open the door that led to the halls of costumes and ultimately the soundstage, he paused, his attention caught by his shadow. The banks of flickering fluorescent lights lit him up in such a way that it looked as though he was going one way and his shadow was going another, gray and barely visible fingers stretching out across scuffed paint to turn the handle of the basement door.
The basement.
Where the FX workrooms were.
Where Arra Pelindrake was. Sheâd been on location last night and heâd seen her today just before he found Nikkiâs body. Heâd been looking right at her when that voice had murmured Nikkiâs name in his ear jack.
Maybe his shadow knew something he didnât.
The big room at the bottom of the basement stairs was remarkably well lit. Between the fluorescent lights and the scattered fill lights, the illumination was essentially constant. Floor, walls, and ceiling had been painted a pale gray. Doors were set flush and the various tools of Arraâs trade were arranged neatly on gray metal shelves in such a way that they . . .
. . . that they threw no shadows.
One hand still on the banister, Tony glanced down at the floor, twisted and looked over his right shoulder, examined the nearest walls. No shadows. He had the strangest feeling that if he turned around, heâd see his shadow waiting for him at the top of the stairs, unable to come any farther.
After a momentâs reflection, he decided not to look.
Arraâs desk was in the far left corner of the room. He couldnât see her behind the bank of multiple monitors, but he could hear the shuff-click of her mouse.
What was he doing down here again?
He couldnât remember even speaking to Arra during all the months heâd been with CB Productions. Even when called in to do second unit work, he did his job and she did hers and long conversations over the state of the industry or what gunpowder makes the prettiest boom never happened. Was he actually going to walk up to her and say, âI think you know whatâs going on.â
Considering he was halfway across the room and still moving, it certainly seemed as though he was going to say something.
She didnât acknowledge him in any way as he came around the monitors although she had to know he was there. Right hand on her mouse, left hand on the keyboard, her eyes remained locked on the half-dozen screens of various sizes and resolutionsâevery one of them showing a different game of solitaire. Two were the original game, two spider solitaire single suit, one spider double suit and one the highest level, all four suits.
She lost that one as he watched.
Dragging her mouse hand up through short gray hair, Arra sighed without turning. âIâve been expecting you.â
Not good. In Tonyâs experience, when slightly scary people said they were expecting you, things were about to go south in a big freakinâ way.
âYou have seen things,â she continued, quickly placing three cards. âYou are not certain what you have seen, but neither are you willing to disregard the evidence of your own eyes merely because it does not fit with a contemporary worldview. This leads me to believe that you have seen things on other occasions.â
And worse. It was always bad news when people started talking without using contractions. Since she seemed to be waiting for a reply, Tony pointed toward the far left monitor, an old VGA with a distinct flicker. âYou can move that black jack.â
âI know. Iâm just not sure I want to.â Kicking away from the desk, she swung her chair around and stared up at him. âSo, Tony Foster, tell me what youâve seen.â
She knows my name!
And closely following that thought, Of course she knows your name, you idiot, you work together. Sort of. More or less. In a way.
He could still walk away. Shrug and lie and leave. Not get mixed up in whatever the hell was going on. If he
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley