Johnny soon complained of the financial cost of getting a helicopter licence and his dreams found a way to change. After taking courses at NAIT, he landed a steady job at Argus Machine. He toiled in quality control at the manufacturer, a career spent confirming that the steel pipes and connections being hauled out the door were of the correct dimensions. “Measure measure measure … and measure some more” is how he described his usual 4:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. shift.
He was now in his late thirties. He often shaved his head to hide the fact that he was balding. Johnny had two good friends at work, Willy Stanic and Hans-Wilhelm Adam, who heard all about his dating exploits, often occurring online through websites. His failed wedding engagement, however, was one detail he did not share widely among his workmates. Having met after the relationship ended, Hans never knew his friend had once been so close to marriage.
In selling the ring online, Johnny returned to the newsgroup bulletin board services he had grown up using. Staring at the posting now available across the Internet, Johnny knew he had reached an end – and a new beginning.
Of course, a relationship dissolves for more than one reason, but the issue of children, as he explained to a long-time friend, was central to the breakup and the return of the ring. He had made the decision long ago never to experience fatherhood.
Remaining childless, however, would have nothing to do with his own decisions. It would soon depend entirely on a complete stranger, a man who would enter his life swiftly and leave just as quickly, ripping every option from his grasp along the way.
UNINTENDED DISCOVERIES
As THE FIRST SNOWFALL was dusting sidewalks, a winter chill taking over as 2007 neared its end, Twitchell was told of an exciting, controversial new show on television. It was several weeks after he had won the Halloween costume prize. The novelty was fading, the money being spent, as his life returned slowly to the normal routine.
His friend Joss Hnatiuk had discovered the program. The web designer by trade recommended the show to Twitchell. “It’s called Dexter. You have to watch it,” Joss insisted. “I think you’ll love it.”
But he brushed off his friend’s suggestion, having always been skeptical of recommendations and especially hard to impress when it came to TV shows. He looked up to Joss as a “big lovable dude” but privately found him to be far too “gullible.” For one, he regarded Joss as religious. It was a passion Twitchell did not fully understand. His interests lay elsewhere. Twitchell had just uploaded a sample movie trailer to YouTube for Day Players, which he had produced to help sell the potential film project to investors. He was thinking of his future – his wife, Jess, a child on the way, the fact that he needed to secure funding for his comedy feature and complete post-production on his recently wrapped Star Wars fan film. He just wasn’t interested in introducing another element into his busy life just yet.
Members of his film crew, however, had joined Joss in following Dexter’s violent storylines. Joss kept praising the show, thinking weeks of prodding would eventually convince his pal to take in the program. Finally, there came a day when Joss shoved a pack of DVDs into Twitchell’s hands. He had studiously copied all twelve episodes of the first season of Dexter on to the pack of discs and presented it to his friend as a gift. With a sigh, Twitchell finally agreed to give the show a look.
Back at a rented townhouse, where Jess was nearly bursting as her due date neared, Twitchell chose to watch Dexter for the first time in secret. He settled into his couch alone to give the show his undivided attention.
In silence, Twitchell watched every episode in only four days.
He was mesmerized.
Dexter focused on the bizarre double life of the fictitious Dexter Morgan. He was a blood-spatter analyst for the Miami police and a vigilante serial killer, going after criminals he deemed deserving of death. He had little empathy and would keep a blood slide of each victim as a souvenir. He liked to use a kill room, wrapping everything in plastic to contain all the evidence. All Dexter had to do was strap his victims to his table, perhaps torture them a bit, and then cut them into pieces, tossing their remains in garbage bags into the ocean. His knowledge of forensics, and his presence inside the police force, helped him continue killing largely undetected.
In one episode, Dexter stood in a comic book store shocked by the realization that his killings had become a motivation for storytelling. On the wall, a poster was tacked up for The Dark Defender, a graphic novel based on the unsolved killings in the region. The character had a hoodie pulled over his head. Most of his face was cast in darkness, except for his mouth and chin. He wore leather gloves and held an army-style blade. Dexter was intrigued that his own actions were inspiring others.
