Sinking (8/13)
Title: Sinking, Part 8
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)
Stephen didn't start with small talk on the phone the next day. “Jon, I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Jon replied, immediately concerned.
“Last night, I... Jon, I'm being completely serious here. I'm not joking.”
“Okay.”
“I'm not joking, and I'm not crazy, I'm just...”
“Go ahead. I'm listening.”
Stephen closed his eyes. Jon thought he was stressed. Jon thought he was just going to have to hand out some fame-handling advice. “Jon, last night I was here late and when I was leaving...” He told him everything: the basement, the shadow, the locked door. He didn't pause, just plowed through it. He didn't want to be subjected to more silence on the other end of the line than he had to be. And when he was finished, Jon was quiet for a long time.
“Alright,” Jon said finally, sounding like he wanted to laugh. “Okay, let me... I'm absorbing this.”
Stephen rested heavily on his desk. “Okay.”
“Stephen, you... I've always known you to be a smart, rational person.”
“And now that's changed?” Stephen said wryly.
“No. It hasn't.” Jon paused. “You're a smart guy, so I can't just brush this aside and say it was all in your head.”
“Okay.”
“But you understand the likelihood of this being paranormal.”
“... Yes.”
“So.” Another pause. “I'm going to make some calls. We'll have the security of the building checked out. If you want we can hire a couple more security officers.”
“No, the ones we have are fine. I don't want this place guarded like a prison.”
“Okay. We'll just have everything checked out then, and ask everyone to be more aware of who comes in and out, and we'll get the locks changed.”
“Jon, this wasn't... this wasn't a person.”
“Stephen, the likelihood--”
“I don't care what the likelihood is. You weren't there. You don't know how... It wasn't a person.”
“Stephen, I'm asking you to be the thinking, rational person I know.”
“No, you're fucking patronizing me as if I don't know what I'm talking about,” Stephen said angrily.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Jon replied, calm air weakening.
“I... I don't know,” Stephen said. “When your show was here, did you ever...”
“No, I never experienced anything bizarre, unless you count Lauren Weedman.” Jon tried to laugh, but stopped when Stephen didn't even react. “Stephen, come on.”
“Are you lying to me?” Stephen demanded. “Not one thing happened when The Daily Show was here?”
“Jesus, Stephen, you were there,” Jon retorted. “You know nothing happened!”
“Not to me, no.”
“You've got to be-”
“You were always so eager to move to bigger quarters.”
“You're saying I stuck you with a dangerously possessed building so I could get out.”
“I don't know.” Stephen closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
“Y-you... you don't... You know what? Fuck you, man,” Jon snapped. “I can't believe you'd think I'd do something like that, even if you're all having some mass fucking delusion.”
“It's not a-”
“Get that shit out of your head and do your fucking job.” And Jon hung up.
\\\\\\\\\\\\
Stephen would have been ecstatic to do his job, but he felt himself constantly slipping into a haze, thinking about the night before. He couldn't shake it, even though he knew he had to hold the crew together. Everyone seemed to be screwing up more than the day before, yet when Allison ranted to him about the interns losing the show's credit card, he couldn't muster up more than a blank stare.
She waved her hand in front of his face. “Helloooo?”
Stephen shook the cloudiness away. “I heard you. Sorry.”
“Well, it's not like you can do anything anyway. We already called to freeze any transactions.”
“Good,” Stephen said, rolling a pencil back and forth on his desk. “Good.”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You've been so quiet all day.”
He'd already decided after his disastrous conversation with Jon to keep last night to himself. He didn't need to feed the paranoia that had taken over the studio, much less have someone else question his sanity. He couldn't honestly say he wasn't questioning it himself. “I'm not acting so strange. No one is really feeling up to snuff around here, are they?”
She pulled up a chair and sat. “Everyone is freaked out, screwing up, yeah,” she agreed. She rapped her fingers on the chair arms. “But you... it's like this is sucking the life out of you.”
He glanced up at her, then back down at the pencil. “What is?”
“I don't know,” she said tightly. “You won't tell me.”
He forced a laugh. “What, you think it's the ghost?” He waggled his fingers, trying to be playful, but he didn't look her in the eye.
“Of course not,” she said quickly.
“Then what?”
“What, you want me to speculate on your personal life right here in front of you?”
“I'm saying that if you can't think of what could be wrong, then nothing's wrong,” he replied with a smile.
