Day 9

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Then, she opens her mouth, and hope dissolves. "I'm a little fucked up." She giggles when she says it. "Sorry 'bout that."

  She's not Kitty. Not even close.

  Not only would Kitty never get fucked up, she would never use the f-word. None of us would.

  So I wonder, as she skates away, just how many imposters there are for each of us. How many copies will I meet along my warpath?

  How much more killing will I have to do than I expected?

  CHAPTER 10

  "We killed in previews." Grinning, Luanne leaned back in the chair in her makeshift dressing room—a converted classroom complete with blackboards on the walls. "I think the show will be a smash." She swept her hand in an arc overhead, tracing an invisible theater marquee. "Belladonna: The Bella Willow Musical."

  Dunne smiled and nodded, unimpressed. The previews she was talking about had been staged at Weeping Willows conventions—not exactly Broadway audiences.

  "Then there's my product line," said Luanne. "'You Bella Believe It' clothes and cosmetics. Well, you wouldn't believe how much money we make every time we do a show on the Shopit Channel!"

  "That's wonderful." Hannahlee smiled pleasantly and nodded.

  "But enough about me," said Luanne. "What have you been doing, Lianna?"

  Hannahlee shrugged. "I'm working for the studio."

  "What?" Luanne's eyes widened. "For Halcyon?"

  Hannahlee nodded.

  "I can't believe it!" Luanne leaned forward suddenly and grabbed Hannahlee's knee. "I mean, no offense, but...wow! You have a series? A production deal? A movie?" Luanne jumped back and fluttered her fingers. "Oh my God! Don't tell me they're finally doing a Willows movie!"

  Hannahlee sighed. "They are, but I'm not in it. He's writing it." She pointed at Dunne.

  Luanne's attention rocketed in Dunne's direction. "Really? Surely there's room for some cameos by the original Willows! Or why not some minor supporting roles?"

  "Actually," said Dunne, "we do need your help."

  "Anything." Luanne flashed him what must have been her most enchanting smile. "What can I do for you?"

  "Have you ever mud-wrestled?" said Quincy. "I'm thinkin' pay-per-view, you and Lianna, mud or Jell-O. Instant jackpot, I'm tellin' ya'."

  Luanne ignored him. Crossing her legs, she folded her hands on her knee and gazed at Dunne as if his every word was the height of fascination. "What do you need?"

  "Cyrus Gowdy," said Dunne. "We're looking for him."

  Luanne's fascinated expression faded fast. "Good old Cyrus, huh? That's all you want from me?" Leaning back, she straightened her pants leg and gave her long, black hair a toss. "I'm sure I don't know where he is."

  "There's a cameo," said Hannahlee. "I'm authorized to offer you a cameo in the film if you provide information that leads us to Gowdy."

  Dunne gaped at Hannahlee. She'd taken him by surprise twice now—first with Quincy's stipend, now this. He wondered what else she was prepared to offer, and to whom.

  Luanne became instantly more engaged. "Cyrus did get me this job, you know."

  "How recently?" said Dunne.

  "A little over a year ago," said Luanne.

  "Did he talk about his plans?" said Hannahlee. "Did he mention anywhere he was thinking of going?"

  Luanne shook her head. "I, um, didn't talk directly to him. He did everything by voice mail and e-mail." She scrunched up her eyes and nose as she searched her memory. "I'm sorry." She said it with a sigh. "I don't remember anything about plans or travel."

  "You never spoke at all?" said Dunne. "He just called you out of the blue one day and asked if you wanted to be in a fan film?"

  Luanne shrugged. "Pretty much. He said he knew Enrique the director, and Enrique was begging to work with me."

  "We need to talk to Enrique again," Dunne said to Hannahlee. "He left that part out."

  "Let me do the talking." Quincy pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. "That Fexican fastard."

  "Wait." Luanne grabbed Quincy's wrist. "Can't you at least wait till he finishes filming my scenes?"

  "Perhaps I can be persuaded." Quincy laid a hand on top of Luanne's. "You have the power to fulfill my lifelong dream, you know."

  Luanne jerked her hand free of his grip. "I doubt it," she said. "I'm not a man."

  Quincy beamed. "Sweet Bella. Even your sarcasm makes me weak in the knees."