Twitchell was enthralled by the way Dexter presented a philosophical debate about justified murder. Sure Dexter was a monster, Twitchell thought, but he’s “a self-aware one.” He appreciated the fact that Dexter was still a charming and witty character, even though he was deeply flawed.
Episodes were watched closely and repeatedly. Twitchell then bought the Dexter series of novels, by Jeff Lindsay, which had inspired the TV series. He saw how Dexter Morgan in the books wore a silk mask to hide his identity from his victims.
He thought the show was better than the books. Twitchell admired the writing, thought the show gritty and not too flashy. He adored the cliffhangers. The main actor, Michael C. Hall, was impressive in the role. His Dexter was more believable and more dynamic. Twitchell wanted to see Dexter’s pathology transform. He felt the books kept him too static as “always the same old sociopath.” The books explained Dexter’s “dark passenger” – his internalized desire to kill – as a near-supernatural force, while Twitchell liked how the show treated it more realistically as a psychological condition.
The discovery of Dexter complicated Twitchell’s life. He suddenly had a new interest and he knew he had a tendency to dive deeply into his passions until they consumed him – as it did two years ago when his fan film dominated his schedule. Back then, in 2005, Twitchell had met Joss through the message boards on theforce.net. Twitchell had written a post asking for help with a fan film he was trying to create. He had written the script for Star Wars: Secrets of the Rebellion with a friend from the Midwest, and having moved back to Edmonton, he planned to shoot the feature-length film at his old college, NAIT, in front of a studio green screen. He was spending $60,000 of his own money to do it, hoping it would be a calling card for the industry. There was talk of top-notch costumes, computer-generated special effects, and plenty of lightsabers. It was a rare chance to get the Star Wars fan community in the region together, working on a single project. Joss read the post and loved the idea. He was in.
On the set of the fan film, Twitchell became good friends with Joss and others he had drawn in for the Star Wars experience: Mike Young, Jay Howatson, Scott Cooke. Some were associates from Twitchell’s various sales jobs while others were from the sci-fi community. It wasn’t long until the four of them became Twitchell’s go-to film crew and his tiny circle of friends. David Puff, a local cinematographer and editor, was brought into the fold. Jason Fritz, an avid Star Wars fan and his roommate at the time, joined the cast to assist with fight scenes. Together, they would formulate ways of making Twitchell’s large-scale concepts a reality. They also bonded over their shared sarcastic sense of humour and love of outlandish pop culture and fantasy. Some of them even carried lightsabers on their belts, breaking into pretend battles when the urge struck them. Growing up, they had been the fanboys on the fringe, finding acceptance not in the classroom but in online message boards. Twitchell had become a standout star among them. When his new friends gave him the nickname “Twitch,” he was more than thrilled.
The Star Wars project was elaborate and took years to film. Over the summers of 2006 and 2007, actors and performers from across Canada and the United States flew to Edmonton to star in the movie, news of the project spreading among sci-fi fans through the Internet. Eventually, Jeremy Bulloch sign
ed up too. The cast was amazed because he was a living icon from his role as bounty hunter Boba Fett in the original Star Wars trilogy. Twitchell had somehow convinced the actor to make a brief appearance in his fan film.
Twitchell’s dreams were rising faster and higher than his crew could ever imagine. A confident man with a charm that drew others closer, Twitchell imagined his film career looked to be heading to Hollywood. His only demand was that he wanted to remain in control. His production company, Xpress Entertainment, would be behind his efforts and he would be the producer, the writer, the director – a triple talent. He felt he was born to deliver provocative content to the masses and considered himself to be “a young George Lucas.” His crew was brought along just to build sets, hold lights, work as production assistants, and follow his lead.
