quite reaching the corners.
Where in the hell did that intern put the damn thing? Howie spotted the refile cart to his right. One film rested on it. Please let it be the one. Leaning over he read the label. Terror in the Trees .
“Thank God ...” he sighed in relief, picking up the reel.
Howie heard footsteps behind him. He spun around, but no one was there.
The lights went out again. Howie yelped. Watching those damn promo pieces over and over had messed with his head. This shit wasn’t funny. Howie stumbled in the darkness, slamming into the cart. The reels clattered to the floor. He bent to pick them up when he heard a scraping sound.
“Screw this,” Howie panted, leaving the films. Amanda can keep her damn promotion.
Howie ran blindly toward the front of the vault his arms outstretched in front of him.
The lights flashed on. A clatter sounded behind him. He spun around. The reels he dropped now tipped onto their sides. The covers fell open. Two red eyes glowed inside. Howie took a step backward. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. It was all a publicity stunt.
Turning, Howie ran toward the door. The chanting rose again. Following him up the aisle.
“No!” Howie screamed. His legs felt heavy, like he was running through tar.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Oh, God ... Oh, God ...”
The blood thundered in Howie’s ears. Afraid to look over his shoulder, he made for the door. Dear God, what was following him?
The shelves that lined the aisle creaked and wobbled, finally tilting over as the reels they contained clattered to the floor.
“Help!” Howie screamed. “Help me!”
Howie turned the corner, running into a huge spiderweb. Only it wasn’t made of silk—it was made of film. He flailed his arms and legs, trying to break loose. The film, slow and sinuous, wound its way around his wrists and ankles. Then it jerked him off his feet, suspending him off the floor.
Screaming, Howie realized no one would hear him. The vault was airtight. The walls made of lead.
Terror in the Trees had claimed its next victim.
* * *
Derek stood on the steps of the police station and took a cleansing breath. Well, if you could call LA smog cleansing. Anything was better than the stale stench of old urine and vomit back in the station. One of the many reasons why he didn’t become a cop.
Jogging down the steps, Derek pulled open the limo door to find Jill already seated. Looking surprised that he had gotten through all the red tape so quickly, Jill wiped away a tear.
Derek climbed in, taking the seat next to her. “Something wrong?”
She just shook her head, shifting in her seat, putting her back to Derek.
“How long until Mitchell’s out?” she asked, clearly trying to suppress the ache in her voice.
“Any second,” he answered.
This was the second time that Jill cried this morning. Something inside of him wanted to wipe the past years away and reach out to her, wrapping his arms around her like he used to. Until she left him, that was. Still, he could give her some solace, couldn’t he?
“Jill, I can secure another car. You don’t have to come with us.”
“I might as well,” she said, shrugging. “ I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Don’t you have to break the bad news about the canceled premiere to a bunch of pampered stars?” he asked.
Smile and spin a story that will top the current publicity. Especially if the deaths were all part of an elaborate plan by the Baxter brothers? Isn’t that what she was good at?
“Not after I was fired ...” she sniffed, straightening her back. She smoothed her hands down her skirt.
Oh, no.
Open mouth, insert foot.
When he talked Greer into yanking the film premiere, Derek never dreamed that Jill would get fired. It wasn’t Jill’s fault that the movie was a ticking time bomb.
“What? They can’t—”
“Don’t,” Jill retorted. “It’s bad enough.”
“I'll call my supervisor—”
Jill spun toward him. “You
Where in the hell did that intern put the damn thing? Howie spotted the refile cart to his right. One film rested on it. Please let it be the one. Leaning over he read the label. Terror in the Trees .
“Thank God ...” he sighed in relief, picking up the reel.
Howie heard footsteps behind him. He spun around, but no one was there.
The lights went out again. Howie yelped. Watching those damn promo pieces over and over had messed with his head. This shit wasn’t funny. Howie stumbled in the darkness, slamming into the cart. The reels clattered to the floor. He bent to pick them up when he heard a scraping sound.
“Screw this,” Howie panted, leaving the films. Amanda can keep her damn promotion.
Howie ran blindly toward the front of the vault his arms outstretched in front of him.
The lights flashed on. A clatter sounded behind him. He spun around. The reels he dropped now tipped onto their sides. The covers fell open. Two red eyes glowed inside. Howie took a step backward. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. It was all a publicity stunt.
Turning, Howie ran toward the door. The chanting rose again. Following him up the aisle.
“No!” Howie screamed. His legs felt heavy, like he was running through tar.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Oh, God ... Oh, God ...”
The blood thundered in Howie’s ears. Afraid to look over his shoulder, he made for the door. Dear God, what was following him?
The shelves that lined the aisle creaked and wobbled, finally tilting over as the reels they contained clattered to the floor.
“Help!” Howie screamed. “Help me!”
Howie turned the corner, running into a huge spiderweb. Only it wasn’t made of silk—it was made of film. He flailed his arms and legs, trying to break loose. The film, slow and sinuous, wound its way around his wrists and ankles. Then it jerked him off his feet, suspending him off the floor.
Screaming, Howie realized no one would hear him. The vault was airtight. The walls made of lead.
Terror in the Trees had claimed its next victim.
* * *
Derek stood on the steps of the police station and took a cleansing breath. Well, if you could call LA smog cleansing. Anything was better than the stale stench of old urine and vomit back in the station. One of the many reasons why he didn’t become a cop.
Jogging down the steps, Derek pulled open the limo door to find Jill already seated. Looking surprised that he had gotten through all the red tape so quickly, Jill wiped away a tear.
Derek climbed in, taking the seat next to her. “Something wrong?”
She just shook her head, shifting in her seat, putting her back to Derek.
“How long until Mitchell’s out?” she asked, clearly trying to suppress the ache in her voice.
“Any second,” he answered.
This was the second time that Jill cried this morning. Something inside of him wanted to wipe the past years away and reach out to her, wrapping his arms around her like he used to. Until she left him, that was. Still, he could give her some solace, couldn’t he?
“Jill, I can secure another car. You don’t have to come with us.”
“I might as well,” she said, shrugging. “ I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Don’t you have to break the bad news about the canceled premiere to a bunch of pampered stars?” he asked.
Smile and spin a story that will top the current publicity. Especially if the deaths were all part of an elaborate plan by the Baxter brothers? Isn’t that what she was good at?
“Not after I was fired ...” she sniffed, straightening her back. She smoothed her hands down her skirt.
Oh, no.
Open mouth, insert foot.
When he talked Greer into yanking the film premiere, Derek never dreamed that Jill would get fired. It wasn’t Jill’s fault that the movie was a ticking time bomb.
“What? They can’t—”
“Don’t,” Jill retorted. “It’s bad enough.”
“I'll call my supervisor—”
Jill spun toward him. “You
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