in.”
“Someone in the studio attacked her,” Jon said.
“We don’t know. She wouldn’t say, and everyone was all so busy that I’m really at a loss to figure out who was missing that could’ve done that to her.” Stephen took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The police questioned everyone, but they wouldn’t tell us if they had any leads. I want to believe someone snuck in from outside, but Katie was so unwilling to say anything...”
“When you find out, whoever it is, they’re gone. Now.”
“I know. If I knew who it was…”
“Fucking gone.” Stephen could tell Jon was restraining himself from longer strings of expletives.
“The thing is, I can’t think of anyone here who would do something like that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what they always say after the fact, you know? The neighbors. ‘He was so quiet’ and all that.”
“Jon, I don't want to think that we hired someone like that.”
“That may be, but keep an eye out.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You all okay with doing a show tonight?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Stephen rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. “It'll be weird, but we can do it. Probably use most of what we planned for last night.”
“Okay. Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Can do.”
They said their good-byes and Stephen hung up. He stretched, rubbed his head, thought about the night before. Instead of spending the evening entertaining an audience, he and the staff had fielded questions from police officers. All in all, not a good night.
There was a knock on his open door and he looked over. Allison stood in the doorway. “Hey, it's meeting time. Do you want me to talk to them or do you?”
Stephen nodded. “Yeah, I'll do it. Is everyone there?”
“Just about.”
Minutes later, they stood in the studio, facing the audience bleachers. The show staff stared attentively back at them.
“Well,” Stephen said loudly so everyone could hear, “I think everyone knows why we're here. By now I'm sure you've all heard about what happened to Katie.”
He looked from face to face, looking for that guilty glint, afraid he’d find it. But he could only find sympathy, worry, and disgust, and he still could not bring himself to suspect any of them. That only made him angrier, that one of these people he trusted would do something so vicious.
“We don’t know who did this,” Stephen said, keeping down his rising temper. “Honestly, with how busy we are around that time, a whole lot of you are suspect. We are in full cooperation with the police. This is unacceptable. This is disgusting. I will not have a person who could do that to another human being working in this studio.
“If anyone of you has any information, come to me or Allison immediately.”
He scanned the group again, but still could not find any guilt, only uneasiness. He took a deep breath. “Alright. Let's get to work.”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
When Stephen walked into the writers' meeting, Allison and Richard looked up at him with wry smiles on their faces. The other writers looked at each other awkwardly.
Stephen put down his notepad at the head of the table. “Alright, just say what you want to say so we can do what we have to do.”
Allison shook her head. “It's just that the interns, apparently, have their own ideas about what happened to Katie.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow expectantly and sat down.
“They think,” she said, propping her elbows on the table and twisting her pen in her fingers, “it's a ghost.”
He stared at her, brow furrowing. He didn't say anything.
She shrugged. “We were just saying we thought it was silly.”
“Yeah, it's silly, but what happened the last night was serious. I don't know why they'd feel the need to make up stories like that.”
“Carrie felt the same way,” one of the writers spoke up. “She's wrangling them up in meetings of her own. She's pissed.”
“Well, they're not twelve anymore,” Stephen said, more harshly than he meant.
Lucky the writer seemed to understand the hostility wasn't directed at him. “Never too old to believe in ghosts,” he said.
“But old enough to know where ghost stories belong in the professional workplace.”
Richard raised an eyebrow at this. “Well, shit, I forgot to wear my suit.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You gotta admit,” said someone at the other end of the table, “what happened was pretty fucked up. I don't think it's weird that they're more comfortable thinking it was a ghost.”
“Comfortable, but not realistic,” Stephen pointed out.
“I get the feeling you don't believe in ghosts,” Allison said.
“I never did,” Stephen said. He shrugged at her surprised look. “Never seen one. There's most always a rational explanation when people think they've seen one.”
“Rational explanation talk from our own Catholic?” Richard said with a grin.
Stephen smiled back. “Hey, fans say I've been touched by the hand of God, and it's done me well. I've also interviewed people looking for Bigfoot, and let's just say it's enlightening where ideas about ghosts and aliens and monsters come from.”