As shooting wrapped in the late summer of 2007, Twitchell declared how significant an achievement it had been. “It’s going to be a surreal experience bringing those long awaited incredible stories to the screen and I’m blown away that it gets to be me to bring it to the world,” he wrote on his blog. “It feels like destiny.”
He also wrote of being a believer in fate. So what destiny was there now, if any, in stumbling upon Dexter Morgan at this exact moment in his life? Twitchell needed a team of 3D graphic artists working for free to finish his masterpiece of Star Wars fandom. He needed to convince investors to give him thousands of dollars so he could film Day Players. And with 2008 approaching, he was mere weeks away from becoming a father. He would need to keep working in sales to support his growing family with a regular income. But now, there was Dexter. The show engaged him deeply and ran the very real risk of taking up all of his spare time.
He was confident his efforts would be worth it. Television networks had already come down to his Star Wars film set and interviewed him, boosting his crew’s belief each time that he could become something big with all this media attention. “A lot of people take it very seriously and they decide to go all the way with it and make it screen accurate,” Twitchell explained of his filmmaking philosophy to CBC television, the nation’s public broadcaster.
At the end of shooting, he became even more upbeat and assertive as another TV news crew visited his production. “Word has gotten around that I’m making a one-hundred-million-dollar movie for sixty grand and some production and directing jobs have already come my way,” he told the CTV network with a smile. “I’m going to be very busy. And everyone here who has shown their work ethic with me on this project? I’m taking them with me on a ride!”
With Dexter Morgan now in the picture, none of his friends realized just how foreboding his declaration would one day turn out to be.
AT THE END OF January 2008, Twitchell became a father. Together, he and Jess had been thinking of baby names before they were even married. They settled on Chloe when the child was born. Jess let her husband pick one of the baby’s middle names, even after she learned his choice was taken from the expanded Star Wars universe. At least it was a name only hardcore fans would recognize: Jaina, the daughter of Han Solo and Princess Leia.
He celebrated the new arrival with a mass email. His happiness was clear in his prose. “She’s remarkably easy going (just like her dad) and pretty much popped out already presentable with no conehead or misshapen body parts of any kind,” Twitchell wrote with his usual humour. “Welcome to the world kiddo.” He attached a photo of Chloe with Jess and another of his mother, Mary, giving a look of wonder only someone holding their first grandchild can give.
It was a joyous start to their new family for a couple who had been swept up in a speedy romance. In the beginning, having met on plentyoffish.com, Twitchell had actually forgotten about their first date and was heading to the movies when Jess called, wondering why he wasn’t at the restaurant. After the shaky start, Twitchell became enamoured with her. Jess was a smart woman with a university degree who was three years older than him. He liked that. Yet, they appeared to be opposites. He was a big-picture thinker while she was detail-oriented; he was spontaneous and Jess was more of a planner; he saw how organized she could be while his life had always been more like organized chaos. She didn’t share his intense passion for filmmaking, Star Wars, or fantasy. Jess cringed at the thought of violence. Despite these differences, they fell in love quickly. On a stroll through a park only months after meeting, Twitchell pulled out a ring and surprised her with a proposal. He had picked out a diamond with a platinum band worth around $7,000. He later joked that he had given Jess “a promotion” to fiancé. The couple was in the highest of spirits. She moved in to his rented townhouse while his roommate, Jason Fritz, moved out. Theirs was a small wedding, with his sister, Susan, serving as best man. Their honeymoon took them to Costa Rica. And Chloe was born just after their first anniversary.
Early on, he had faltered. His first love, Traci Higgins, had found her way back into his life through Facebook and they had later kissed. Just once. He knew it was a foolish and hurtful thing to do and he regretted it. Twitchell wanted to keep a pledge to never lie to his wife, so he quickly confessed. The couple worked hard to sail through their first rocky patch. The incident had been all the more devastating for Jess, however, because she had been a couple months’ pregnant at the time, suffering through morning sickness, the infidelity catching her totally off guard.
