Between You And Me

11~Stories

Caleb’s POV

There used to be a time when I’d never reveal to the world a story such as Ezra Graham’s, wishing to bury any evidence of his type of existence in this world. Nonetheless, over the past five years, I’ve realized that stories such as his could never truly stay buried beneath a heavy soil of falsity and aberration. One day, the world would know his deplorable acts, and many would swoop in to fill the gaps with their own stories and understanding of the situation from victims' families to people who knew the killer, had coffee with them, shook their hand, invited to the barbeque, still in disbelieve someone like that existed right under their noses. But alas, someone could exist and has many times before Ezra, and would again, in different places, in different ways.

Someone would tell his stories out of a sheer fascination with his actions like vultures picking at the newly deceased corpse that lay before them. But no one, I knew very well, could ever tell his story the way I could.

No one knew him the way I did, except…

“Pan through the window. Good. Steady…”

The cameraman kept his focus on Daphne, her role as Lilah breathing new life within the story I needed to tell. She walked majestically up the front stairs, her eyes portraying an undertone of fright within a ray of awe as she followed her new family inside. The camera panned out to include the entire family and the architecture of the foyer, a rotunda with a staircase meeting the veranda above. The house outside never looked quite as large as the inside, the room was able to occupy a plethora of people and still reward the residence with ample space and privacy.

Once they were all inside, Owen spoke his first lines of the scene. “Lilah, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Taking her hand in his, he shook it, his large hand swallowing her slender fingers. “I’m Ezra, Pastor Ezra Graham. Melissa has told me so much about you.”

The names rolled off his tongue confidently, although I’d only told them this morning they’d be using the appropriate names of the real-life people they were portraying. Lilah’s name had been the only one remaining the same, but after a weekend of contemplation and a chat with my attorney, there was no reason for the change of name. The world already knew the Ezra Graham story as much as the media and true crime podcasters knew.

Which wasn’t much.

Daphne forced a smile behind a veil of shyness. “All good things I hope.”

L.J., with the fake luggage in tow, stood at a distance, keeping his eyes on her while he spoke as I’d instructed beforehand. You are like a fly on the wall. His portrayal of Asher, I have to admit, I’d been worried about, having to scramble through many potential actors, but L.J., I knew, had a connection with the story. As many of us did. And he took to the role as one did to the comfort of their favorite pair of shoes, unwilling to part after years of wear and tear. Good. Before production, I allowed him to ask as many questions about his role to cement his confidence.

Unbeknownst to him, he would be the starring role in this entire production. His confidence in the role and in himself was essential. But how do you tell a fresh-faced celebrity he has the starring role without his confidence spilling over into blatant arrogance?

I needed to keep him on his toes and give him the illusion of replaceability.

“I’ll show you to your room,” L.J. told Daphne, already heading towards the stairs. Daphne followed with a bit of hesitation, tiptoeing as though she would melt into the structure with the wrong step.

“Don’t take too long,” Ezra called to them. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Once they disappeared upstairs, a camera following the two ascending, I told the first camera operator to focus on Owen as he turned to Jolene, his face now aloof. He stared at Jolene, who kept fidgeting with her wedding ring as though, at any moment, he could ask for it back. “She’s lovely,” he told her, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “Now, why hide her away for so long?”

Her fingers tightened on the ring, finally looking into his thunderous eyes. “Don’t let her fool you. Beneath it all, she can be a handful.” For a second, her expressions were distant, her mind wandering to a time of uncertainty in her motherhood. Jolene did Melissa’s part justice with her facial expressions alone; the crease between her eyebrows in deep contemplation, the twitch of her rosy lips. Everything about her attempting stability during an uncertain time of intrusion within the picturesque life she’d made. She added, “I’ll make sure she stays well-behaved and out of your hair.”

“I’m sure you will.” To assure her of no ill will between them, he placed a delicate kiss on her forehead before retreating towards his study, his sanctuary. The scene ended with a cut and a scamper to the side, while the other scene continued upstairs.

On the second camera, I had to keep an eye on the LCD screen portraying Daphne and Asher’s scenes together, gearing myself to go upstairs to keep a firm eye on them. To be honest, his asking Daphne out on a date lingers in the back of my mind while vividness of warmth when I stood behind her still clung to my body. The ardor returned me to a frame of mind I didn’t know still existed within me, having thrown away that part of myself that still believed in…

Before heading upstairs, my eyes caught Rosemarie’s eyes piercing right through me like daggers, switching to a content smile when our eyes caught each other. She wasn’t fooling me. L.J. had told her of the change in the script, about a kiss between them, and now she wanted to confront me on it but the scene wouldn’t allow her. I wouldn’t allow her.

