"Come to me, come to me," I chant, wanting the door to open. "C'mon, c'mon."
I've never prayed to a deity and I certainly don't now but by some grace of some god, the door I'm watching creaks open. It reveals Tyler Sagemore’s handsome face, peering through the crack.
"Fuck you!"
All right! I grin as I zoom in on him. I know I should be ashamed of my blatant happiness about the fact that this man is an idiot, but I wanted a good story and I’m gonna get it now.
"Damn it, Tyler! Put the gun down!" The officer beside me in the doorway commands. It isn’t until Sagemore pushes the door open further that his costar is revealed at his side. "Let the girl go!"
Cool! Hostage too. Oh happy day. The actor is dressed in white terry cloth shorts and nothing else. I zoom in on his face to capture his wide eyed drug stare and then come back out for the full effect of the actor holding a weapon on the slip of a girl in front of him. It's a Smith and Wesson forty-four magnum, light gleaming off well polished silver. He must have reloaded during his haphazard shooting because even from here I can see spent cases on the floor in the room and his hand clutching a ripped open box of ammo at the young woman’s shoulder while he pins her small body to him. He has at most six shots before he has to resort to the box but we have no way of telling how many bullets are in the gun itself. If his hands weren't shaking so much and the angle were right, I could try to zoom in and count the empty chambers. I love this.
I take the opportunity to focus on the girl, her blonde hair tied back in a ribbon, her caramel eyes seeming to focus on everything and nothing. It’s obvious that they are both strung out. The girl has to be. She’s far too calm. She makes no sound as he growls at the officers and jams the weapon into her temple.
Blue uniforms are pressing around me in my doorway. They try to shove me out of the way but I don't budge. This is what I came for and I'll be damned if some cop is going to push me to safety as if I'm a damsel in distress. I've seen more shootings than most of these boys put together.
They're yelling to Sagemore to put down the weapon. Shouts are coming from downstairs, too, and I realize that there are officers in the front hall but I can't afford to look at them. I can't look away for even a second, refusing to miss the moment that will end this night. Darkly, I know what I am hoping for. I wonder if that makes me as sick as the man stumbling forward across the hall. He lurches as if drunk, waving the weapon and screaming obscenities at the officers and me. I am glad that his young costar is drugged, too. She stumbles along beside him in his painful grip but her peaceful face shows no sign of the fear she should be feeling. If she dies tonight, her last moments won’t have been filled with panic and I’m grateful for that. I’m not the cold-hearted bitch most take me for, although I’m but a stone’s throw away from it.
So we’re at a virtual standstill in the upstairs hallway. Even though he’s stumbling around and waving his weapon, he’s too close to the door for a good shot from downstairs. He holds the girl in front of him so the officers crouched in the doorway with me will have no better luck. None of us can move without risking injury to ourselves or her and, after awhile, even the shouts dwindle down so all that’s left in the silence is sliceable tension. My blood is singing with my good fortune.
"Is that a fucking camera?" Tyler asks, breaking the silence.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. I’m so used to having it, I don’t even think about it anymore. "Yeah," I reply slowly, making it a three syllable word. I figure now is not the time to explain that cameras can’t fuck.
"Come over here!" he barks, spittle dripping down his chin. He wipes it off in the girl’s hair.
"No, Tyler, she can’t do that," O’Reilly replies for me.
"Like hell she can’t!" Tyler replies. He presses the magnum closer into the girl’s skin. She giggles, as if it tickles. "Get over here, camera dog, or I blow her fuckin’ head off."
Camera dog? What the hell type of insult is that? I roll my eyes. Coke is no damn good for anyone. "Why?"
"It doesn’t matter why," O’Reilly mutters next to me.
"I want to talk."
"So talk." I point to the Betacam with my free hand. "It’s rolling."
"Privately."
O’Reilly steps partially in front of me, nearly obscuring my shot. "What do you think this is, Sagemore? A tea party? Put your gun down and then you can talk to this nice lady here."
I growl. I am neither nice nor a lady. I’ll make O’Reilly buy me a beer later for that comment.
"You’re not getting it!" Even as the words leave Tyler’s mouth his magnum fires a shot into the closest cop’s chest. The cop goes down screaming. The girl hardly reacts to the round being fired next to her ear.
The number of expletives that leave my mouth and the cops around me will guarantee a long beep on the broadcast. I pan the camera over to the cop, he’s a rookie I don’t know, and realize the kid is wearing a bulletproof vest. It’ll still hurt like hell, but he won’t die.
All the cops are tense, each of them are praying for just one clean shot. I have mine though and that’s all that matters.
"Get over here, now! Or I blow her fuckin’ head off!" He looks like he might actually mean it this time.
Ah hell, at least it’ll be great footage. Before anyone can stop me, I approach the demented actor. "What do you want?"
"I want to talk." His voice is whiney; he must realize the shitload of trouble he just bought himself.
The idea comes to me in a second. "Ok, ok … you can talk. You can talk to the whole country, Tyler. We’re the top rated independent syndicated news show worldwide." I think all of my qualifiers were in there. "Let me just get the microphone, Tyler. Ok? It’s right here …" I reach into my vest slowly, feeling around for anything that is shaped somewhat like a microphone, hoping that he’s too wasted to notice the one perched on the end of the Betacam. My fingers close around my penlight.
Oh well, what the hell? I pull it out and hold it up. "This is our newest mike, Tyler. It’ll pick up anything and transmits via light wave." Smell what you’re shoveling, Harper. I force myself to sound serious. His eyes are so glazed, I doubt if he even knows his own name at this point. "You just need to hold it and speak right into it."
He looks at me puzzled. Both of his hands are accounted for, in his mind. One is wrapped tightly around his co-star, keeping her from escaping. The other is holding the gun. If I get lucky, he’s going to have to let go of one of them in order to get his wish.
"You hold it!" he protests, his voice confused, unsure of the situation.
"I can’t, Tyler. I gotta shoot," as I say the word, I regret it. "Film," I correct hastily. I tap the penlight against the camera.
"Oh." He’s so close to taking the bait. I can feel it.
"Come on. Let’s get going." I extend the penlight once more and smile like all those false network anchors do.
He reaches out with the hand holding the gun. Yes! Yes! Yes!
"You want me to hold that for you while you talk?" I asked with as innocent a tone as these lips can manage.
"Do you mind?" he asks, his manners returning as the coke works through his system.
I shrug, "Nah. Just for a minute though, ok?"
"Ok." He hands me the magnum, barrel first, scaring the hell out of me. I don’t have on one of those fancy vests. I just have my equipment vest, and it won’t stop shit. I grab hold of the barrel. It’s still hot from its recent firing, and I untangle it from his fingers.
The moment it’s out of his hand and into mine, four very pissed off cops tackle him.
And I get it all in close up.
Damn, I’m good.
<fade to commercial>