Undead L.A. 2 (18 page)

I thought for sure the helicopter at least would have chased me,
he remembered,
but they never even turned around.

David drifted for a while, catching his breath, before swimming slowly back towards the shore and eventually climbing out of the water a few miles down. He took his time walking back up to PCH and then along the highway to where his car was parked. By the time he got back they were all gone, cops and crew alike, and he was nearly dry again, the hot sun beating down overhead having evaporated most of the moisture from his now salty clothes. David climbed into his truck and drove off. He went straight home, poured himself a stiff drink, and went to sleep without even drinking it. The next day when he got up he discovered he'd ruined his cellphone. That afternoon, when he finally got a new one and checked his voice mail, he learned he was the only one who got away and that the rest of them were facing big fines and court dates. Ever since then those who knew about the incident had called him Aquaman.

The phone rang and David answered it.

“What have you done to my girl?” Benjamin began by way of greeting. “She called me, crying so desperately that I can't understand a word she's saying.”

“Whatever the fuck is wrong with your girl happened before she got here,” David shot back angrily. “She showed up in a mangled car and promptly locked herself in the bathroom. I've got another actress in there now talking to her, but you better get your ass down here and set her straight. I don't have the time to hold her hand right now, so either she cleans up her act in the next hour or she's gone. I don't think I have to explain to you what Hive Mind will do if that happens.”

It felt good to put the screws to Benjamin for once. The arrogant prick had, on more than one occasion, stuck it to David and all of his crew just because he could. It was nice being able to turn the tables on him and make him squirm.

“Fine,” Benjamin said after a lengthy silence. “I'm on my way now.”

David hung up without responding. He turned back to the monitors just in time to see St. Thomas entering Jessa from behind.
 

***
 

Samantha huddled in the corner of the bathroom with Briana's comfy pink robe covering her. She hadn't been able to stop shivering when her fellow actress barged in and locked the door behind her, so Briana had taken off her robe and was now trying to calm Sam down with a naked pep talk.

“Whatever it is, you can talk to me,” Briana cooed. “I've been there. Trust me. I won't judge you.”

“Hu-hu-he,” Samantha stuttered, trying to get the words out, “he wuh-wuh-was in the road. I ha-ha-ha-hit he-he-him wu-wu-with my ca-ca-ca-car!”

“Where was this, baby? You can tell me. It's okay.”

“In th-th-the ah-ah-all-lee,” Samantha said, her cold, quivering lips unable to form more than basic sounds. “I wu-wu-was try-hing tatatata take-ha sh-sh-short cut tu-tu-to sah-sah-set.”

“Did anyone one see you?”

Samantha shook her head no.

“Are you sure?”

“I thu-thu-think s-s-so,” she managed, causing a new round of trembling to rock through her.
 

“What was it—like a homeless guy?”

Samantha nodded, tears streaking out of her eyes and spilling onto the fluffy pink robe.

“It's a coin toss,” Briana said, pacing back and forth lost in thought. “On the one hand you can pretend it didn't happen and just get the car fixed. I know a guy with an auto body shop in Pacoima that chops cars on the side. They'll handle it without questions or even a record of them working on it, if you pay them extra. These days though there are so many fucking cameras out there that you never know when it might come back to bite you in the ass.”

“Hu-hu-he ju-ju-jumped out at muh-muh-me,” Samantha managed, now growing scared at the thought of being questioned by the police. Briana was right. What if the guy died? She'd hit him hard and his leg was mangled. What if the story she told the cops contradicted the evidence and they ended up hauling her off for murder? She'd seen it a thousand times on the murder shows on cable; dumb criminals tripped up by their own mistakes and locked up for years. She didn't want to be one of them.

“You other option is that we can sit here and come up with a story to give them that will clear you of any wrong doing,” Briana said with a knowing look in her eyes. “I'm sure you've heard all about how I accidentally ran over Harry with the car?”

