Page 45 of Script Swap
I’d look like an idiot.
I waffled.
I wavered.
I dithered.
And then, groaning so loudly that Tony called, “Is it your tummy, Dash?Did you have too much candy?I have an Alka-Seltzer in my wallet,” I dragged myself out into the aisle and headed out of the theater.
The lobby was packed, people crowding the concessions counter.Bobby was at one of the registers, and bless his heart, he’d gotten one of the giant tubs of popcorn, and M&M’s, and a Coke that was the size of a toddler, and a box of Reese’s Pieces, a box of Sno-Caps, and a box of Sour Patch Kids.
My eyes misted.
This was true love.
Then I reminded myself about The Man of Steel Project: Dashiell Dawson Dane 2.0.And I went back to trying to find the control booth.
I’d seen the window of the control booth overhead in the theater, so it had to be somewhere on the second floor.A narrow flight of stairs, tucked off a small hallway, led me straight to a door marked CONTROL.
That had been easier than I’d expected.
I rapped on the door.
Nothing.
Because he’s not in there, I told myself.It’s all programmed.They don’t need a person up there anymore.It’s basically a robot light show.
(Which, at another time in my life, would have prompted a veritablecascadeof ideas about Will Gower as a robot light show detective.)
I knocked again.Harder.
Still nothing.
He’s busy.He’s working.He might have headphones on, so he can’t hear you.
This last thought sounded like it might actually be plausible, so I took a deep breath and tried the handle of the door.
It turned.
The fluorescent light from the stairwell fanned across the darkened booth as the door swung open.At first, all I could see was a narrow patch of carpet and a large control table supporting pieces of big, expensive-looking equipment—about the only thing I recognized was a sound board.Lights glowed back at me.
And then a metallic smell reached me, and my stomach lurched.
“Terrence?”I pushed the door open wider.“Are you—”
My eyes were still adjusting.A patch of darkness under the table resolved into shapes.Shapes into clearer outlines.
A face.
Terrence lay under the table.He was dressed all in black, which made it hard to make out anything but his face.His eyes were closed.I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
“Help!”I shouted down the stairs.“Help!”
I had to pull out a rolling chair and send it skittering toward the stairs so I could get under the table.That hot, sickening smell was stronger here.The world tilted.I took deep breaths through my mouth and shook Terrence by the arm.“Terrence, open your eyes.Terrence, can you hear me?”
His sleeve was wet.In the faint light from the stairwell, my hand was crimson.
“Help!”I shouted again
