The Midnight Special

A film director, twenty years after a tragic accident on a film set, deals with the guilt of the accident and the aftermath on his life.

   Joe Pinkston stood on the riverbank and viewed the scene before him. He folded his arms like a king. A village, a recreation of a village actually, spread across the riverbed. The movie crew, his crew, was setting up the final shot for his grand entrance into the world of hit movie making.

   The script was called The Midnight Special. It was about a cantankerous old spy who was a vicious racist being sent to an unnamed Asian country to stop a war. While there, various events would happen to him that would ultimately reveal how ignorant his racist thoughts were.

   The final scene to be filmed would appear on this beach. The main character, Edward Philips, after setting up timed explosive devices in the huts of the village, would escape with two children who were unjustly accused of being spies. He would run into the river with the children while the villagers shot whatever ammunition they could at him. Just when he thought he would die from either the bullets or debris from the exploding huts, an American helicopter would appear and destroy his enemies with enough fire power to keep the sun warm. The end result, if executed perfectly, would be one hell of a movie climax.

   His second AD approached him. “Sir, we have the video dailies ready. Christopher is waiting to watch them with you.”

   Joe nodded his head. “Good. I wanna get the guy pumped up for the scene. He’s too damned jittery. Told me that on a set years ago, he had a premonition he would die in a helicopter accident.”

   The second AD, Arnold Boston, chuckled. “I knew some people like that back in theater in college. Actors are quite the superstitious bunch.”

   Joe headed with Arnold to the monitors he had set up by the truck. His lead actor, Christopher Mosley, stood by, staring at him as he approached.

   Joe thought back on this great actor’s career. Hollywood sometimes tended to keep their actors too pretty, even the ones that were supposed to be tough guys. Christopher Mosley was not one of them. He looked like the type of guy that would have come out of his mother with a tattoo already on his shoulder and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was what a person outside the business would call a character actor. Usually, character actors were arguably the best actors around anyway.

   He remembered him in his favorite movie growing up, Sudden Aggression. He was Xavier Jones, the toughest SOB ever to grace the silver screen. He thought back with a smile of his favorite scene when Xavier had his arm around the hero’s woman with a knife at her chest. The hero was at the stairs. Just as it looked like the good guy would win, Xavier plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. When she slumped to the ground and the hero held her dead body in his hands, he said the greatest line. ‘Breaks yer heart. Doesn’t it.’ Then he shoots the guy.

   The years hadn’t been good to Christopher though. He’d acquired a drinking habit that had almost cost him his life. Thankfully he’d given up the booze and was making big strides in reclaiming his career. If luck was on his side, and Joe was doing everything he could think of to make it happen, this movie would once again make him a star.

   Joe approached him and shook his hand. “Chris, how ya feelin?”

   “I’d be lyin to you if I said I was comfortable with this.”

   “Listen, you’re one of the greatest actors I have ever seen. The world needs to see you save the day in this film. I understand your fears but rest assured, every precaution has been taken to assure your safety. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to do a sequel without you.”

   The men laughed. Joe brought them over to the monitor.

   “Alright, I got the scene that precedes this set up for you to watch so you can get yourself in the zone. Take as long as you think you need. I gotta check on the kids to see how they’re doing. Remember, when this is over, it’s going to blow people’s minds.”

   Joe patted him on the back. He turned, motioned for Arnold, and headed for the kids trailers.

   “Have you talked to the kids parents yet?”

   “Yeah,” Arnold replied. “Told them to steer clear of the fire officials on set. Told them no questions needed to be asked.”

   “Good. By the time they see those kids, we’ll be rolling. The fine we’ll get will be worth the shot.”

   They approached the trailer. Joe knocked on the door. A middle aged Asian man opened it.

   “Mr. Lee, how are things?”

   “Things are going well. The children are cranky but excited to be in a real movie.”

   “Excellent. Can I see them?”

   “Sure. Come in.”

   Joe and Arnold stepped inside. Sitting on the floor next to their mother, Brandon and Emma Lee played with a set of building blocks that Joe had bought them to keep them entertained. The children looked up and smiled.