Samantha nodded. Everyone in the business knew that story. Harry Steele was a cocky new male porn star who loved to brag about how he competed in motocross sports and MMA before getting into the business. What he didn't tell anyone was that he loved crack cocaine, which was how he got forced out of both and into the seedy underworld of adult movies. He didn't have to. Word got around fast that his transition from rising X Games super star to lowly meat puppet, the term affectionately used by industry folk for male performers, was due to his reckless enthusiasm for rocked up cocaine and how violently irrational it made him. When Samantha heard that Briana, a former contract girl who used to compete in beauty pageants, was dating the loud mouth she thought it was a bad joke. Harry put on a good face for a few weeks, swearing off drugs and alcohol long enough to convince her to move in with him. Once Briana's bags were unpacked he was right back to his old crack smoking self. His work dried up when he stopped showing up to set on time and soon he was pawning her jewelry to feed his rampant addiction. According to the police report that leaked on TMZ, they were arguing over him going to rehab when he hauled off and punched her in the face, knocking her to the floor. For the next few hours he held her hostage, beating her in between smoking crack from three different pipes and threatening to kill her. Briana claims she eventually managed to escape the apartment, but that he chased her as she ran outside and locked herself in the car. She told police that she pulled out and was driving up the street when Harry ran out in front of the car, and the reason there were no skid marks was because he unexpectedly leaped out at her.
 

Harry never lied about beating her, but claimed he didn't know what he was doing because he was so high on drugs at the time. He said that as he ran out of drugs an overwhelming guilt settled over him, causing him to want to flee in shame. According to his version of events, he ran out the front door to get as far away from what he had done as possible. Briana chased after him in a fit of anger, jumping in the car and running him down in the middle of the street before leaving him for dead. Harry survived, but was paralyzed from the waist down. He was sentenced to ten years for what happened that day and, as far as any of them knew, was now enjoying his showers in the prison sitting down.

“Well I'm sure then that you know it wasn't no accident either,” Briana admitted. “That bastard terrorized me for three full hours, hitting me over and over again and burning me with his crack pipes.”

“Gu-gu-god,” Samantha sputtered.
 

“It was only when he'd smoked up all his stash that he started feeling sorry for what he did. I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let him do that to me and just walk away. So when I saw him running down the middle of the street in his underwear I knew what I had to do. I honked so he'd turn around. Had to do it three times to get his attention, then I ran that cocksucker down and left him for dead. And do you know why I got away with it?”

Samantha shook her head.

“Because I stuck to my story and never backed down. That's what we need you to do. We'll come up with a good story and you'll stick to it. Yes, you hit a guy and drove off, but you were scared for your life. That's why you left the scene. You were terrified.”

“Hu-hu-he bu-bu-bit m-m-me,” Samantha said, holding up her arm to show Briana. “when I stu-stu-stopped.”

“That's perfect,” Briana said, kneeling down and hugging Samantha. “He jumped out at you, high as a kite and acting crazy, and you hit him. When you stopped to help him he attacked you so you fled. You came straight here so you could get help. They can't arrest you for that!”

Briana reached into the pockets of her robe and pulled out her iPhone. She dialed 911, but it went to a busy signal. She dialed again and got the same thing.

“That's odd,” Briana said, staring at her phone. “Must be the service in this old warehouse. I swear I never get service on any set I shoot on, especially downtown.”

There was a loud knock at the door that made them both jump.

“What's going on in there?” Evan's muffled voice asked from the other side. “Do we need to find a replacement or are we making progress? Our director is going to need to know soon either way.”

“We're gonna be just fine,” Briana lied. “Give us a few more minutes and we'll be out.”

“Okay, I'll let him know,” Evan said, the sound of his footsteps shuffling off coming from the other side of the door.
 

“Thu-thu-thu-thank-ke-ke-kah-yu-yu-you,” Samantha managed. “I'm su-su-so cold.”

“That's just the shock,” Briana said, sliding back down next to Samantha and hugging her with one arm. She used the other one to redial 911 on her phone. “That will pass. We're just gonna sit right here until you start to feel better.”