Chloe was the grounding Twitchell needed to finally put an end to his impulsive lifestyle and erratic actions. He was supposed to be growing up and becoming a responsible father. But it wasn’t working out the way he had hoped.
Twitchell was doing all the things that new fathers do, even expressing the same worries and concerns. But deep inside, his stomach was in knots. He wasn’t actually experiencing any of the feelings for his child that he understood other new fathers felt. He was acting. He wrote about his struggle in his personal writings, wondering what to do. But publicly, he remained jovial. He had only offered possible hints through the years that he was different, hiding his emotions through humour or double meanings.
“Sometimes I just don’t understand human behaviour,” he once wrote online.
Quoting Star Wars, of course.
DREAMS
JOHNNY HAD BEEN SEARCHING for meaning. Becoming single again at his age tended to put one’s life in perspective. He wanted to meet someone special, but his transition into the dating scene in his late thirties was also providing time to explore within.
He believed there was more to life than the day-to-day grind. He wanted to understand himself and others – not just who they were, but to look beyond and see deep inside, to become self-aware.
For hours each night, he searched online for answers to these big questions of the universe. He read New Age books and watched movies examining philosophy, spiritual enlightenment, and the world’s religions.
He found achieving such enlightenment was proving difficult. He was no hippie. He had never listened to psychedelic music or smoked pot. He rarely drank. The extent of his alternative lifestyle included dabbling in herbal teas and spices to assist in meditation.
As his interest grew, he pushed himself a bit farther by importing South American herbs. Some had been used by Aboriginal groups to stimulate hallucinatory experiences. Grinding these herbs into a steeped tea, Johnny sat on his couch, sipping the mixture for a couple of hours. But he became frustrated. “I got a little drowsy, but that’s about it,” he wrote online of the experience. “Is there something I did wrong?”
His spiritual quest faltering, Johnny enlisted the help of a hypnotherapist. One day, he relaxed at her home office for a one-hour session, leaning back into her couch. She slowly lulled him into a deep trance. His breathing slowed. His muscles loosened. Shapes formed within the darkness under his eyelids. He saw a blurry image moving toward him. The shape slowly focused at it approached. It was an old man. He appeared serene and wise. Johnny’s mind was flooded with peace.
His vision crystallized.
Johnny’s eyes fluttered open. He turned t
o the hypnotherapist and asked her what he had experienced. She gave him a knowing look. He had been visited by his spirit guide, who appeared to be an ancient tribal medicine man. And his soul dated back over twelve thousand years.
He felt like he had just seen something profound and he couldn’t wait to share.
NEW DIRECTIONS
THE HISTORIC HOTEL MACDONALD stood under Edmonton’s downtown office towers like a little French castle, its copper roof rising to peaks out of limestone walls. Walking into one of the hotel’s meeting rooms, Twitchell and Joss scanned a gathering of a dozen business executives. The pair of young men weren’t used to such an ornate setting, but Twitchell didn’t let it bother him. He met each person’s gaze with a smile and soon launched into a polished speech that demonstrated both his salesmanship and passion.
In the previous weeks, in late April and early May of 2008, he had worked his way through a screening process for Venture Alberta, an umbrella group of angel investors keen on hearing about new business opportunities. Out of two hundred applications a year, about thirty to fifty were given the chance to pitch to the group. Barely a quarter of all entrepreneurs who entered the room would find someone at the table willing to hand over their money. These were professional investors. Many ran multi-million-dollar companies, had heard hundreds of pitches before, and were a notoriously hard audience to impress.
Twitchell and Joss had come prepared. Their friend Rebecca had tried to help since she was in business school, but Twitchell was convinced he could do it better on his own. Joss had spent a great deal of time designing a comprehensive website for Twitchell’s production company and their fan film project. The public face of the business looked slick and professional, like they had been making movies for years.
The Devil's Cinema Page 10
