Free The Actor by Maya Brooks

revealed nothing; he had no money.
    He took his
watch off with shaking hands and held it out.
    “This is a
thirty thousand dollar Rolex. It’s real. You can have it if you drive me home,
and give me your sunglasses.”
    The driver
didn’t look convinced. Then, he said, “I know you. You’re on TV. Is this for a
show? Is there a camera here somewhere?”
    “Just drive,
will you.”
    Laura’s voice
cheered him on.
    “You’re doing
great, Marc. You’re almost there.”
    He answered
aloud without meaning to.
    “I wish you
were here.”
    The driver
peeked at him in the rear view mirror.
    “What’s that,
Sir?”
    “Nothing.”
    The cab ride
made him car sick and the route from the driveway to the door seemed endless.
    Where’s my
key? Don’t tell me I have to break a fucking window to get into my own house.
    He threw up in
a snowy flowerbed and made another attempt at opening the door, but the key was
nowhere to be found.
    It never
snows here. When did it become winter, anyway?
    Eventually, he
made his way around the building and found the kitchen door wide open. He had
just left the house, without even closing the door behind him. Snow had blown
all over the kitchen floor, but other than that, everything seemed untouched.
As if he cared…
    The house was
freezing, but that was okay. The cool, soothing darkness of the living room
never seemed more welcoming. He sank down in a chair, congratulated himself on
making it all the way there, and passed out.
    When he woke up
again, he turned the TV on. It was difficult to watch moving pictures, but he
could at least figure out what day it was.
    Damn. I’ve
been gone almost a week.
    The answering
machine blinked with thirty-two messages. The only ones not adding to his
misery were from Laura. Hearing her voice say, “I hope you’re okay, and that
things are going well for you,” made tears swell up in his eyes.
    Someone cared
for him, enough to put up with him and to keep calling.
    Yeah, I’m
doing great. Peachy.
    It was good to
hear her voice on the machine and not just in his head. The last message was
from the previous evening.
    “Hi, it’s me. I
just… I wanted to check in on you, I’m a mother hen you know. It’d be great if
you’d call me and tell me you’re alright. Take care, Marc. You, um, you know I
love you, right?”
    She loves
me?
    He had no time
to process the gem of information; someone banged on the door.
    Now what?
    The route
through the hallway seemed endless, and when he opened, he was only mildly
surprised to see his agent and lawyer side by side.
    “Bill,
Lawrence, you don’t usually visit in pairs.”
    Bill was a tall
and scrawny man with steely grey eyes that matched his steely gray hair.
    Yeah, you
always say you’ve been there and done that. Guess what, I have too. I just
can’t remember a fucking thing.
    Lawrence was
younger, with a smooth face, an expensive haircut, and eyes as warm as the
agent’s were cold. His eyes were the only thing sparing him from extensive
jokes about “Lawrence the Lawyer working with Law.” He cleared his throat.
    “Anne has been
asking for you. I thought you came home to settle this thing, but I guess I was
wrong.”
    The mere
mention of his wife made Marc groan.
    Lawrence
continued, unperturbed. “I haven’t heard from you for a while, not since your
adventure down south, and when Bill here told me you resurfaced, I thought it
was time to go see you.”
    How do you
know I resurfaced? Do you keep my house under surveillance? Just go away and
let me die in peace.
    He couldn’t
remember being this sick, uncomfortable, and itchy ever . His very skin
was too small, and the world swayed in and out of focus.
    When he didn’t
say anything, Bill sent him an unimpressed look and pushed his way into the
house. Lawrence followed.
    Ugh. Now
they’ll never leave.
    Once inside,
both men wrinkled their noses. “Damn, this place is a pig sty. You need to
clean up.”
    Marc shoved a
few empty bottles down on the