She did not smile back. In fact, she scowled at him and shot up from her seat. “Don't act like I don't know you,” she barked. “You don't have to divulge to me, but I'm not stupid.”
Stephen was taken aback. “Allison, I-I'm sorry.” She folded her arms and looked away from him, silent. “What's the matter?”
“What isn't the matter?” she laughed bitterly. “Everyone is dropping the ball. I keep trying to be encouraging, to keep everyone motivated, but it's like I'm the only one who doesn't think the show's been cursed. Everything just keeps going downhill. We're gonna get a call from Doug Herzog any day now.” Her eyes suddenly locked on him. “I just need to know that someone else here can keep it together!” she hollered.
A beat of silence. Then Stephen said, “Well, I guess now no one can.”
Her expression didn't change; she just stomped out of the room.
“Allison, wait!” Stephen called after her. “I didn't mean...” But it was too late, of course. He flopped back in his seat, wondering why he said that, of all things.
His head lolled to the side, and he gazed out the window. The street outside was like another world. The people who passed by seemed to be living normal lives, lives on a steady course, lives not abruptly intruded upon by something strange and alien. A couple with their dog walked past the building across the way. A jogger ran by them before strolled out of view. A girl stood at the curb, bundled up in a warm coat. A taxi sped down the street--
Stephen did a double take. He knew that girl.
He didn't give it more thought. He rushed from the office, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door. She was still there; she looked over when he burst from the building, and she abruptly turned to walk away as he ran across the street.
“Katie!” he called out, grabbing her shoulder.
She stopped cold, and it took her a moment to turn and look at him.
He realized he didn't know what to say. “How… how are you?”
She didn’t smile at him. Her face was blank. Dark red scabs arced down the side of her face. She didn’t reach up to touch them, but as her eyes flickered to the studio he could tell she was thinking of them. “I’m fine,” she said, voice without a trace of emotion.
“I'm glad,” he replied, doing his best to smile. But he knew what he wanted to ask. “Katie... you need to tell me what happened that night.”
She immediately bowed her head, long hair slipping down over her face. She didn't answer, but he needed to know. He had to be crazy. It had to have been a real person down there with him. Anything but a...
“Who was it?” he pressed.
She glanced up at him, smiling slightly. “No one. No one at all.”
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)
Stephen didn't start with small talk on the phone the next day. “Jon, I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Jon replied, immediately concerned.
“Last night, I... Jon, I'm being completely serious here. I'm not joking.”
“Okay.”
“I'm not joking, and I'm not crazy, I'm just...”
“Go ahead. I'm listening.”
Stephen closed his eyes. Jon thought he was stressed. Jon thought he was just going to have to hand out some fame-handling advice. “Jon, last night I was here late and when I was leaving...” He told him everything: the basement, the shadow, the locked door. He didn't pause, just plowed through it. He didn't want to be subjected to more silence on the other end of the line than he had to be. And when he was finished, Jon was quiet for a long time.
“Alright,” Jon said finally, sounding like he wanted to laugh. “Okay, let me... I'm absorbing this.”
Stephen rested heavily on his desk. “Okay.”
“Stephen, you... I've always known you to be a smart, rational person.”
“And now that's changed?” Stephen said wryly.
“No. It hasn't.” Jon paused. “You're a smart guy, so I can't just brush this aside and say it was all in your head.”
“Okay.”
“But you understand the likelihood of this being paranormal.”
“... Yes.”
“So.” Another pause. “I'm going to make some calls. We'll have the security of the building checked out. If you want we can hire a couple more security officers.”
“No, the ones we have are fine. I don't want this place guarded like a prison.”
“Okay. We'll just have everything checked out then, and ask everyone to be more aware of who comes in and out, and we'll get the locks changed.”
“Jon, this wasn't... this wasn't a person.”
“Stephen, the likelihood--”
“I don't care what the likelihood is. You weren't there. You don't know how... It wasn't a person.”
“Stephen, I'm asking you to be the thinking, rational person I know.”
“No, you're fucking patronizing me as if I don't know what I'm talking about,” Stephen said angrily.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Jon replied, calm air weakening.
“I... I don't know,” Stephen said. “When your show was here, did you ever...”
“No, I never experienced anything bizarre, unless you count Lauren Weedman.” Jon tried to laugh, but stopped when Stephen didn't even react. “Stephen, come on.”
“Are you lying to me?” Stephen demanded. “Not one thing happened when The Daily Show was here?”
