Sunday
Linh stood in the center of the field, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling heavy with exertion. Her practice jersey clung to a pool of sweat on her lower back. The early afternoon sun beat down on the open field and started to thaw the spring frozen ground as the team ran drills. They had been out since eight that morning running drills, obstacles, working the fundamentals of the game to get ready for the summer season. Linh let her arms drop and reared up for the drive. She kicked the ball straight into the center of the goal, jogging off to the back of the line when she was done. Letting her teammates take their shot.
“Pointless,” she mumbled under her breath. They had been at it all day, and now they had just been taking shots for the last half hour to a goalie less goal. The summer season wasn't that serious. It was an amateur league that they used to prep for the actual season in the fall. The Loyola Ramblers was their team name, and they were good enough without the killer practices late March, when there was still piles of snow melting in the ditches.
“Hansen is really on it today,” Sam whispered back.
“Someone should say something, this is ridiculous.”
“Ha, sure,” Sam rolled her eyes and jogged up to her place to take her own shot. Linh looked over at Eric Hansen, their coach. He stood off to the right with his arms crossed, a blank look on his face as he watched the girls each take a shot in turn. Sam's shot made it straight in the center of the goal, as most of the girls' shots made it. As Linh watched her teammate pull the ball out of the goal and jog back to the end of the line, Linh rolled the ball in front of her and kicked it straight at Coach Hansen. She held back a chuckle as the ball bounced off of his shin and he barely registered that something had hit him.
Eric turned his head, arms still crossed, and glared at Linh from across the field. He gestured for her to come to him.
“Girl, what you tryin' to do?”
Linh walked slowly across the field over to her coach, wiping the sweat from her brow as she went, playing up her exhaustion. Her girlfriend, Kelly, was waiting for her on the sidelines, had been there for an hour, and Linh threw a glace her way trying to let her know I'm trying, here.
“Coach.” Linh stood small against his imposing frame. He was mid thirties, broad shouldered, well built. He had played for the Men's team when he was in school, tried to apply to med school and never got in, so he came back for sports management and was soon promoted to head coach of the women's team after two successful seasons as assistant.
looked down at the ball at his feet. It had bounced off of his shin and rolled a foot away from him. He looked back up at Linh with raised eyebrows.
“It slipped. We've been at it so long...I lost control of it.”
Eric took a step forward towards Linh, rolling the ball under his left foot. “It slipped?” Eric kicked the ball gently into Linh's feet and she instinctively rolled it back a few few behind her. “Get back in line,” Eric's voice was stern and Linh quickly gave up her attempt at whining her way out of the rest of practice. As she turned to rejoin the team, Eric took another step forward and reached and gripped her upper arm. His hands were rough and wide. He could wrap his fingers around her arm more than once over. She instantly tensed.
Kelly watched the interaction from the sidelines through sunglasses. She sat on the edge of the cold metal bleachers, huddled into her long pink winter jacket that reached past her knees when she sat. It was cold to not be out there with the rest of them running and working out. She bit her lower lip when Hansen's hand wrapped around Linh's arm and he pulled her back towards him, the movement just barely noticeable from far away, but she saw it.
Monday
Kelly stood in Dick and Debra Miller's kitchen, smirking, trying not to laugh at the way events have unfolded. Here she was, invited into the very house she had broken into with Trent and Jodi just a few days ago. She was there to audition for Brad Miller's movie, The Shadows, which was the last thing she thought she'd be doing—but she had to admit she was getting good at acting, perhaps she always had been. She looked around at the three other girls that where going to audition, impressed that a project like this actually gathered local attention, but certain she'd get the part anyway.
“That was good, man, we'll definitely call you,” Brad walked out of the living room with a twenty-something classically good looking white boy in tow.
“We really gotta pick a name for Gary Stu,” Maggie leaned into Pathik who sat in the middle of her and Levi on the sofa.
“Gary Stu isn't a name?”
Maggie laughed, “Nah, it's like a filler. He wasn't supposed to be such a Gary Stu when we started,” Maggie leaned forward and winked across at Levi who was buried in his script. Pathik sat back looking between the two of them hoping someone would explain it to him but an explanation never came. Levi didn't even seem to be listening.
“Well, what was his name again?”
