Lights, Camera, Passion!

Casey's pulse roared like a runaway train. The rush of blood thumped her veins against her ten-dollar watch so hard the hot pink strap felt tight as a noose. Needle-thin plastic ticked off the seconds--chk chk chk--as time became a slippery thing, racing way too fast, and somehow way too slow. Biting back a groan against the flashing pain of her torn knee, Casey poked her head out the door and peered through the gloom. "Okay, you freak," she whispered. "Where are you?" An icy breeze blew down from the shattered skylight above and swept through the main corridor. It flapped loose bits of wallpaper and whispered among crumbling patches of drywall. Something giggled in the darkness. Casey shuddered. If she could make it to the woods outside, she might survive the night. But first she had to escape the abandoned insane asylum. She took a deep breath. "You got this." Easing the door open, wincing as rusty hinges creaked, Casey squeezed out into the hall. Her sneakers crunched broken glass. She crept toward the fire door leading outside. Almost there... The maniac burst out of the shadows. She had wild eyes. Veins like live wires popped out along her skinny arms as she flexed blade-like claws. She came running. "Craaaaap!" Casey shouted in a resigned 'of course' kinda way. The maniac swung her deadly claws. Feeling the whoosh of air blow by her face, Casey dodged left, all instinct. She didn't give the mutated psycho another chance. She broke into a full sprint. The maniac bounded hard, gaining fast. Then she slipped, fell, and shouted, "Ah fart-knuckles!" Several crew members laughed. The director, a squat baby bear of a man named Adrian Martinez, shouted, "Cuuut!" Casey ran over to the maniac, helped her up to her feet. "Thanks," the maniac muttered, embarrassed. "You okay, Marcy?" Casey asked. "Yeah, just hate screwing up a take. It was a good one too. You were, like, booking it." Casey grinned. "Had to make it look good." Marcy the maniac stared off set at the director, who was having an animated (even panicked) conversation with one of the producers. "Think Ade's gonna give us another take?" "Usually, I'd say no. You know how he is, but this time... He's gotta, right? We didn't even make it to the door." Marcy turned this way and that, inspecting the fresh rips in her monster costume. "How was your date last night?" Casey said, "Dude, don't get me started." "Not another stinker." Casey sighed. "He was textbook perfect. Couldn't have dreamed him up better myself, but we didn't even make it to the restaurant before... Honestly, I'm done. I'm out. No more dates, no more apps, nothing. I'm officially off the market." "Yeah, right." "I'm dead serious. Did you know Enya lives in a multi-million dollar castle, just her a buncha cats? She knows what's up." Ade lumbered over, itching at his graying sideburns. "Okay, no worries, ladies. We got everything we need. We're moving on to the death scene." Casey frowned. "Wait, don't you want at least one more take?" "What am I, made of money? We got it: you running, her chasing, it's all in focus. We got it." "But I wiped out," said Marcy the maniac. Ade waved it off. "Bah, we'll cut around it. It'll be fine." "Look, I get how this is a shoestring project," Casey began. "Oh, you got no idea." Ade chuckled without humor. "But this is the big chase scene. This is what people came for." "I said it was in focus, didn't I? And, besides, no one comes for the chasing. They come for the killing." Casey turned to Marcy. "This flick we're makin', it's just like life." Marcy narrowed her eyes. "'Burn, Maniacs, Burn!' is just like life?" "No second takes." "Huh." Ade cut in. "Speaking of which, Marcy, get Kimiko to fix up your suit. Ya look terrible. And, Casey? I need you in the Big Rig." "Oh man, not the sprinkler suit!" Casey had made five low-budget horror movies with Ade, and damn near every time, she had to wear the same beat-up old rig he'd been using since the 90s. It slipped in under the clothes, and was full of little tubes that blasted out high-pressure fake blood in all directions. It was old, smelly, and uncomfortable to wear. Casey didn't think it'd ever been washed. "Don't call it that." Ade sounded offended. "That is a high-tech piece of gear designed by Academy Award winning special effects artist Corey Schubert himself. That's right, I used to work with The Schube back in the day when he ran his shop outta Van Nuys, but we had a falling out, he thinks I owe him money, meh whatcha gonna do." Casey had one more card to play. "Rumor had it I might survive, maybe even show up in the sequel?" "We talked it over, yeah, but no. You're a dead man walking." Casey crossed her arms over herself. "So, this death scene. I'm gonna wriggle around a little." "Writhe. You're gonna writhe in agony." "I'm gonna wriggle around and do some screaming. That about it?" "Yeah, what?" The director spread his meaty arms. "You got the best pipes in the Valley, Case! No one splits ears like you. The gore-hounds are gonna eat it up with a friggin' spoon." "But I can do so much more, Ade!" "I know that, you think I don't know that? You're LA's best-kept secret! A true talent! But, ah... Until the world discovers how special you really are, I'm just gonna need you to roll around n' scream bloody murder like usual." Casey felt deflated. "Bro." "Okay, you know what? Here's what I'll do. I'll putcha up for co-lead of my next picture. How's that?" "Really?" Casey's whole day got better in an instant. "Awesome! You're not gonna regret it!" "Just gonna need you to audition." Casey stopped dead. "Audition? But you know me. You know what I can do." "It's for the producers. They all gotta sign off on ya." "Oh. Well..." Casey waved it off. "Nah, never-mind." "What?" Ade was thunderstruck. "You don't want it?" "Sure I want it. But I don't want to get up in front of a bunch of suits who are just gonna tell me to take a hike. No thanks." Ade tilted his head, a suspicious expression crossing his face. "Case, have you ever done an audition?" "Yeah. Once. It suuucked." Ade turned away. Paused. He looked back at her. He shook his head. He got back to work. Casey stood alone as various crew members shifted lights and equipment around her. "No second takes," she whispered. Shaking her head, Casey crossed the old soundstage, which was so worn down and rickety it might as well have been any drafty warehouse in the Valley. A man walked in. Casey felt his energy before she clapped eyes on him. She'd never seen him before. She damn sure would have remembered. She found it hard to draw her gaze away from his pale radiance. Nearly a head taller than everyone else on set, he had a long, lean build, and fair skin intensifying the inky darkness of his eyes. His windswept hair was a playful contrast against his starkly elegant twill shirt and navy chinos. Casey could easily have believed he was either a college professor or a professional hitman. There was a tingling in the pit of Casey's stomach. She helplessly imagined being lifted off her feet, crushed in his powerful embrace. She felt light-headed and breathless. The Windswept Man raised his chin, looked directly at her. Casey gasped. She started to look away, then thought better of it. She met his gaze head-on. Every curve of her body spoke defiance: Yes, I'm staring. And, yes, I like what I see. His gaze intensified. Then, he smiled. Casey felt a foolish grin dance across her face. Kimiko slapped a hand on her shoulder, "Ready for your death scene?" Casey nearly jumped out her skin. "Whoa now! Huh? What?" "I said... Hey, are you okay?" Casey turned, but the Windswept Man was gone.