   “Mr. Pinkston, are you ready yet?” Emma asked.

   Joe smiled. “Not just yet. I wanted to see how my two favorite goobers were doing?”

   Brandon laughed. “You said goober.”

   Joe turned to the mother. “Are you doing all right Mrs. Lee?”

   Suzy Lee nodded her head with as much excitement as she could muster in the agony of pure exhaustion. “I’m doing as well as can be expected with two tired children.”

   Joe laughed. “Very good. Just came to tell you that we should be rolling here in another ten minutes or so then you can take these cute little munchkins home for some rest. You two excited?” he asked the children. They roared their approval.

   He thanked the family and left the trailer. They headed back towards Christopher at the truck.

   “What you see good?” Joe asked.

   Christopher smiled. “I haven’t been this ready in a long time. Let’s get our asses out there so we can have one hell of a wrap party.”

   “Now that’s what I call good news. Arnold, spread the word. I want things rolling in fifteen.”

 

   Joe stepped into the lake and trudged over to his camera man. He scanned the area making sure everyone was prepared. He looped the string of the bullhorn he was carrying around his hand and grabbed his walkie talkie.

   “Everything in position?”

   “Yes sir,” his special effects man replied.

   “Good. I’ll be using the bullhorn during the shot so I want radios off.”

   Joe turned off his radio and replaced it on his belt. He put the bullhorn in his hand.

   “All right people, this is it. One last shot and we’re off to party. Let’s get it right. Places everyone.”

   He paused a moment, looking over his film set, a smile spreading across his face like the rays of the morning sun.

   “And action.”

   He could see Christopher kneel next to the kids on the shore. He told them he was bringing them to their parents, to safety. He mouthed Christopher’s line, the line that would force the audience to love this man again.

   “I’ll keep you kids safe. I swear to God.”

   He picked up the kids and ran into the water. Villagers ran out of their huts and started firing on the trio. The first of the explosions went off. A heat blast swept past Joe, making him wince. Great, he thought. If I can feel it here, they’re going to be selling it like water to a thirsty man in there.

   More explosions. Finally the helicopter arrived. Joe’s adrenaline pumped through his body. He almost jumped up and down in excitement. He got on the bullhorn.

   “Lower that damn thing. Lower, lower. Fire, fire, fire those guns,” he shrieked.

   The helicopter lowered to almost twenty feet above his three actors. Explosion after explosion burst into the air. He even saw some of the fireballs getting near the helicopter.

   Suddenly the helicopter jerked then fell sideways into the water. The noise from the explosions died down. Silence filled the air.

   “What the f**k is the helicopter doing in my shot?” he said to himself. Then it hit. The truth seared him worse than any special effects explosion.

   “Where are Christopher, Brandon, and Emma?” he asked the cameraman.

   The cameraman turned to him and shook his head. He looked about ready to vomit. Joe held up the bullhorn.

   “That’s a wrap. Leave your equipment where it is. Everyone go home. Please, everyone go home,” he yelled.

   At that moment, he heard two screams. One was from Suzy. She held her son’s head in her arms, his body still in the water. The other was from Arnold. He held Christopher Mosley’s headless torso in his hands. Joe began to sob. He ran towards the helicopter.

   My God. Why?

 

   Joe threw the newspaper onto the floor in disgust. It’s been damned well over twenty years, he thought. Why do they still want to beat me down? He walked over to the closet and took out a phone book. He opened it up and searched for the right number. Finding it, he grabbed the phone and dialed.

   “Hello? I’d like to speak with the editor in chief. Tell him it’s Joe Pinkston.”

   Joe walked over to the refrigerator and opened it up. He grabbed a half empty bottle of whiskey, popped open the top, and took a generous swallow. Those b******s. What more do they want from me?

   Quicker than he expected, the editor got on the line. “Mr. Pinkston. To what do I owe the pleasure.”

   “I’m calling in regards to the story you printed today and please let me emphasize the word story. How could you print such lies about me?”

   “What exactly are you referring to?”

   “The accusation you made in regards to me stealing the film of Mosley’s death so I could make money off it.”

   “What is your problem with it?”