“Who?”
“...the actor.”
“Oh, uh. I'm sure Brad wrote it down with his number and stuff.”
“Levi,” Brad nudged his elbow into Levi's side and then leaned into him, looking at the heavily edited script in his hands, trying to see what was distracting him.
“Huh?” Levi flipped the script closed and, finally, looked up.
“Do you remember his name?”
Levi sat back sheepishly, he had bare paid attention to the audition, but vaguely remembered the rest of them saying they liked the guy. Levi would be the one to hire the actors, but he was feeling increasingly anxious about the project and it's state of undone. Usually a script would be done by this point, or close enough, and Levi was struggling to write the rest of it. He kept cutting out the parts he had already finished, kept second guessing himself, and the rest of the group didn't seem to care as much as he did.
“I'm not sure, sorry.”
Brad reappeared in the living room and Gary Stu, whoever he was, had left through the front door.
“Now, the Kellys!” Brad grinned with his hands on his hips. Auditioning actresses was his new favorite job. At NIU, whenever they had done projects, it was always with the other film students and the same actors were used over and over again—and even Brad and Levi themselves had acted in a few of the first ones, the ones they didn't brag about.
“You are far too excited,” Maggie gave Brad a smirk. Maggie liked to egg the boys on. She'd been around the three of them long enough to know what riled them all up. She met Levi and Brad in a theatre class at NIU and Pathik showed up three semesters in and stuck around for Levi. She could feel Pathik rear up beside her, annoyed.
“You three got your boys, now it's only fair I get some girls,” Brad said, ignoring the fact that the girls could hear him from the other room, could hear just how Hollywood producer-like he really was.
Maggie turned to Pathik, “they don't need us, wanna go snoop?”
“Hey,” Brad started but Pathik stood up and nodded and made for anywhere that wasn't where Brad was in full force. He saw the group of girls standing in the kitchen waiting to be called to read lines and recognized the waitress Brad chatted up from the other night. She looked right at him, her stare penetrating and fierce. For a moment Pathik was rooted to the spot before Maggie came up and slipped her hand into his and dragged him into the hallway towards the basement stairs.
“I think there's some booze or something down here,” Maggie said. She didn't care for the audition process either, didn't have as much invested in the project as Levi did and wasn't quite as into tits as Brad, though she couldn't deny they were one of the perks of low budget horror movies. Even if more than half the crew was strictly dickly.
Back to Sunday, for a moment
Linh lay asleep on Kelly's bed, her body pressed into the small space between the wall and Kelly's body. She only had a twin mattress in the cramped single bedroom of her old fashioned duplex. Half the time she slept on the couch anyway, but when Linh came over, they managed to get themselves to the bed most of the time. The room was cold and Linh had the covers pulled up over her shoulder and her legs wrapped around Kelly's to keep her close. Kelly eased out of her embrace and sat on the edge of the bed looking down at Linh.
She slept with her mouth open, her breathing heavy, and her long black hair got easily tangled in the twists and turns of the night. She was dead asleep and Kelly got out of bed without a second thought. If she was going to go out and do this thing tonight she'd have to get going; the quicker she could get it done the less likely she'd have to explain anything to Linh who was so exhausted from practice she'd probably sleep til noon if undisturbed. Kelly didn't want to explain anything to Linh, it was better that way. Linh didn't need to know all that Kelly did for her to love her. That's what Kelly told herself, that she was doing it for Linh even though she hadn't asked, or needed it, and that Linh's love would stay the same, constant.
Kelly closed the bedroom door gently and rushed down into the basement. She had a backpack ready to go sitting at the bottom of the stairs. She threw on a black hoodie, skinny jeans, black boots and grabbed the backpack, pulling up the notes she had made on her phone of Eric Hansen. He'd been on her list for a while, pretty much from the moment she had met Linh. He was a real jackass, a sort-of athlete that had failed every attempt he made to do something with his life and the just landed as coach of the women's soccer team. In reality she knew very little about him. He had been a frat boy. He was controlling. He liked to put his hands on the girls sometimes, a show of dominance, but she had never seen him do anything worse and Linh had never mentioned it. After today's practice Kelly grilled her on Hansen.