Samantha leaned over and let her head softly rest on Briana's oversized fake breasts. She felt feverish now, her stomach churning loudly as her skin began to crawl. Somewhere under the nausea there was a hunger forming in her with a mind of its own. Her thoughts, which had felt clouded and tangled, seemed to melt away as the urge to feed rose through her like a burning metal spike. She felt like she was falling, vanishing into the hunger, the only thing that made any sense anymore. It was only when she heard the high pitched shriek coming from above her that she realized she was biting into Briana's ample breasts, tearing the skin away from the saline implants in jagged strips.
 

Warm salty metallic blood flooded into her mouth giving her indescribable pleasure. Briana shrieked again and began hitting her over the head, but Samantha just dug in deeper, clamping her teeth down hard onto Briana's breastbone. Briana writhed naked and helpless in the slick puddle of her own blood as her co-star fed on her, eyes wide in fright, mouth gaping open in a silent scream giving her an expression of being locked in the throes of ineffable ecstasy. The last thing she saw before she passed out was her implants flopping out onto the wet tile with a splash.

***
 

“We don't have time for this shit today,” David shouted at the locked bathroom door. He mistook the sound of low moaning behind it for an impromptu lesbian tryst, which only made him madder. They could screw around and get high and eat each other out all they wanted to off set, but today he needed them fully focused. “If we get off track again today we could end losing hours and going heavy into overtime. And I don't have it. I've already called Benjamin. He's on his way.”

“Correction,” Benjamin said, sliding up behind David and the rest of the assembled crew with the stealth of a garden snake moving through tall grass. “I'm already present.”

“She's been locked in the bathroom for over an hour,” David said, waving his hands over his head in frustration. “I'm out of ideas.”

“Her car was all busted when she showed up,” Evan explained to Benjamin. “She went straight from the parking lot to the bathroom. I sent in Briana to talk to her.”

“And now she's not answering either,” David screeched in anger. “I'd fire everyone if I didn't have my fucking balls in a vice grip to bring this thing in on budget.”

“Briana is a drug addict,” Benjamin said, rolling his eyes. “That's why she was with Harry so long. It's possible they are in there too high to respond. For all we know they are overdosing right now. Is there another key to the door?”

“Another key?” David's eyes bugged out in amazement. “Oh why didn't we think of that? Gee thanks, Benjamin.”

“There's no need to be rude, David,” Benjamin said with a sneer. “I'm just asking questions to see how I can help.”

“I put a call in to the location company to see if the owner has a spare key around,” Evan said calmly, trying to lower the tension on set. “I haven't heard back yet, but my phone has been getting really spotty reception the last few hours.”

“Everything has gone to shit since your girl showed up,” David snorted.
 

“What do you suggest I do, David? Please tell me.”

“I don't fucking know! Shit! I swore I wasn't going to lose my temper today. You know what? Fuck it. If you're not going to do anything about it I'm going to call the cops. They can handle it. Then I'll just have her replaced.”

“You have insurance on this shoot, correct?”
 

“Of course I have fucking insurance,” David screamed. “Hive Mind made me take out two million, just in case.”

“Fine,” Benjamin said. “Then you won't mind if I try knocking down the door?”

“Have at it, my man,” David replied, stepping out of the way. Evan lowered his head, using his right hand to cover his smile. He knew the porn gossip columns would have a field day with the news that Benjamin had to kick a door open on set and drag out his drugged up starlet, Cherry Haze. Someone on set was bound to have anonymously leaked it already from a secret email address. He couldn't wait to check the usual ones on his cell, to see how close they’d gotten to the full scoop.

“Listen up, girls. This is your final warning,” Benjamin said theatrically, puffing his chest up and giving everyone around him a show. “Either open up now or back away from the door. I'm coming in.”

Benjamin charged towards the door, lifting up his right foot and planting it squarely in the middle of the door. The force of the kick was more than enough to do the job. The old wooden door remained as firm as ever, but the frame around it and part of the dry wall tore off, sending Benjamin sprawling onto the blood-slicked floor. The girls were on him in seconds. Benjamin pulled himself into a ball and began to scream as they bit the back of his neck, head, and fingers.