   “It’s not true, that’s what’s wrong with it. The last thing on my mind when that helicopter crashed was the footage. I was trying to recover the bodies. Besides, what chance would I have had of a career if I did do that?”

   “Your career didn’t exactly flourish after the incident.”

   “By choice. Despite the tragedy, The Midnight Special was a modest hit. I completed a few other films before I decided to retire.”

   “Please. You didn’t retire. The studio’s didn’t want to hire a pill head.”

   Joe clenched his fists. “Again, you’re wrong. While I was addicted to prescription drugs, it never affected my work.”

   “Then let me clarify. They wouldn’t hire you in the chance that it would.”

   “Whatever. Your story is bullshit.”

   “Ok. We were wrong.”

   “Are you going to print a retraction?”

   “No.”

   “Then I’ll have no choice than to sue your a*s.”

   “You do that. I’d welcome the publicity.”

   Joe paused, then hung up the phone. He looked at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. His hand shook, he alcohol inside splashing inside the bottle. He walked over to the counter and set the bottle down.

   Tears welled up in his eyes. He thought back over the past twenty or so years. It was like a nightmare that just wouldn’t stop. Every time he thought he was close to putting it behind him, something else came along to remind him how bad he’d screwed up. Why did people keep treating him like he wanted to murder those people?

   His phone rang. He took a breath to calm himself down and answered it.

   “Hello?”

   “Dad?”

   Joe smiled. “Shane. How are you?”

   “The question is how are you? I just read the newspaper.”

   “Don’t you love the filth they print?”

   “I think you need to speak with a lawyer.”

   “There’s no need. I already spoke with the editor about the story.”

   “And? Will they print a retraction?”

   “No. I told them I would sue and they said they would love the publicity.”

   “I can’t believe this. What gives them the right…?”

   “They have the right because the press is allowed to say and do whatever the hell they want. It doesn’t matter what the evidence says. If they find you guilty, they’ll keep pounding you down like an ant.”

   “I’m coming over today.”

   “Shane, no. You have classes today. You’re building your life up. You don’t need to be with your old man when he’s getting shot down like this.”

   “I can cancel my classes. It’s not a problem.”

   “It would be a problem to me. Make me proud. I love you boy.”

   “I love you too Dad. I’ll stop by when I’m done with my classes ok?”

   “Ok. I surrender. Goodbye.”

   Joe hung up the phone. He hung his head. He sure didn’t deserve that boy, one of the few bright spots in his life. He walked over to the counter and picked up the bottle of whiskey. He knew it was a damned old cliché, alcohol making all the pains in the world simply disappear. But it did the trick. He opened the bottle and drank.

   He headed for the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. Inside, a mini-pharmacy lay waiting to cure his pains. He looked through the bottles until he found what he was looking for. Vicodin. God’s gift to drug users everywhere. He opened the bottle and poured out ten in his hand. He tossed them in his mouth and chased it down with another swallow of whiskey. He closed the cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were blood shot. He hadn’t shaved since God knows when. His hair hung to his shoulders. And he knew if he stepped outside people would avoid the stench that emanated from his body. He was a mess. The once fabled golden boy director of Hollywood was now a drug abusing, alcoholic mess.

   He left the bathroom, sickened by his image. He walked into the living room and walked up to the bookcase. He took a video cassette off the shelf and put it in the VCR. He turned the TV on and pressed play. He sat on the couch and took another liberal swallow of whiskey.

   Someone, some sick sadistic b*****d, had found his address and sent him this tape. It was footage of the accident. He didn’t know how it had survived. He had personally overseen the burning of the negatives himself. But some of the footage was given to the police and about ten years ago, that footage was leaked to the public. On the tape that was sent to him, the b*****d with a lot of time on his hands had looped the accident over and over again on the tape while chanting over and over that he was a murderer. The tape went on for close to six hours. Just the helicopter over and over again killing Christopher and those two beautiful children. He couldn’t help but watch it. It was his fault those people died that day. He could have saved them. He could have done things differently. He just knew it was his fault. He took another drink as the footage replayed.