  "Where aren't you weak?" said Luanne.

  Hannahlee got up from her chair. "Maybe you should hide out for a while, Luanne. At least until after the thirtieth anniversary of the show."

  "Not a chance!" Luanne slapped her knees and laughed. "The thirtieth's gonna be huge for Bella Willow Inc. Might as well tell Santa to take the Christmas season off."

  "Well, be extra careful." Hannahlee handed Luanne a business card. "And call me if you think of anything else about Cyrus."

  "Ah, baby." Luanne popped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around Hannahlee. "I've missed you so much." She gave Hannahlee a squeeze and spun her around. "I hope I didn't bring you down talking about all my great news. I just thought you'd want to get caught up."

  "You were perfect," said Hannahlee. "We can talk more when you come in for your cameo."

  "I can't wait!" Luanne gave Hannahlee another big hug, then headed for the door. "Well, I'd better get ready for my next scene!" She opened the door, which was the cue for her guests to leave.

  "Break a leg," said Hannahlee on her way out.

  "You bet, honey!" said Luanne. "B-bye!"

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Dunne frowned at Hannahlee. "What's with the cameos? That was the first I'd heard of them."

  Hannahlee grinned and winked at him. "Me, too."

  "I said he was full of shit, didn't I?" Quincy jabbed a finger at Enrique's chest. "He did have a Gowdy connection!"

  "Oye, cerebro burrito!" Enrique swatted away Quincy's hand. "Did I not say I might know 'a little somethin'-somethin'?'"

  "But you weren't actually going to tell us what it was, were you?" Quincy grabbed the front of Enrique's olive drab shirt and gave him a shake. "The only freason we know is because Luanne fold us!"

  "That's enough." Hannahlee stepped forward and clamped a hand around Quincy's forearm. "Maybe Mr. Bocagrande would like to give us some more details."

  Quincy let go and stepped back. "Very well, milady. But I assure you, this is not over." Glaring at Enrique, he arched an eyebrow. "Consider 'Loco Bocagrande' stricken from my filk repertoire."

  "Great," said Enrique. "Maybe someone with talent can write a good filk song about me to replace it."

  "Enrique." Hannahlee raised her voice. "You've been in touch with Cyrus Gowdy. When was the last time you heard from him?"

  "A year ago, maybe?" said Enrique.

  "How long have you known each other?" said Dunne.

  "Forever." Enrique combed his fingers through his shaggy blond hair. "My father was production designer on the show. Oskar Kleisen."

  Hannahlee nodded. "You're Rune, aren't you?"

  "Yes." Enrique cocked his head and stared at her. "Do I know you?"

  "I also knew your father," said Hannahlee.

  "She's Lianna Caprice, moron," said Quincy.

  "Ahhh." Enrique smiled. "'I see,' said the blind man to his deaf dog.'"

  "Kitty Willow herself was standing right there, and you didn't recognize her." Quincy clucked and wagged his head. "You'll have to hand in your geek credentials after this, I'm afraid."

  "What did Gowdy say when you last spoke to him?" said Dunne.

  "We talked about a project of his," said Enrique. "A film project. He needed advice."

  "A fan film?" said Hannahlee.

  "Bite your tongue," said Enrique. "Cyrus Gowdy, creator of Weeping Willows, D.I.S.C.O., Big Hair, Day 8, and Superclown, would never make a fan film."

  "What kind of film then?" said Dunne.

  "Is it Godseye?" said Quincy. "Something to do with Godseye?"

  Enrique shrugged. "All I k
now is, it's big. We didn't talk content. He liked my last fan film and wanted pointers on digital post-production."

  "Did he say where he was calling from?" said Hannahlee.

  "I have no idea," said Enrique.

  "Do you have a phone number for him?" said Dunne.

  "Here's the thing," said Enrique. "We didn't talk on the phone. It was more like face to face."

  "You met in person?" said Dunne. "Where was this?"

  "Not in person," said Enrique, "so much as in virtual reality. Our avatars met in Willowtopia."

  "'Willowtopia?'" said Dunne.

  "It's a massively multiplayer online game," said Quincy. "Like Second World. You create a character—an avatar—and experience a computer-simulated reality through it. Willowtopia's unique because it's completely dedicated to Weeping Willows."

