The Devil's Cinema (16 page)

On couches in the Students' Union Building, a tower near the western edge of the University of Alberta's main campus, Johnny met a half-dozen likeminded people taking the same spiritual path. Discussions revolved around concepts like chakras, intuition, and dream travelling. Across from him sat a man with long brown hair and glasses. Darcy Gehl had studied
such ideas for most of his adult life and Johnny found him to be an inspiration. The two became fast friends and Johnny regarded him as his teacher.

Darcy found Johnny had already been studying many spiritual theories. He had a very open mind about the world around him. While he didn't adopt any particular religion as his own, Johnny did believe in a higher power. He just didn't know what to call it. Darcy thought his new friend was a bit reserved at times but confident in who he was. He appeared relaxed and easygoing. He loved music, especially the singer Elton John. When they went to a rock concert together, Darcy was impressed to see how Johnny could focus on just the lyrics or the ability of the guitar player. He knew how to appreciate life by just looking at it from a different perspective. The pair stopped going to the group meetings after a few months but continued talking to each other online and through their Facebook profiles.

Johnny invited Darcy over to his condo to show his friend his amassed collection on everything from secret societies to meditation. While he had been archiving what he had found online on his computer, he also wanted to share it. The student was becoming the teacher.

One of Johnny's most treasured possessions was a copy of the movie
What The Bleep Do We Know!?
The film examined connections between physics, neuroscience, and spirituality to explain the origins of the universe. A major concept was the waking reality, the lucid dream. It was something Johnny desperately wanted to achieve. The film relied upon an analogy from the work of author Lewis Carroll to explain this deep desire. Just like Alice in Wonderland, Johnny wanted to take a tumble down the rabbit hole and see what lay on the other side.

D
RESSED IN BUSINESS ATTIRE
, Twitchell jumped in his Pontiac Grand Am and cruised the streets of the city. He had nowhere to go, but he had to leave the house each day to convince Jess that he still had a job. On most days he'd end up at a coffee shop, fiddling on his laptop, working the numbers on his cell phone like a real film producer. Other days he'd stop in at his parents' house while they were at work. He had his own set of keys. Lunches tended to revolve around fast food and greasy spoons. He'd break up the routine by turning to
Dexter
, either reading the books or watching more episodes. He was soaking up the series like a sponge. At the usual time, he'd then drive home, creaking open his townhouse door to greet Jess, pretending to be recovering from another hard day of appointments and meetings. He'd give Chloe a cuddle.

Getting more investors signed on the dotted line wasn't going as quickly as anticipated. By July, with little new business coming his way, he was getting impatient. After lunch one day, he stuck his WiFi card into his laptop and logged into his Facebook account, entering a new status update: “Mark is getting pretty tired of depending on unreliable people to get back to him.” Over the following days, around the same time, he continued to post updates or crack odd jokes: “Mark is set to evil.” It was a reference to one of
The Simpsons
Halloween specials. “Mark is always on.” With no job, money was running out fast. He was forced to use around $1,800 from his business account to pay off debts. And now there was another financial worry on his plate.

Jess hated the townhouse. She wanted to move.

Their rental lay beside rail tracks. The freight trains would start up early, loud engines rumbling, sending clouds of dust and toxic fumes into the sky as it chugged across the city. With a new baby, it was time to buy a house, get a mortgage, and stop paying rent for a home Jess despised.

Twitchell feared their living situation would continue to deteriorate if
they didn't move, placing greater strains on their marriage. Their fights were already escalating. Talk of leaving the marriage became regular ammunition as bickering rose above calm reasoning. Yet, he knew it would be impossible to get a mortgage without a job and Jess, who was on maternity leave, would be unable to secure a mortgage on her own. He couldn't exactly tell his wife the real reason why he couldn't be approved for financing either.

His lie would need more lies.

Twitchell drove to the mall and picked up a second cell phone, registering it under a fake name. When the mortgage broker called, he'd answer the phone, disguise his voice, and pretend to be Jim McDougal, HR manager, an imaginary boss who would confirm Twitchell's fake employment details.

Twitchell's chequing account became flooded with $15,000 from his Xpress Entertainment account – money meant for funding
Day Players
. Another $5,000 was transferred a few weeks later. Bank statements were then forged to hide where the down payment funds had originated. “It fooled everyone,” Twitchell would later explain. “Presto, mortgage approval.”

In her ignorance, Jess was pleased that her husband had delivered. It wasn't much, but it was a start: a little blue and brick bungalow, their first real home. It sat on a corner lot on the north end of St. Albert. They moved in August 1, 2008.

For Twitchell, finding and buying the house was a relief. He could now focus on securing a movie deal. The whole ordeal had been a huge unwanted distraction for him and he let the world know about it on Facebook: “Mark is finally free to move shit forward.”