 

   He fell to the floor, waking up. He lifted his head out of a puddle of his own vomit. He turned to the TV. The screen was black. He rose, careful not to rouse his upset stomach, and walked over to the television, turning it off. He took the tape out of the VCR and put it back in the case. He had to get rid of the tape. There was no reason to keep it around. All it did was make him feel more guilty than he already felt and made him hit the bottle. He headed to the bookshelf and put the tape back on the pile.

   He heard a slight moan which made him stop. It came from the bookshelf. What the hell would a moan be coming from there for? There. He heard it again. He walked up to it and started taking the tapes off the top shelf. Nothing. He repeated this with the next shelf down until the bookshelf lay empty. What could have made that noise? He turned around.

   “Goober.”

   Joe screamed, collapsing to the ground. Sitting on his coffee table was the disembodied head of little Brandon Lee who died all those years ago. The eyes of the head were opened and it had a smile on it’s face. Joe backed up against the wall.

   “Oh my God. You’re dead. I saw you die.”

   “Well why am I here then?”

   Joe turned his head left and right, hoping this was someone’s idea of a cruel joke. His body vibrated from tremors deep in his soul.

   “What’s going on?”

   “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for quite a while. You were always so nice to me back on the set so I thought I’d come by and visit.”

   “You don’t just visit people when you’re dead.”

   “Then how do you explain this? Computer effects?”

   The head rose into the air. As it floated away from the table, the boy’s body formed below the head, making the image a little less gruesome. He approached Joe and knelt down.

   “I was going to ask how things were going with you but I see they haven’t been good.”

   Joe moved away from the body. “Leave me alone.”

   “Joe, I’m not here to hurt you. Settle down. You may throw up again.”

   Joe backed up to the couch and stopped. “What do you want?”

   “I came by to chat.”

   “About what? The weather?”

   “No. About you. How you’ve been treating yourself.”

   “What about it? You’re dead. Why should you care?”

   The boy smiled. “I haven’t spent all this time looking for ways to make your life hell. If I wanted some sort of revenge I could have had it long ago. I’m concerned about you and want to see you change your life for the better.”

   “Why are you talking like this? You were six when you died.”

   “I know. But my mind still aged. The body may not show it but I’m almost thirty.”

   “What do you want from me?”

   Brandon held out his hand. “Follow me.”

   Joe grasped the boy’s hand. A white light enveloped him.

 

   Joe opened his eyes and stared at himself. Or who he was just months after the accident. He had somehow been brought back in time. He witnessed himself sitting in a corner weeping, a half drunken bottle of scotch by his side. Joe turned to Brandon.

   “Why did you bring me here?”

   “I know this idea isn’t exactly original but I wanted to bring you back in time so you can see how destructive you’ve been to yourself.”

   “So what. I was depressed. Anyone in my position would be.”

   “Ahh, but not everyone would have the media spotlight on them as much as you did. And if I am not mistaken, this helped make that glare more unbearable.”

   Joe heard a noise and turned. His wife, now his ex-wife Iris, opened the door.

   “There’s a man at the door wanting to see you honey.”

   Joe nodded his head and stood. He walked out of the room. The present day Joe and Brandon followed. Joe had his fists clenched. He knew what was about to happen.

   They arrived at the front door. A man stood in the entrance, papers in his hand. Joe walked up to him.

   “Can I help you?”

   “Are you Joe Pinkston?”

   “Yes.”

   The man handed him the papers. “You’ve been served.”

   The man turned and left. His wife approached him and put her hand on his shoulder.

   “What is it?”

   Joe rifled through the papers. He looked up, turning his head from his wife.

   “I’m being sued for involuntary manslaughter.”

   He slipped to the ground. His wife put her arms around him, crying. The present day Joe turned to Brandon.

   “What was the point of this?”

   “How did you feel that day?”

   “How the hell do you think I felt? Why would anyone think I had anything to do with that terrible accident?”

   “Your wife knew you were innocent and she supported you.”

   “If you can call it that, sure.”  

   “We aren’t through yet. We got other places to go on our trip. Take my hand.”

   The light enveloped him again.

