Between You And Me

1~The Choice is Yours

Part Two~Brookshaw

The moment we passed the sign welcoming us to Hawthorn, I shivered, leaning back into the leather cushions of the seat. One...two...three...breathe. Although my body wanted to panic, I had to mentally inform myself I wasn’t in any danger. “I don’t want to be here,” I said, repositioning my sunglasses. “Do we really have to film here, of all places?”

My manager/dad, Joseph Mardas, placed a reassuring hand on my knee before I brushed him away, not wanting his false support. He never meant it. Although he knew how I hated this place, leaving it six and a half years ago after the accident, swearing never to return. It brought back too many fragmented memories I could never seem to assemble together. My head throbbed as I leaned it against the cool glass window to mitigate the pain. 

I knew he didn’t understand. He never would. This was a tactic he used to put my mind at ease, to make me give into another silly film project I didn’t want to do. But my acting skills kept his mansion prim and proper, my annoying little half-brother in elite schools, and Cindy, my step-mother, with pearls wrapped around her neck. 

I didn’t need to look at him, already visualizing the assertiveness in his cold blue eyes as he spoke. “Daph, whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re feeling, bottle it up and read your script. In front of the camera, you can release that bottle into your character, but we don’t need another meltdown, do you understand?” 

My jaw tightened, hating that he’d bring that up, a meltdown I could barely remember. It was during an interview for a movie I was promoting at the time. However, I barely remember saying two words before everything went blank and I woke up in the hospital with a viral film of my meltdown circulating. But I lived with the aftermath of it, the “meltdown” being televised internationally and the movie was under heavy scrutiny because of it. Film producers and directors blacklisted me, saying I’d be too much of a hazard to work with. I lost movie deals and could only snag tiny commercials and TV cameos. No one wanted to work with an actress who could make their entire project implode. Well, not until Caleb Cross called and sent dad the script for his up-and-coming film.

Dad’s voice deepened as he asked again, “Do you understand?”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s been almost two years since you had this big of a role and I’ll be damned if I let you mess it up.” 

He condescendingly sized me over and I lowered my sunglasses so he knew I was doing the same to him. His custom formal wear of silk-lined jacket and trousers, gold cufflinks, and navy blue tie made him look pretentious. One the first day of production, he liked for us to be ‘professionally’ dressed but throughout, he’d slowly transition to just plain dress shirts and jeans. As for me, Cindy dressed me in a dalmatian patterned ruffle skirt and a loose sleeved black blouse with heels. I utterly hated it. But after I woke up from a coma six years ago, she insisted I loved it when I let her dress me like a doll. I knew it was a lie within a week but allowed it on occasions like this, just to keep her from crying and whining to dad.

“Straighten up, we’ll be there soon.”

Rebelliously, I slouched in my seat which made him roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath. I stayed that way proudly until my back started to ache and I finally sat up straight as we approached the production site. They created a makeshift tin building the size of a football field on the outskirts of Hawthorne Peak border between the next town north. The iron bars were secured by two guards on both sides, dad rolling down the window to show them our IDs.

“Behave, Daphne,” he reminded me, the car slowing to a park by the tin building. People with rails of wardrobe and camera equipment were roaming the side of the building while a bulky guard stood at the front beneath a sign: Actor Entrance. “The role of Lora is already yours, just make sure it stays that way.”

My eyes flickered to him threateningly. “And if I don’t?”

Without replying, he scoffed with another eye roll, popping open the door to step out. Grabbing my script, I did the same, feeling the spring air on my face, sunglasses coming in handy against the heated sun shining on my face. I hope we get to shoot outside on days like this, I thought, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth. Somedays, I wished I could have days where I could just spend all day in the sunshine without any worries or cares.

“Daphne!”

I sighed at the sound of dad’s voice, snapping me out of my tranquil thoughts. “I’m coming, old man.” 

I enjoyed the way he winced at the nickname, approaching the door. My father, although 45 years old, looked like he could be in his early thirties with only a few strands of silver in his jet black hair that matched mine, parted to the side with a curl over his forehead. His signature superman swoop he’s maintained since I’ve known him.

He gestured for me to follow, the guard opening the door and informing us that everyone was gathering down the hall for a table read. Walking down the corridor, dad adjusted himself as though he were the one that needed to make the biggest impression. 

Stopping at the meeting room, he whispered, “Whatever happens, stay calm.” I made no indication that I heard, reaching out for the knob to open the door. 