“Jesus, Stephen, you were there,” Jon retorted. “You know nothing happened!”
“Not to me, no.”
“You've got to be-”
“You were always so eager to move to bigger quarters.”
“You're saying I stuck you with a dangerously possessed building so I could get out.”
“I don't know.” Stephen closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
“Y-you... you don't... You know what? Fuck you, man,” Jon snapped. “I can't believe you'd think I'd do something like that, even if you're all having some mass fucking delusion.”
“It's not a-”
“Get that shit out of your head and do your fucking job.” And Jon hung up.
\\\\\\\\\\\\
Stephen would have been ecstatic to do his job, but he felt himself constantly slipping into a haze, thinking about the night before. He couldn't shake it, even though he knew he had to hold the crew together. Everyone seemed to be screwing up more than the day before, yet when Allison ranted to him about the interns losing the show's credit card, he couldn't muster up more than a blank stare.
She waved her hand in front of his face. “Helloooo?”
Stephen shook the cloudiness away. “I heard you. Sorry.”
“Well, it's not like you can do anything anyway. We already called to freeze any transactions.”
“Good,” Stephen said, rolling a pencil back and forth on his desk. “Good.”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You've been so quiet all day.”
He'd already decided after his disastrous conversation with Jon to keep last night to himself. He didn't need to feed the paranoia that had taken over the studio, much less have someone else question his sanity. He couldn't honestly say he wasn't questioning it himself. “I'm not acting so strange. No one is really feeling up to snuff around here, are they?”
She pulled up a chair and sat. “Everyone is freaked out, screwing up, yeah,” she agreed. She rapped her fingers on the chair arms. “But you... it's like this is sucking the life out of you.”
He glanced up at her, then back down at the pencil. “What is?”
“I don't know,” she said tightly. “You won't tell me.”
He forced a laugh. “What, you think it's the ghost?” He waggled his fingers, trying to be playful, but he didn't look her in the eye.
“Of course not,” she said quickly.
“Then what?”
“What, you want me to speculate on your personal life right here in front of you?”
“I'm saying that if you can't think of what could be wrong, then nothing's wrong,” he replied with a smile.
She did not smile back. In fact, she scowled at him and shot up from her seat. “Don't act like I don't know you,” she barked. “You don't have to divulge to me, but I'm not stupid.”
Stephen was taken aback. “Allison, I-I'm sorry.” She folded her arms and looked away from him, silent. “What's the matter?”
“What isn't the matter?” she laughed bitterly. “Everyone is dropping the ball. I keep trying to be encouraging, to keep everyone motivated, but it's like I'm the only one who doesn't think the show's been cursed. Everything just keeps going downhill. We're gonna get a call from Doug Herzog any day now.” Her eyes suddenly locked on him. “I just need to know that someone else here can keep it together!” she hollered.
A beat of silence. Then Stephen said, “Well, I guess now no one can.”
Her expression didn't change; she just stomped out of the room.
“Allison, wait!” Stephen called after her. “I didn't mean...” But it was too late, of course. He flopped back in his seat, wondering why he said that, of all things.
His head lolled to the side, and he gazed out the window. The street outside was like another world. The people who passed by seemed to be living normal lives, lives on a steady course, lives not abruptly intruded upon by something strange and alien. A couple with their dog walked past the building across the way. A jogger ran by them before strolled out of view. A girl stood at the curb, bundled up in a warm coat. A taxi sped down the street--
Stephen did a double take. He knew that girl.
He didn't give it more thought. He rushed from the office, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door. She was still there; she looked over when he burst from the building, and she abruptly turned to walk away as he ran across the street.
“Katie!” he called out, grabbing her shoulder.
She stopped cold, and it took her a moment to turn and look at him.
He realized he didn't know what to say. “How… how are you?”
She didn’t smile at him. Her face was blank. Dark red scabs arced down the side of her face. She didn’t reach up to touch them, but as her eyes flickered to the studio he could tell she was thinking of them. “I’m fine,” she said, voice without a trace of emotion.
“I'm glad,” he replied, doing his best to smile. But he knew what he wanted to ask. “Katie... you need to tell me what happened that night.”
She immediately bowed her head, long hair slipping down over her face. She didn't answer, but he needed to know. He had to be crazy. It had to have been a real person down there with him. Anything but a...
“Who was it?” he pressed.
She glanced up at him, smiling slightly. “No one. No one at all.”