 

   They were in the audience in a court room. The Joe of the past sat at the defense table with three others charged with the crime. He remembered this day. The announcement of the verdict. The audience was buzz about the potential verdicts. He remembered hearing the voices. Not one of them thought he’d be found not guilty. Not one of them.

   The bailiff called the courtroom to order and announced the arrival of the judge. The jury followed in soon after.

   “Has the jury reached a decision?”

   “Yes we have your Honor. In the above entitled action against Joe Pinkston, we find the defendant not guilty of involuntary manslaughter.”

   The courtroom erupted in voices. The judge quieted them down to hear the rest of the verdicts. All were found not guilty. Court was adjourned. His wife approached the jury and thanked them all for the verdict. Joe in the past couldn’t move from his seat.

   “What’s the matter? You’re free,” his attorney said.

   Joe tapped his head. “Not in here.”

   He rose and left with his wife. Joe watched them pass by and turned to Brandon.

   “Why are you doing this to me?”

   “I’m not doing anything to you. We’re just watching events as they occurred.”

   Joe turned and saw something he hadn’t seen when he was here originally. Gary and Suzy Lee walked out of the courtroom slowly, arm in arm. Gary tried his best to control his wife’s sobbing. Joe turned to Brandon.

   “I never saw this.”

   “I know.”

   “What ever happened to them?”

   Brandon paused. “My Mother died a year after this. They couldn’t find any physical reason why. Her body just didn’t have the will to live. My father committed suicide in 1997.”

   “Oh my God. I remember hearing about that now. I’m so sorry.”

   Brandon smiled. “Death is a sad thing. But it’s not an ending. Let’s go outside to the press conference.”

   They walked out, rather through, the courtroom doors into the hallway. They walked outside to the exit where they saw Joe in the past walking up to a group of reporters. Brandon and Joe approached.

   “Mr. Pinkston, what are your plans now that you’ve been found not guilty?”

   “I want to get this tragedy behind me and get back to work. This will continue to hurt me till the day I die but I just want to spend the rest of my life bring joy to people through my movies.”

   “What do you have to say to the families of the two dead children?”

   Joe watched as his past self controlled his urge to beat the reporter. “This was an accident tragic beyond words, beyond comprehension. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say to them to make them see how truly sad I am and maybe I shouldn’t even try. They were good people who made their children available to us for our shoot. The only thing I’m guilty of is the way we acquired their services.”

   Joe turned to Brandon. “Why this?”

   “Did they crucify you?”

   “They weren’t throwing petals in my path in celebration.”

   “But they weren’t trying to destroy you. Sure, a few thought you had a grand scheme to kill us so you could get major publicity but most saw things for the way they were.”

   “And what’s that?”

   “A freak terrible accident.”

   Joe shook his head. “Then why are people still writing about it? Creating lies about it?”

   “It was a sensational story. Like you’ve observed many times, the press is just like any form of media. They have to sell papers, get and keep viewers, for the almighty advertising dollar. If drudging up past stories makes money then by golly, they’ll do it.”

   “You’re a smart little kid.”

   “Don’t let the size fool ya. Let’s head back to your place.”

   Brandon took Joe’s hand.

 

   Joe collapsed on his couch. Brandon stood by the television. He turned the TV on and pressed play. He watched the accident.

   “Why do you have this?”

   “Someone sent it to me.”

   “That doesn’t mean you have to keep it.”

   “It reminds me of what happened on that day.”

   “Why do you need to be reminded? You afraid you’ll forget?”

   “When it happened, what were you thinking?”

   Brandon turned to Joe and smiled. “This ain’t a director’s commentary of a snuff film. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to realize what I was thinking.”

   Joe nodded. “Sorry.”

   “No problemo. I probably would have asked the same thing.”

   “Why are you here?”

   “Because of this,” he said, pointing to the screen.

   “The accident?”

   “No. Your reaction to the accident. It happened all right. You’ll never forget it. But you didn’t plan for it to happen. It was what it was. An accident.”

   “I didn’t mean to kill you.”

   “You didn’t kill me.”

   “Then I created the atmosphere that ended up with your death.”

   “Again, no. If it hadn’t been you, it would have happened to someone else. With the way standards in Hollywood were at the time something major like that was bound to happen. In a twisted way, our deaths probably saved the lives of many others.”

   Joe put his head in his hands and sobbed. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

   Brandon walked over and lifted Joe’s head up. “Forgive you for what?”

   Joe curled up on the couch, weeping.

 

   He opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. Everything in his living room appeared to be tilting to the right. Joe took a breath. And vomited.

   Joe pulled himself up. What a weird dream, he thought. He spotted the bottle of whiskey, grabbed it, and drank.

   He had to find a clock. Shane would be coming over today and he had to clean things up. He didn’t want his boy to see him like this.

   He dragged himself to the kitchen. He had to keep his hands on anything that would keep him from falling. He reached the refrigerator and opened it up. What could soothe his upset stomach?

   He found a yogurt smoothie his son had brought him on his last visit. He grabbed it and swallowed half the bottle. It tasted terrible but hopefully he’d be able to keep it down. He put it back in the fridge and closed the door. On top of the fridge was a bottle of antacids. He grabbed it and popped a couple in his mouth. He sighed. Joe turned around.

   Emma stood by the sink. Her little chest still remained crushed from where the helicopter landed on her. Joe fell to the ground. The girl smiled.

   “Miss me?”

   “You’re supposed to be…oh no.”

   Emma smiled. “Let me change appearance. I can see how this would freak someone out.”

   Emma put a finger in her mouth and puffed her cheeks out like she were blowing up a balloon. The crushed part blew up until she appeared to have no such wound. She held her hands out presenting her new appearance.

   “Ta-da. How’s this?”

   Joe shook and smiled. “What a way to go insane.”

   “You’re not insane. In fact, if you want my opinion, I would say you were one of the most sane people I have seen.”

   “I’m covered in my own vomit.”

   “Nothing a shower won’t fix. You look worse than the last time I saw you.”

   “A shower couldn’t fix me.”

   “Oh you. I have something to show you.”

   She held out her hand. Joe looked at her and shook his head.

   “I’m not going anywhere. You’re little brother dragged me out of here and brought me someplace I didn’t want to go.”

   “Then I’m going to have to be a little rougher with you.”

   She grabbed Joe’s hand.

 

   He landed on the ground forehead first. Joe felt the pain reverberate through his body like a musical note. He lifted his head up and rubbed it.

   “Hurt yourself?” Emma asked.

   Joe rose. “I thought in situations like this people in my position couldn’t get hurt.”

   “I don’t set the rules for this. I just follow along.”

   “Where are we?”

   “See for yourself.”

   Joe turned and saw his ex-wife Iris. She was sitting in an easy chair in his, their old home. He hadn’t seen her in a while and was surprised by the touches of gray that lined her hair. She was reading a book, probably a history book if she still read the same things.

      A phone in the house rang. She rose and left the study heading to the phone in the kitchen. Emma took Joe’s hand and they followed.

   Iris picked up the phone. “Hello?”

   “How are we supposed to hear this?” Joe asked.

   Emma walked over to the phone and stuck her finger in the ear piece. She opened her mouth. Joe heard who was talking to Iris.

   “Mom, I’m worried about Dad.”

   “What now?”

   “He read the article in the paper today talking about the accident all those years ago.”

   “What are you talking about?”

   “Did you read the paper?”

   “I have better things to do.”

   “It was an article about the helicopter accident. The reporter said some lies about Dad saying he kept tape of the accident to profit from it.”

   “Oh no. When will this stop?”

   “He said he called the editor asking for a retraction and they told him to bring on a lawsuit because they’d welcome the publicity.”

   Iris hung her head, a tear floating down her cheek. Emma took out her finger and let the conversation resume without more observance.

   “She still cares.”

   “That surprises you?”

   “After seeing you and your brother again I can’t say anything surprises me.”

   “Why do you think she still loves you? When did you doubt that she didn’t?”

   Joe looked at the girl and smiled. “You’re quite an inquisitive little girl.”

   “With the brain capacity of a thirty year old. Please answer my question.”

   Joe turned and looked at his wife on the phone. “We grew distant. I started abusing prescription medication and drinking more and more and before I knew it, we were strangers.”

   “Do you think she shared that thought?”

   “We got a divorce didn’t we?”

   “That’s on the presumption that she also wanted it. Are you sure about that?”

   Joe looked down. “I didn’t want to hurt her anymore.”

   “Look at her Joe.”

   Joe turned. Iris hung up the phone and lowered her head. She began crying.

   “Is that a woman who wanted a divorce?”

   Joe walked up to Iris. “Can I touch her?”

   “She won’t feel you.”

   Joe put his hands on her shoulders and looked at the only woman who swore to be with him till death do they part. He loved her still. Always would. But the pain, the pain this woman had to go through because of him. He let go and turned to Emma.

   “Why should I let her love me? I killed you. I killed your brother and I killed Christopher Mosley. She shouldn’t be made to love a murderer.”

   “But you didn’t murder us. You didn’t cause that helicopter to malfunction and crash in the lake, crushing me and decapitating Chris and Brandon.”

   “If I had managed things better…”

   “If, if, if. There were a lot of things I wanted to change when I was alive and I was only eight. You don’t get a chance to change what’s already happened. You only get the chance to make things right now.”

   “Damn it. You’re only a f*****g ghost and you’re lecturing me. You don’t live in my shoes.”

   Emma bowed her head and nodded. “Your correct there. I’m not trying to make you do something here. My only goal is to show you the error of your ways.”

   “I know what I’m doing.”

   “You’re the one covered in vomit. Let’s get you back home.”

 

   Joe woke up on the kitchen floor in another pool of vomit. The smell that crawled up his nose caused him to heave up more of the contents of his stomach, whatever was left inside. He looked at vomit. Blood mingled with the yogurt drink that spent so little time in his stomach.

   He rose. Shane was coming. He didn’t know when. Whatever sense of time he had was destroyed a long time ago. He stumbled his way to the bathroom.

   He opened the bathroom door. A fist shot out and landed on his nose, sending him flying to the wall. A man stepped out of the bathroom and walked up to him. Joe started to moan.

   “No, no. I saw you die.”

   Christopher Mosley grabbed Joe’s collar and pulled him up. “Yeah. You did.”

   He punched him in the belly. Joe kneeled over in pain. Chris rammed his knee into Joe’s nose. Joe heard a crack and saw a stream of blood gush out. Chris grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to his bedroom. He shoved him on the bed.

   “You’re going to start talking to me you ungrateful b*****d. Why are you living like this?”

   “Like what?” Joe mumbled.

   “Like a damned bum. Look at you. I die a death I wouldn’t want to wish on no one but a lawyer and you’re wasting away your life cause you feel depressed,” he said, mocking him. “Get over yourself.”

   “But I killed you.”

   “Oh you’re a tough guy now huh? You put a hit out on me or somethin? What are you tryin to tell me?”

   “I could have…”

   “I could have, I could have. Shut up. Come here.”

   Chris grabbed Joe’s hand.

 

   The gray sky fit the mood of the three people standing around the grave site. Joe and Chris approached. Joe realized who they were.

   “Who died?” he asked.

   “Your selfish a*s,” Chris replied.

   Joe approached the grave. Shane held Iris and comforted her. She looked like she was close to collapsing. The minister said his last few words, said a few words to Iris and Shane that he knew wouldn’t make them feel any better and walked off. Shane hugged his mother.

   “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Shane said.

   “Why did he do it? Why didn’t he open his eyes? The world didn’t care about destroying him. Why did he do it?”

   “He felt guilty over those deaths.”

   “Damn him. Damn them. It was an accident. Twenty plus years and that accident is still taking lives.”

   Chris put his arm around Joe. “What do you think pal?”

   “I don’t know what to say.”

   “After all this time, you’re making yourself feel guilty over something you had no control over. If you had any idea that chopper was going to crash like that, the least you would have done would be to put in a stunt double.”

   “But those kids.”

   “Yeah. You fucked up bad pal. You were quite the scumbag for bring kids to a situation like that illegally. That don’t make you a bad guy.”