His voice was the first thing that held me captive, widening the door as he spoke. The deep baritone of his tone caressed my ears like a melody I once knew but couldn’t remember the name of it. “...I would also like to inform you all of…” 

Then he paused, his forest green eyes flickering to me, making my pulse race uncontrollably. For the longest second, we seemed to just stare at each other, eyes tracing one anothers’ faces as though to lock them into memory. There was no doubt in my mind this was Caleb Cross, the director, and although I’d only seen pictures of him with his father, Patrick Cross, from interviews and award shows, he looked so much more handsome in person. The sensation of attraction baffled me, especially since I haven’t felt attracted to anyone, guy or girl, since I woke up from a coma. I thought I was numb in that department after the accident but staring into his eyes, memorizing his sharp jawline, his lips, and the muscles of his forearm made me want him.

Swallowing down my sudden emotion, I cleared my throat awkwardly which seemed to snap us both out of our hypnosis. With a few blinks, his green eyes filmed over darkly, glaring at me and dad. “You’re ten minutes late, Ms. Brookshaw,” he scolded.

At the name, there were a few gasps from the long table, finally noticing my fellow actor’s eyes on me with curiosity and bewilderment. I didn’t know if it was because of being a Brookshaw, my mother famously known in the actor world before her passing, or because of my viral video of a mental breakdown. I had a feeling it was the latter.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cross,” dad apologized on my behalf. He placed his hands on my shoulder, unnoticeably forcing my back to straighten instead of slouching. “There was traffic from our rental on the way here.”

Caleb waved his words off smugly, his eyes lingering on me when he spoke. “I don’t accept excuses. Next time, come an hour early.”

My father nodded, his fingers tightening on my shoulders, making me wince. “Of course.”

“Please take a seat, Brookshaw. We were just discussing the true history this film will be based on, but you would know that already.” I would? Gazing downward at the glass table everyone sat at, I realized there were newspapers, photo clippings, and notebooks of things all too familiar. Then my eyes caught the glimpse of his photo, a shoot of him in a dark suit and a bright smile that had scorched through my mind for years. At the bottom in bold letters: Ezra Graham. 

I inched back, feeling my head start to throb, my body trembling, and my breath becoming uneven as my throat tightened. “Brookshaw?” Caleb said, looking concerned. Then his eyes followed where mines landed.

I could feel my father’s nails pinching the skin of my shoulders as he whispered in my ear. “Stay calm.” But I couldn’t. Turning my head to face my dad, I realized he knew, his face a plaster of solemnness. He knew this film would be about him, the notorious pastor who kidnapped me, who I tried to run from along with his step-daughter, Lilah, who went missing. Oh, no.

Pressing the palms of my hands to my temples, I tried to force the fragmented memories away, attempting to back out the door. One...two...three...breathe. One...two...three...I felt someone grab my arm, pulling me down the narrow corridor while I tried to catch my breath. 

“Don’t follow!” he shouted, still yanking me down the hall until we got to an empty room. Once inside, he closed the door and grabbed a chair for me to sit down in. Bending down in front of me, Caleb stared straight into my eyes and from just that simple gesture, I felt my entire body relax. “Inhale.” He mimicked the gesture dramatically. “Exhale. Take small breaths. You are in a safe place.” Following his instructions, I took small, even breaths, feeling my nerves diminish. Staring into his eyes, I found peace in counting the golden flecks like stars in the night sky. “You’re safe.”

I nodded. Once seeing I’d come to my senses, he stood and walked over to the water cooler, pouring some in a cone and handing it to me. I nodded my thanks, sipping it down. “Thank you.”      

“Welcome.” He didn’t bend down to my eye level, now towering over me broadly with his arms crossed and placate expression. “I already know your history, Ms. Brookshaw. I know about your...accident which left you in a coma for three months.” My jaw tightened, looking down at my cup so I wouldn’t be pulled into those dark fragmented memories. “I know who did, how scarring it had been for you, and about your breakdowns because of it. But I thought you accepted this role to finally get over those hurdles.”

“My dad did,” I confessed. “I didn’t know until now.”

He ran his fingers through his ear length light brown hair that seemed to border on dirty blond beneath the fluorescent lights. “I figured from that reaction. However, this project of mine can’t be possible without you.” 

Why? The word floated on the tip of my tongue but I never released it before he continued. 

“I know that you don’t completely remember everything before or during but after seeing your interview, your meltdown, I knew you needed closure.” He bent down to his knees again, looking straight into my eyes, a familiar assurance and warmth radiating from him. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. So, you can back out now, walk away, and have him haunt you forever. Or you can work with me and from this production, find the closure you deserve. The choice is yours.”