“Bit of an evasion there.”
“Well, we're supposed to be talking funny, not spooky. Now unless anyone here has actually seen this ghost-or any ghost, as a matter of fact-what do we need to laugh about today?”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
The day went as normally as it could have with the strangeness of Katie's absence and the various stories of what had happened to her lingering throughout the studio. The gossip was only encouraged by the police's reappearance for their follow-up investigation. As the taping drew nearer there was a wariness between staff members, as if they were afraid another bloodied intern would come flying down the stairs before the audience was even brought inside. But no such thing happened, and the show went on with only the usual snags.
It was odd and awkward, after something so terrible, to go on with things as usual, and to know that eventually things would get back to normal. Stephen thought about this as people stopped by his office to say goodbye as for the night, when a few even stumbled by in laughter. There was something sad in how the world kept turning, but a relief at the same time. He'd gone outside to see Katie before the ambulance took her to the hospital, and it wasn't a picture he liked having in his head. Her wide eyes stared off into nothing, wind whipping her hair into her face, strands sticking to the not-yet-dry blood welled up in the gouges in her cheek.
Richard and Allison came in for their final short meeting of the night. It was only about fifteen minutes; Stephen was eager to get home to his family. They reviewed their plans for the next day's show and discussed some changes before calling it a night.
“Hey,” Allison said as she and Richard got up with their notepads. “Wanna hear a joke my niece told me the other day?”
“Sure,” Richard said.
“What's green and has wheels?”
“What?”
“Grass. I lied about the wheels.”
It was simple and silly, and it was just what Stephen needed. He laughed with them, feeling the tension leave him for the first time that night. He was reminded how he enjoyed where his life was at, working with people he loved in a job that seemed tailored for him. Everything just fit; despite inevitable problems, he felt happy.
The laughter in the room was cut off by the sharp sound of shattering glass. Allison shrieked and Stephen spun around in his chair. Only jags of glass were left in the window, letting the cold air stream in. Richard rushed to the ragged hole, peering outside as far as he could without sticking his head through.
“Who was it?” Allison asked.
“No one,” Richard replied. “Don't see anyone.”
“What did they throw?”
“Nothing,” Stephen said, staring at the window. “The glass broke outwards.”
“What are you talking about?” Allison said, searching the floor.
“It broke out,” Stephen said again. “Otherwise there'd be glass all over the floor.”
Allison looked at the few bits of glass on the carpet, then gave Stephen a look. “That doesn't make sense.”
“I'm sure there's an explanation,” he said quickly.
“Freezing in here already,” Richard said, heading out the door. “I'll get one of the custodians.”
“Someone had to have thrown something,” Allison said firmly. “You know, those kids are out there practically every--”
“That's not fair,” Stephen snapped.
“Maybe they were trying to get your attention.”
“Since when do they do it like that?!”
“I'm just saying maybe--”
“I'm tired,” Stephen replied coldly, and it was true. It was like all the good feeling had crashed through the window, escaping into the night. “After they look at this, I'm going home.”
Obviously aggravated, Allison didn't look at him and gathered up her things. “Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.”
After offering little more than a shrug to the custodian as an explanation for the window, Stephen grabbed his coat and keys and headed out. No fans were waiting for him, and he found himself thinking bitterly of Allison's accusation. But as he climbed the stairs in the parking garage, he slowly realized that it wasn't really that far-fetched for her to suggest, even though it wasn't as plausible as a trouble-making passerby. Of course, neither of those made much sense when they couldn't find what had been thrown through the window, when it had shattered outwards as if someone in the room had smashed it with a fist.
He pushed the button on his keychain that unlocked his car, and the beep echoed throughout the near-empty garage. Nothing was different than any other night, yet as he opened the door a strange tightness twisted in his stomach. He looked for movement between the other cars, on the stairs, coming up the ramp, but he was alone.
“Stupid,” he muttered, getting into the driver's seat. The anxious feeling thankfully dissipated by the time he got home.