He's competitive, and on an ego trip. She had said, scrubbing her face with an acne rub that smelled of peaches. Kind of racist, not gonna lie, but like, who cares?
Kelly cared, or rather, Kelly hadn't killed in a while and the itch was coming back. A silent thrill ran through her as she turned and jogged back up the steps to the main floor and left the house. Her heart started to beat faster and the cold of the night air didn't even register on her face as she turned left and practically disappeared into the darkness of the avenue.
Monday, again
“Woah,” Maggie stood in the doorway of Dick's office, looking wildly at all of the various political signs and the ancient desktop computer and piles and piles of a madman's conspiracies.
Pathik peeked his head around the frame of the door and laughed.
“No fucking way.”
Maggie walked into the room and started to flick through the stack of political signs leaning up against the wood-paneled wall. Pathik stepped gingerly inside. He stood in the center of it and looked all around him. Everything that he was—dark skinned, femme, first generation American—felt like an act of rebellion in the middle of that tiny office.
“Donahue for Sheriff. God that would be a nightmare.”
Pathik nodded along. Up on the wall above the door there was a red flag, with a large black X, similar to a Confederate flag, but in the center there was a gold embroidered rose. He didn't know what kind of a flag it was, technically, but he had a feeling.
Pathik left the office and Maggie and walked over to the bar on the other side of the basement. He opened up a small fridge and scanned it for something that wasn't Old Milwaukee. In the back was a bottle of Jagermeister. He wrinkled his nose but grabbed for it anyway.
“Come on Mags, I found some.”
Maggie left old man Richard's den behind and joined Pathik at the bar. It was finished in that suburban style, a couple of leather covered stools, a granite counter top, mini fridge and sink and a few cupboards for glasses and storage. The rest of the basement was as expected, a TV, a couch, a dart board. It was really only the back closet office of white supremacy that left a bad taste in your mouth.
Pathik found two shot glasses in the cupboard and set them before Maggie, pouring the shot without asking her if Jager was alright. He certainly wasn't going to drink Old Milwaukee, and as far as he could see there was no stash of Debra's Pinot anywhere to be seen.
Maggie lifted her shot glass in a cheers. “To, uh, the resistance!” Maggie clinked her glass against Pathik's and held it to her lips. Pathik raised his eyebrows. “The resistance?” Maggie shrugged and took her shot, coughing at the bitter taste. Pathik did the same and reached for the bottle to pour them another.
“You think Levi knows?”
“Knows what?”
Pathik gestured towards the office, then all around him, and upwards to where Brad was surely sitting and dictating how things were going to go for this movie. He was the production man, after all, bankrolling the thing. The idea that Miller money and resources were what enticed Levi staying friends with Brad pissed him off.
“Just because that's the way daddy is doesn't mean that's the way Brad is. You have to remember, he's an idiot.” Maggie took her second shot. “God that's gross. Hey, you ever had Malort?”
“I'm not so sure.”
“I think you gotta let it go, man. Levi's into you, you should trust him more.”
Pathik stared down at his glass. “Is that the kind of thing we should let go?” Maggie took the bottle of alcohol from Pathik and poured her own shot, only half way before the bottle ran out. “So much for booze,” she mumbled before looking back up at Pathik's face, sober and wondering.
“Well, we're not. We're making the movie. You ever read Levi's old stuff? I know you weren't always around for the films and it's not your style, or whatever, but there's a reason I stick around him. He's got something to say. And maybe he doesn't say it to Brad's face because Brad's like a foot taller than him and it's not his way. Levi is a words man, he says it through his books and his movies. Whether or not Brad is like his father, I don't know, but Levi's not a total pushover. Trust him.”
It was easier for Levi, maybe, to let it go when it came to Brad, and Brad's money, and Miller Industrial Paints and Chemicals. That didn't take away from his art, Pathik supposed, but it still didn't calm the bile in his gut.
Sunday, one more time
Eric Hansen lay a bloody mess all over the floor of his kitchen. Kelly stood over him. He had been more of a fight than she had expected, but it was done. The thrill of it, the adrenaline, pulsing through her started to slow to a drip. When it got to this point, reality would sometimes squeeze back through to the forefront and Kelly had to reason it back away. Kind of racist, not gonna lie. She cracked her neck once, twice. On an ego trip. She turned and dug into her backpack to find her phone, pulling off her black gloves and shoving them into the back pocket of her jeans before she dug through and pulled out the phone. She punched in her password and called Anthony.