   “If it wasn’t for me you’d still be alive.”

   “If it wasn’t for you I would be forgotten. Screw the silly a*s role you had me in. I’ve acted in better commercials than that piece of s**t you called a script. But, you knew how to do the one thing that brings in the audience. You gave them a show.”

   “Wouldn’t you rather be alive being a nobody in commercials than a dead man with notoriety?”

   Chris smiled. “I didn’t have the choice. As that old proverb said, you gotta roll with the dice baby.”

   “What are you trying to tell me?”

   “Close your eyes a second.”

   Joe complied. When he opened them, they were back in his living room.

   “What I’m trying to tell your stubborn a*s is this. What happened, happened. There’s nothing anyone can do to change it. I know in my heart you and the rest of the guys on that set would have destroyed buildings in order to keep me and those kids safe. But what can you do?

   “Nothing. It happened. But to punish yourself for the rest of your life for something you had no control over makes about as much sense as deciding you’re a vegetable. You had a career man. Hollywood is a cruel a*s town. If anyone thought for a second you tried to crash that plane or whatever, you would never have made another film. But you did. Several. Yet you decided to be too depressed over this and you’ve been wasting time in this dump.”

   “I just didn’t have the heart to make more movies.”

   “There are factory workers somewhere in the mid-west who have no desire to go to their jobs but they do. Why? Because they have to. Look at your place now. You can live in this rat hole for the rest of your life without working with the royalties from the films you had no heart to make.

   “You have it good. You can even work again whenever you want to. You made films that touched people’s hearts. For all the bad you’ve ever done, I think you’ve done a hell of a lot more good.”

   “But…”

   Chris slapped him. “Snap out of it. You got people out there who love you and want to see you happy. I’m dead. Those kids are dead. The only thing you could possibly do to make up for it is to live your life and move on.”

   Joe fell to his knees and started to wail. Chris knelt down and put his arm around him.

   “Earlier, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. It’s been a while since I was in a fight scene and I wanted to dive back in you know. Clean yourself up man. Enjoy your treasures here while you still can.”

   Joe hugged him. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

   Chris stood up. “No. To accept your forgiveness would be to imply that you needed to be forgiven for something. Besides, even if you did do it, you’ve done more to yourself as punishment than I ever could.”

   Chris walked to the front door. He turned and stared at Joe. He smiled, raising his hand to say goodbye. Joe lunged forward screaming.

   Suddenly the front door swung open. The sunlight blocked his view on who stood there. Joe tried to move but he had no energy. The person at the door ran up to him.

   “My God, Dad. What have you done?”

 

   Joe opened his eyes. From the sounds of the machines around him he knew he was still alive and kicking in the hospital. His body felt like someone had meticulously slammed a sledgehammer over his entire body. But he was alive.

   He turned his head as far as he could. Someone approached the bed and put their hand on his.

   “Can you hear me Dad?”

   Joe smiled. “Shane. Thank you.”

   “Mom’s here with me.”

   Joe saw Iris. The love in her face made him feel ashamed. His eyes welled up with tears.

   “What is it?” Iris asked.

   “I owe you two an apology,” Joe whispered.

   “No you don’t Dad. We just want you alive.”

   “I know. They told me.”

   “Who?” Shane asked, looking at Iris.

   “Christopher and the children.”

   Shane shook his head. “Dad, you overdosed on the Vicodin and whiskey. You were seeing things.”

   “One man’s hallucinations are another man’s redemption son. They told me to shape up my life. Move on. I’ve mourned their deaths too long.”

   “I love you,” Iris said.

   Joe smiled. “Warts and all?”

   Iris returned the smile. “If I could stay married to you after meeting your mother, everything else was a piece of cake.”

   Joe cried. He turned his head. By the entrance to his room, Christopher stood with his arms around the children. They all smiled. Christopher waved and all three disappeared.

   My God. Thank you.

      THE END

 

 

Author's Note

I feel I have a good idea for the story but the execution of it is all wrong. Problem is I have no clue where to take it. I don't want the Christmas Carol illusions to stay in the next draft. So any advice on something I am not seeing would be appreciated.