  "Is Gowdy there often?" said Hannahlee. "Could we meet him the same way you did?"

  Enrique shrugged. "Not unless he wants you to. He's the one who gets in touch with me."

  "Isn't there some way to track him through the Internet?" said Hannahlee.

  "Sadly, I lost my super hacker powers in the battle with Dr. Instantiation," said Quincy. "But I'll bet the fompany running Willowtopia could cough up Gowdy's IP address."

  "And that should at least lead you to where he's logging on," said Enrique.

  "Now you're talkin'!" Quincy high-fived Enrique. "Nothin' can stop us now, hijo!"

  At that moment, all the lights in the studio went out at once. The hubbub and action of the cast and crew faded fast as the place swelled with total darkness.

  Immediately, Dunne feared the worst. "Everyone stay close!" His heart hammered as if it were about to smash its way out of his chest.

  Suddenly, a cone of light flared in the darkness, illuminating Enrique's face from below. "Just a blackout. We have 'em every day." He waggled the flashlight under his chin. "Absolutely nothing to worry about, mis amigos!"

  Just then, a woman screamed in a distant part of the old school building.

  A chill swept through Dunne's body. "Hannahlee?" Had the killer stolen her right from under Dunne's nose? Was she dying even now? "Hannahlee, where are you?"

  The screams continued. Dunne knew without question that they were the screams of a woman being murdered.

  He remembered them from his wife.

  "I'm right here." When Hannahlee said it, Enrique picked her out of the darkness with the flashlight beam. "But Luanne isn't."

  CHAPTER 11

  Dunne wouldn't go first. Not charging through the darkness on the way to face a killer. He let Quincy and Enrique take the lead, chasing the flashlight's beam down the corridor.

  Even that was a stretch. If Dunne had had his way, he would've stayed back with the crowd, as far as possible from the screaming victim.

  It was what he did best, even better than writing tie-in fiction. He hated himself for it, but the self-hatred was not enough to make him change.

  What would change bring him now, anyway? It was too late to make a difference.

  He'd already lost everything that mattered.

  "No more screams." Quincy puffed when he said it. "Now what do we do? How far up ahead was she?"

  "Around the corner," said Enrique. "The cafeteria, maybe?"

  Big Quincy and Enrique barreled around the corner and down another hall. Dunne and Hannahlee followed as they crashed through a set of double doors at the end...and then they all stopped.

  A blindingly bright beam of light blazed from the heart of the cafeteria, pinning Quincy and Enrique in its glare. The two of them squinted and shielded their eyes, Enrique dropping his flashlight in the process.

  Blocked from the worst of the glare by Quincy's body, Dunne could see the outline of a person behind the light.

  "Who's there?" said Enrique. "Que pasa?"

  The figure bearing the light didn't answer.

  Then, suddenly, he broke into a run. He ran straight toward them.

  Dunne's mind raced. He wasn't about to stick around and fight...but Hannahlee was by his side, and she wasn't budging.

  He had to get her out of there first.

  "Go!" he told her, pushing the door open. "Hurry!"

  Hannahlee stepped through into the hallway, then stopped. She turned and watched as the man with the light attacked Enrique and Quincy both at once.

  To their credit, the big men fought back, lunging and swinging their huge fists. Maybe, if they hadn't been half-blinded by the light—which Dunne could now see was mounted on some kind of headband—they would have had a chance.

  Or maybe not.

  The attacker unleashed a quick-fire series of moves, spinning and striking with incredible speed and precision. He moved like a pinwheel, swirling between his opponents—every one of his blows landing, every one of their blows missing.

  Even in the topsy-turvy light from the guy's headband, Dunne could see that he was trained and dangerous. He could tear Dunne apart in a heartbeat, whether or not Dunne tried to fight back.

  So Dunne knew what time it was.

  "Come on!" Grabbing Hannahlee's hand, he pulled her away from the fight. "Let's go!"

  Hannahlee resisted for an instant, then went with him.

  The two of them sprinted down the hallway by the light of the gyrating headlamp behind them. They swung left at the first intersection, running back toward the gymnasium soundstage and the biggest concentration of people.

