Chapter 3: I Got Red
1076 Words
Casey burst out of the soundstage and onto the busy studio lot. All of the soundstages were in use for various projects, none of which were particularly high quality.
While this was technically a part of the sprawling Hollywood machine, it wasn't a big-name studio full of famous stars and top talent productions. This studio felt more like a factory full of dog-tired employees working long hours in bad conditions trying to make low-budget slop for streaming services.
"Where did you go?" Casey muttered.
She scraped her hunter's gaze across the crowd of cops, sound techs, cowboys, robots, and sorcerers.
One advantage the Windswept Man gave her was the fact he stood taller than nearly everyone else. She focused on heads.
There!
The Windswept Man turned. His profile was rugged and somber.
Casey's whole being seemed to be filled with urgency. She burst into a jog, unable to run full-out because there just wasn't any room. Foot traffic was way too heavy this close to the lunch hour.
Another, somewhat more dubious, advantage: while the sprinkler suit had failed to spray blood all over the set, it did manage to leak all over Casey. She looked like a nightmare, with her big searching eyes and clothes covered in fake gore.
People instinctively avoided Casey to keep from getting red all over them.
A group of shiny-clad break-dancers parted as Casey passed. She could just make out the back of the Windswept Man's head. He wasn't far now. Just past the throng of surgeons.
"Hello? Casey Shock?"
Distracted, Casey glanced back. "Sorry?"
A young woman with curly hair and sad eyes waved. Her sticker-covered messenger bag bounced on her hip as she raced to catch up.
She extended a hand. "Jasmine Jasemi of GoreZoneClassic-dot-com."
"Uh, okay?" Keeping her eyes on the man she was chasing, Casey shook Jasmine's hand.
Jasmine made a face and looked at her hand. She pulled a tissue from her messenger bag and wiped the fake blood off her palm. "We have an interview scheduled for today?"
Casey spotted the Windswept Man as he made a sharp turn. She darted to the left, trying to circle round and cut him off near the row of golf carts. She over-corrected. Lost him.
Jasmine announced, "Sorry! Excuse me, sorry!" as she tried to press past a group of middle-aged grips on their smoke break. They didn't move for anyone. She was forced to go the long way round.
"Oh, man, where is he?" Casey stopped short, looked back the way she came.
No sign of the guy.
"I need higher ground." Casey spotted a prop UFO parked near one soundstage.
She ran over and climbed up the chrome hull. Her blood-soaked sneakers slipped on the smooth metal and she nearly went ass over teakettle.
"Whoa!" Fighting for balance, Casey white-knuckled the starboard laser cannon. Her grip dented the intricate (though cheaply constructed) plastic molding. "Whoopsie-daisy."
Jasmine, out of breath, reached the UFO. Shading her eyes against the bright California sun, she squinted up at Casey.
"Ms. Shock? I'm here for the interview."
"Oh yeah!" Casey had been looking forward to this, the first interview in her less-than-stellar career, and a good opportunity to get more work. Only now, she was distracted by her pursuit. "Yeah, is that today?"
"Yes, it is."
"I thought..." Casey tried to focus on both the conversation and her search at the same time. "I thought that was gonna be after work."
Jasmine nodded. "I showed up a little early to tour the studio, but then I saw you and thought maybe you're free so we could just jump into it."
Casey spotted the Windswept Man, way over by the commissary. Her eyes froze on his long, lean form.
She snapped her fingers. "Gotcha!"
"Got who?"
Casey carefully made her way back down off the UFO.
"Hey, get down from there!" shouted someone, possibly security. Either way, they showed a stunning lack of reaction time.
Casey marched toward Jasmine. "Can you walk and talk?"
Jasmine smiled. "Well, I don't wanna brag--whoa!"
Casey snagged Jasmine's arm and hauled her back into the busy midday crowd.
"Hey! Stop!" someone shouted.
Jasmine glanced back. "Is security chasing us?"
"It's a distinct possibility," Casey said through gritted teeth.
"M-maybe this isn't the best time..."
"No, it's all good. Ask away. Whatcha got?"
Jasmine stumbled as she tried to keep up. "Um, okay, so I guess the most obvious question is... Uh, where are we going?"
A voice from the crowd: "Casey! Casey, come back!"
Jasmine glanced back. "I think someone else is chasing us now. Oh god, is that a... some kinda demon?"
"That'll be Marcy."
"She looks pretty upset."
"Really? Crap." Casey hesitated.
The Windswept Man had finally stopped. She was gaining on him. So close.
Casey huffed, made a decision, and stopped in the middle of the crowded avenue.
Flopping around in her damaged monster costume, Marcy the maniac jogged up. She put her hands on her knees, tried to catch her breath. The monster suit was stifling enough without sprinting halfway across the studio lot.
Casey put a hand on Marcy's shoulder. "Take a load off. What's up?"
"Ade's... freaking out."
Jasmine subtly raised her phone to record every word.
Casey nodded. "Yeah, I figured we'd actually get another take after that s**t-show. It's why I left the sprinkler suit behind, so Kimiko could get that thing up n' running..."
Marcy was already shaking her head.
"What?" Casey asked.
"No second take."
"What! How! There was no spray, because it leaked out all over me! Look at my clothes. I'm a freakin mess!"
"He said he'd use digital blood in post. That's not the problem," said Marcy. "It's the suit."
"What about the suit--"
Still juggling two thoughts at once, Casey turned back to see where the Windswept Man had gone--and ran smack into him.
They both stumbled. He grabbed her with overpowering strength, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist. His free hand moved recklessly to the back of her neck. He steadied her on her feet.
Eyes wide, she looked up at him. His gaze was dark and unfathomable. He wore an intense but secret expression.
Excitement added a polish to Casey's cheeks. "Oh! I, uh, got red on you."
"Huh?" He looked down at himself. The whole front of his elegant twill shirt was covered in fake blood.
His eyes flared hot like summer lightning. "What the hell, lady!"
- Writer
