That’s a Wrap

 

Episode Three

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

One thing I adored after 200 years on the planet was the ever-evolving technology. It still seemed almost like magic to sit in my home office watching someone online, and I happened to know that magic was real. Right now, the lead actor in my movie was starting a Facebook Live video.

“Hi, everybody, I’m Chad Anthony – though hopefully most of you already know that.” He laughed, his boyish good looks meshing well with his charming demeanor. He ran his hand through his wavy black hair, the only indication to me that he might be nervous.

We wrapped filming of my latest movie last week and this was the first bit of post-production online marketing. Chad was great. Cute young man. I suspected this would be his breakout role – and I’d been around a long time!

While I’d been admiring his good looks (occupational hazard as a movie producer), he’d continued to talk to his online audience. The likes and the comments floating by on the screen thrilled me.

Chad frowned, and that drew my attention.

“I swear I just heard something.” He turned in his chair to check behind him, then back to the laptop camera with a shrug. “Must be the wind knocking a tree branch into a window,” he said with a half-smile.

But, now I was frowning. Yes, the weather could differ drastically across the Valley; however the air in my part of Vegas remained dead calm. Could it really be that windy near him? I leaned closer to the screen where Chad had continued to discuss the recently concluded film.

He stopped, his brown eyes narrowing as he turned again to look behind him. “I swear I heard someone. What the heck?”

A mix of comments appeared below the video. People worried for his safety, making fun of Chad for being so jumpy, or flat out accusing him of making this up to increase likes and the likelihood of going viral. Suddenly, loud popping noises came from my laptop. They didn’t sound like gunshots, so I quickly dismissed the comments on the video warning Chad that he was about to get shot. Though they did sound familiar. Almost like firecrackers. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the sound reminded me of.

Chad faced the screen, his olive skin paling. “Do you guys hear that? What is it?”

The comments came fast and furious now.

“Get out of the house now!!! This is how someone in LA died!!!”

Wait? What? I tried to grab the user name of the person who typed the comment, but it was already gone, scrolled up and away.

The firecracker noises were louder now and more people were commenting that Chad should call the police, that it couldn’t be normal. The young man, on the other hand, seemed frozen in his chair, wide eyes staring at the computer screen. I didn’t know if he was reading any of the scrolling comments. I wondered if he saw the one about Los Angeles.

I perched on the edge of my seat, cellphone ready, preparing to call Chad, when the noise abruptly ceased. In the silence, Chad’s face relaxed for a mere second before his eyes bugged out and an unseen force pulled him backward from the chair.

My jaw fell open. I stared at the room now visible behind where Chad had been sitting. The comments below the video became frantic. I pressed his number on my phone. I didn’t hear it ringing on his end (he listened to me and turned the ringer off, I guessed). When his voicemail engaged, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This couldn’t be good.

“Hi, you have reached Chad Johnson. If you are interested in auditioning or hiring me for a gig, please call my agent, Catherine Rodham, at Peterson Talent Agency, 702-555-6735. If you need to reach me, you know what to do after the beep.”

I stayed silent for a moment, speechless in the face of what I felt fairly confident was going to turn out to be a very bad thing. “Chad, are you okay? It’s Mia Fynn, your producer, in case you don’t recognize my voice. Or missed my name on the caller ID,” I added with a mirthless laugh, babbling. “What did I just see? Call me when you get this. I’m calling the police and will meet them at your place.”

While leaving the message, I realized I should have called the police first. I did so now.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

I gave the CliffsNotes version to the dispatcher of what I had seen and she logged the information into her system. I heard a sharp intake of breath before she unexpectedly stated I was the fifth call in the past few minutes to report concern for the young man.

“Did anyone give you his address?”

The dispatcher said yes but asked me for it anyway. I provided the address and told her I’d meet the police officers at the location. She started to tell me that was not a good idea. I thanked her for the commentary and pressed End on my cell.