R
ANDY
L
ENNON HAD DIPPED
his hands into plenty of business deals, but seeing Mark Twitchell tell his story in front of a room of hardened investors had perked his ears. He was skeptical that the filmmaker apparently had a major star attached to his project, but the kid had moxie, at least. The sheer confidence of the man encouraged Randy to meet him for lunch. He wanted to explore what Twitchell really had lined up for his big movie project, and he wanted to put him in touch with a friend in the film industry, who could advise the entire group of investors as to whether this deal was worth pursuing.

Meanwhile, another investor, John Pinsent, who had sat a few seats away from Randy during Twitchell's pitch, thought it could be an interesting opportunity too. Over the course of the summer, he maintained contact with Twitchell, but the financial details of the film project never seemed to be completely clear. He was waiting on a formal pitch from the filmmaker before he would make a decision.

J
ESS HAD KNOWN NOTHING
about it for months, but then there he was: Dexter Morgan, the likable serial killer. Darkly and deviously, the character had captured her husband's attention, something she only became aware of as they unpacked and settled into their new home. Seeing the books and D
VDS
, she assumed
Dexter
was a new interest of her husband's.
Dexter
novels were placed on their bookshelf in the front room. Written in the first-person, each page revealed that Dexter's day-to-day interactions existed as elaborate lies:

Their marriage was still on shaky ground. Twitchell seemed distant. There was some kind of wall forming between them. He had set up an office in the basement. A spare mattress had been thrown on the carpet nearby. Jess was sleeping upstairs, near the baby.

Twitchell's fake employment routine continued on in the new house. Every weekday morning, he'd put on his work clothes, pretend to drive to the office, and then reappear at home eight or nine hours later. Jess had no idea what he was really doing.

As time opened up between investor meetings, Twitchell found himself drawn deeper into Dexter's world. He got his hands on the second season and, just like the first, watched every episode in under four days. By
mid-August, he was sharing his love of the series with virtually everyone he knew. An old acquaintance in America had been in contact with him about raising funds for
Day Players
. But he received an odd email that veered off into subjects totally unrelated to those efforts:

Twitchell told the man that he had spent the weekend directing a local movie:

His acquaintance had no idea if the story was fact or fiction. He had never heard of the project before and never received more details. In truth, Twitchell was thinking a lot about broadening his range.
Secrets of the Rebellion
had stalled with non-existent post-production work;
Day Players
needed serious financing. He wanted to try his hand at writing and directing his own short film, something small to pass the time with his film crew while he waited on these two big projects. He had already tried his hand at science fiction and comedy. And he was curious about a genre he had been exploring lately: the psychological thriller.

It was a deepening thought.

But he was running out of cash. His business account had dropped to under $7,000. Nearly all of the investment money from Joss and his brother-in-law was gone. If he was going to make a short film, it would have to be on the cheap.

The next two days became a blur as he thought more about the potential short horror film. Cruising in his maroon car, Twitchell found himself drifting between St. Albert and Edmonton, stopping in at coffee shops and convenience stores along the way. When he finally came home at night, he found himself restless. A heat wave was beginning. The August sun burned hot for the next four days, a late-summer fever trapped under the canopy of lush elm trees and blankets of clouds. Chloe was put to bed and Jess tried to sleep. But Twitchell stayed up late as twilight turned to black.

The silence of the suburban home was broken only by the light tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. He was on the Internet again. He had written something that was sure to provoke a response. But when his friends read his comment in the coming days, they kept their questions to themselves. Some thought it a very odd joke to make. Others did not know what he was referring to.

Just after two in the morning, Twitchell had updated his status on Facebook. It was one sentence that would take on a far more sinister meaning as the months rolled by. He had written: “Mark has way too much in common with Dexter Morgan.”

J
OHNNY'S SCHEDULE FILLED QUICKLY
, his weekends spent playing paintball with his close friend Dale, and many evenings busy with work, yet through the summer of 2008 romance never veered too far from his mind. He drove to a coffee shop to meet Debra, their friendship having grown closer these past few months. Pulling up a chair, he sat and stared across the table at her, sharing how he really wanted to find someone. In fact, he confessed, he was falling for her. “Would you give it a shot?” he asked with a smile.

Debra met his gaze. There was a lot to like about Johnny. He had interests that crossed the spectrum, whether motorbikes or camping, sitcoms or spiritualism. She thought he was a great person and she knew he had a big heart. But she had to be honest too. She felt no romantic chemistry between them. She wanted only to be friends.

But Johnny didn't seem to get it and just kept asking, “Why won't you just give it a try?”

Debra realized their discussion was going to end badly. She told him she didn't think it would be appropriate for them to keep hanging out all the time if he had these intense feelings for her. “It would be too unhealthy for the friendship,” she said.

It wasn't what Johnny had wanted to hear. They departed knowing they would be taking a break for a time, hopefully for the betterment of their friendship.

But as the summer continued, Debra had trouble keeping Johnny out of her life. Returning home from her long shifts as a nurse, she checked her home phone's voicemail and often heard a familiar voice on the other end. “Can't we just talk about this?” Johnny pleaded. She shook her head and rubbed her temples, knowing it was for the best if she just ignored these messages and made a determined effort never to respond.