The screen zoomed into Daphne’s frightful eyes as L.J.'s mask started to crumble, the afternoon of drinking beers with friends beforehand suddenly hitting him despite trying to shroud it with spearmint gum. That’s what the scene called for but L.J. looked as though he were about to devour her like a lion instead.

“Come.”

The other camera crew followed me upstairs towards the scene, L.J. stepping closer to Daphne, walling her off without an escape. They would freeze in that position until I came to direct them to continue and Daphne knew she could speak up when things became too uncomfortable, too overwhelming for her to withstand. A tap on the wall or her leg would do. Simple and wouldn’t ruin the filming.

I found them in said position, the door only wide enough for the other camera operator and me to enter. Once I told them to proceed, Daphne would take a step back until the door finally closed, closing us all in for the intimate scene. During scenes like this, Dr. Grace and the comfort specialist would be watching on the screen downstairs and microphone us if there were any concerns.

There wouldn’t be. I believed it as Daphne professionally maneuvered to close the door behind us, keeping her eyes on L.J. who replaced her footsteps forward. She’d jolted herself out of a trance she’d placed herself in since the start of her scene, walking zombified outdoors without a word when she started. And she yearned to place herself back in it as though she were holding her breath, waiting to inhale.

One camera focused on the framing of the room while the other on the characters, making sure to stay clear of each other and myself. “Action.”

“What are you doing?” she asked him, her voice trembling. A piece of me felt as though it’d been directed at me, but I shooed it away.

“You look like someone I know.” His arm barricaded her to him. “Are you really Melissa’s daughter?”

The question threw her off, catching the words with a snappish tone. “Of course.” I needed her to show her disdain for the accusation, having been questioned of her origin multiple times, yet desiring some similarity to her mother. Some sense of belonging to her. Daphne displayed a face of contemplation, of uncertainty that bordered on sadness at the thought. Then she remembered her position, staring at him with renewed eyes of agitation. “Why?” Her hands pushed at his broad chest, trying to force space between them. “And would you back off?!”

He stayed firmly in his place, grinning like a child who knew something he shouldn’t have. “Wanna know a secret?” Daphne instinctively straightened at the question, ear perking with interest. “The reason your mother never spoke ill of you is because she never mentioned having a daughter or children in general.” The earlier expression of uncertainty descended into the sadness it’d only just touched moments ago at his words. You could tell she’d now fallen into the depths of her thoughts, her resentment. He continued and I felt a hitch in my chest at the expression that lingered, moisture starting to gather along the rim of her pretty blue eyes. “She told us a week ago and here you are. Are you going to cry?”

Outside the door, I could hear clammering going on downstairs. A vein of agitation formed at the base of my temple, wanting to tell them to shut up before they grew louder, but I didn’t want to ruin the scene.

They continued, L.J. noticing the adjustment in the downstairs volume. But only a wince of an eyebrow, nothing noticeable. Daphne once again tried to push him away, trying to hide the developing tears. “Get off of me!”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. And he liked it that way. “Or what? You’ll scream.”

In a more provocative motion, reaching into his character further, he placed a hand on Daphne’s hip, pressing his body closer to her. I didn’t tell him to do that. Should I stop him? Heat gathered behind my ears at the sight, half of me wanting to step in and smack his hand away, but the professional half reminded me this was necessary. Watching Daphne’s hands, she didn’t tap to display her discomfort, only lingering in his grasp. So I should be alright with it, right? Rubbing my hands on my pants and calming myself, I heard some strange commotion from downstairs. The sound grew louder, more distinct as it traveled upstairs, to my disdain. But I needed to finish this scene. We had so much to do today and little time to do it. He pressed his lips to her earlobe, the camera zooming in further.

“Scream for me—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Someone knocked on the door aggressively, causing Daphne to jump back in fright. Everyone froze at the rattling of the doorknob and I knew that whoever was at the door wasn’t a crew member. They had more decorum on set than whoever was barging in. With a swing of the door, two people in uniform with badges stared intimidatingly at us until their eyes found me.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, unable to mask my frustration with them. Of all times.

“Mr. Caleb Cross?” one of them asked, a short woman with chopped black hair curled just below her ears and a grim expression. She presented her badge to me. “We need to ask you a few questions. Can you come with us to the police station?”

“Now?”

I’d scheduled at least another five scenes before lunch so we could keep the momentum going and leave by three at the earliest. I was already cutting it close, having to tell Patrick that we wouldn’t start until after the weekend, which he wasn’t amused about. We hung up on a poor note, something that’s been happening more and more since I told him about the idea of Ezra Graham. And, for him, time was money, and I had already wasted enough.

“Now.”