The townhouse was on the end, there was really one one close neighbor to contend with but it was so late at night that the whole neighborhood was empty and silent. As much as he had fought against her, he hadn't screamed. Kelly had a good feeling about this one, but she still needed Anthony. Most of her kills were planned, orchestrated, usually in connection with Anthony's plans—with his resources and her drive they developed a rhythm. But this had been something of a passion kill, and it was messy.
“Hello?”
“Anthony.”
“What happened?”
“I need a clean up crew.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was heavy. Anthony rustled out of bed and she could hear him grumbling. He was starting to lose control of her.
“Message the address.” Anthony clicked off and Kelly tossed the phone back into her backpack after texting him her location, where it sat on one of the dining chairs at his breakfast nook. She picked up the knife where it had fallen on the floor as the weight of him, weak and almost dead, fell into her and it took all her strength to catch him and lay him down to die. He was dead now, completely, but she wanted one more jab. She sunk the blade into his gut and twisted it, round and round, like she was tightening a screw.
Monday
Brad looked her up and down. Kelly was tired but she didn't look it. She wore a tank top and skinny jeans—different ones from the night before, clean ones. She smiled prettily back at him, used to faking it at the restaurant.
“So, you'll be reading for Kelly.”
“The character is really named Kelly?”
“Yeah,” Levi glanced between Brad and Kelly, “why?”
“That's my name.”
“Oh--” Brad grinned, “must be fate.”
Levi was not well versed in flirting but he was kind of sure that what Brad was doing wasn't the good kind. Kelly played into it though, or...liked it? He couldn't actually tell.
Brad leaned forward and licked his lips. She looked familiar, but girls flitted in and out of Brad's life on a constant revolving conveyor belt of hook-ups. He was almost sure he hadn't slept with her, but he knew he wanted to. The cadence of her voice was teasing, testing him. She was hot, conventionally hot. Compared to the art school girls that were here, Kelly was unreal. Brad already made up his mind. A bad actress and a flopped film project was worth the sacrifice in his mission to get laid. What else was the point of starting your own production company?
Levi reached out and handed Kelly a page of the script that was what they were using to audition the girls. It wasn't even dialogue they'd probably keep in anyway, it was mostly vapid and cliche. Neither of them were experienced in holding open auditions—it was weird being in the in between of professional and hobbyist.
“Should I just, start, then?” Kelly asked, glancing down at the script and for the first time feeling the pressure that she needed to get the part. She imagined Brad's face replacing Eric Hansen's on the kitchen floor of his townhouse. Except for a slight different in age they could be the same person.
“Just be yourself, sweetheart. No need to be nervous.”
Levi looked at Brad incredulous and nudged him sharply in the side.
“Start whenever.”
The Kelly of the story was a nebulous character, mostly innocent and frightened on every page, but still, unwilling to give in. She was complicated, and honestly overworked. Viewed through one perspective she might have just been a ditsy blonde white girl who got herself into trouble, or was randomly selected for trouble. But that was just a surface reading, whether the rest of the script held up to the difficulty of theme wasn't clear to anyone involved. The character was meant to be someone relatable, at the very least, and captivating at most. The rest was just fog machines and special effect.
Brad and Levi both smiled, genuinely, as Kelly turned and left at the end of the audition.
“She was incredible,” Levi felt giddy again. This was a giant step closer to a successful completed movie. Kelly was the actress he had always dreamed of. If she liked the movie, if they made money, maybe he could make her his go-to. He always wanted to be that kind of director, who made movies with his people, his collective.
“I got dibs.”
Levi snorted, “Yeah okay.” He was too deliriously happy to care much about Brad. He suddenly felt inspired to finish the script. They both got up simultaneously to head over to the girls waiting to audition to tell them they could all go home. Honestly it was weird they had gotten any sort of turn out at all in the suburbs on a Monday.
“Hey, you think it's weird they're both named Kelly?”
There was a lingering pause while Levi contemplated the destiny of his artistic choices, “Nah.”
To be continued...here.
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