  The hallway was dark, so Dunne stuck to the middle and held tight to Hannahlee's hand. When they'd gone some distance, the commotion of the fight at the cafeteria ceased. Dunne heard a single set of footsteps approaching from that direction.

  Then, Quincy called out, his voice hoarse. "Look out!" he said. "He's coming after you!"

  Heart pounding, Dunne flew to the side of the hall, feeling along the wall for a hiding place. Quickly, his fingers found a door and latched onto the doorknob.

  Yanking the door open, he pushed Hannahlee inside and closed and locked it behind him. Moments later, he heard the killer's footsteps approach and stop outside the door.

  Too terrified to move in case he made a telltale sound, Dunne stood in place and clutched Hannahlee's hand. He tried to breathe as quietly as he could.

  Sweat poured down his back and sides. His brain turned to ice, locked in a single stark pattern of repeating interference.

  You're going to die, it said. You're going to die.

  It was so much like before. He remembered. The burn in the belly. The tightness in the groin. The inescapable knowledge that this was the end, unless he did something.

  Her face swam up at him from the darkness. From his memory. Her face. Not Hannahlee's.

  He wished oh how he wished he could forget.

  Her tear-filled eyes locked with his. Her mouth moved, forming silent syllables.

  Help m—

  Suddenly, a flare of light burst through the frosted window in the door. Dunne jerked and sucked in his breath but didn't gasp so the killer could hear. Hannahlee did not move or make a sound.

  Panic rushed into Dunne's mind...but then he caught himself. Without backlight from inside the room, the killer couldn't see inside; even if there had been backlight, he could only have glimpsed shapes through the frosted glass window.

  The doorknob turned—and stopped. The killer tried it a few more times, but it was locked.

  So he moved on. The headlamp light bobbed away down the hallway.

  And Dunne began to breathe again. He realized he was going to live.

  He was going to survive. Just like before.

  And someone else had died instead. He hadn't saved them. He hadn't tried.

  Also just like before.

  CHAPTER 12

  Dunne stared down at Luanne's bloody body on the cafeteria floor. Her eyes seemed to stare right back at him. Trying to tell him something.

  The lights were back on throughout the building. The killer, whoever he was, was long gone, though no one had seen him leave.
>
  And no one had gotten a good look at him. Even those who'd been in direct contact with him couldn't say what he'd looked like.

  "That damn headlight of his." Quincy sat on a cafeteria table, drinking a bottle of water. His face and arms were bruised, his pink Kitty Willow t-shirt torn at the neckline. "It kept blasting in my eyes. I couldn't see a fing."

  Enrique was in worse shape. "Me, either." He sprawled on his back on another table, one arm and one leg hanging crooked and limp. "I was too busy with the sixteen fists and feet he kept whomping me with."

  Quincy whistled. "That boy sure could dance."

  Hannahlee raised her stare from dead Luanne to Dunne. She fixed her fiery green eyes on him, pinning him with their radiance, making him squirm.

  And she didn't say a word. She didn't ask him why he'd run from the killer. She didn't ask him why he hadn't stayed and done everything in his power to stop and hold him. She didn't ask him how it felt to know he would be responsible for whatever murders came next.

  But Dunne guessed that those questions were on her mind, nonetheless.

  "I wish I'd gotten a better look at him," said Quincy. "He was right there. I had my hands on him. We both did."

  "Hey, that's good," said Enrique. "The cops are on their way. Maybe C.S.I. can find some fibers or DNA evidence on one of us."

  "No prints, though," said Quincy. "He had gloves on. I just wish I could remember more."

  Dunne sighed and turned away from the piercing stares of Hannahlee and dead Luanne. "So what's next? Look for Gowdy's IP through Willowtopia? Where's the parent company located?"

  "It's called Sensophile," said Enrique. "It's based in Asheville, North Carolina."

  "Should we even be looking for Gowdy at this point?" said Quincy. "I mean, he's doing a perfect job of hiding from everyone as it is. Maybe he can take care of himself. Maybe we should focus on the surviving Willows cast members."

  "Yeah," said Dunne, "but the studio isn't paying us to protect cast members. They're paying us to find Gowdy." The truth was, Dunne didn't like any idea that increased his chances of crossing paths with the killer again.