Acts of Violet(74)
I cross my arms and perch on a sunken plaid sofa as Cameron pulls up a stool. “I didn’t get attacked by some kind of ghost or demon,” I say. “I just leaned against an old wall and part of it crumbled. Nothing otherworldly. It’s an old building.”
“And the subbasement hasn’t seen any major renovations in over fifty years. I wouldn’t attribute the loose stones to anything paranormal.” His reasonable tone should put me at ease, but we both know there’s more to this. “What I’m puzzled by is your sudden appearance.”
“Yeah, me too.” I chew my lip and regard the floor’s tattered carpeting, which is a color so dreary it doesn’t know whether it wants to be brown or gray or beige. “Did I just … I mean, did anybody see where I wandered in from?”
“We all saw, on the monitors upstairs. Which is why we all came rushing down. But I still don’t understand how you could’ve gotten to the theater’s lower level without anyone seeing you. Hang on, I’ll show you.” He takes out his phone, taps on the screen a few times, and turns it toward me.
It’s a photo of a monitor with a grid of video feeds. “This is how they did the setup. The crew placed night vision cameras in various areas of interest, most of them in the auditorium—the stage area, the wings, backstage, the catwalk. There’s also one in the trap room—that’s the room beneath the stage, which was the site of the wine cellar when this place was the Worthington Estate. And a couple a floor below that, in the subbasement, which should look familiar.” The next photo is a closer shot of the monitor, zeroed in on the upper-right-hand corner, which shows a stone-paved corridor with an arched ceiling. And there I am, a partially blurred gray figure curled up on the floor, face hidden in the crook of my arm.
A tremor zips up my spine.
“At first, we weren’t sure what we were looking at.” Cameron swipes to the next image, a grainy close-up of my upper body. It’s like looking at a photographic negative of myself as interpreted by the night vision; my black hair registers as white strands splayed across the dark sleeve of my shirt, which is actually beige. “I mean, we knew it was a person, but didn’t know…”
“Whether I was a human or a ghost? For future reference, when in doubt, go with the former,” I say.
“Hey, if you saw some of the footage this team has collected over the years, you might not be so sure. But in this case, what made your appearance unusual—there are a few things. First of all, this camera is motion activated. Presuming this is some kind of sleepwalking situation, if you came from the end of the hall, you should’ve been captured entering into the frame before taking your little nap on the floor. But the motion sensors weren’t triggered until you were already lying down. Also, there’s only a single entrance at the end of that hall, and it’s locked. The other entrance is from the stairs, and there’s another camera there that didn’t pick up anything.” He brings the phone in for a closer look, a preoccupied frown clouding his face.
First Violet appears in a photo where she doesn’t belong, now I do. What an unexpected thing for us to have in common.
I have a sudden urge to flee. Would he try to stop me? My breathing quickens at the thought. “I-I don’t know what to tell you,” I stammer. The fear and uncertainty in my voice repels me, so I sit up straighter and try again. “Your cameras must’ve malfunctioned and whatever locked doors I made it past must not be all that secure. Like you guessed, I’ve been having some sleepwalking issues. No idea how I ended up here, but the last time I checked, I wasn’t one of the X-Men, so it’s not like I can walk through walls. I mean, you just saw me almost crash through a wall—I’m closer to being the goddamned Kool-Aid man than a superhero.” This infusion of sass clears my head and propels me to my feet. “Now, I hope we can avoid making a big deal out of all this, and save me some embarrassment. I’ll leave you to your ghost hunting or whatever this is. Right now, I’d like to get home and finish sleeping in my own bed.” I take slow, shuffling steps backward, flashing Cameron a phony smile as I retreat.
“I wish you didn’t act like you think I’m out to take advantage of you. I don’t blame you for it—I’m sure you’ve had shitty experiences being fame-adjacent, but…”
“But what?” I stop my slo-mo moonwalk. “You’re not like those other guys? You’re just trying to help?”
“Actually, yeah. I am trying to help you.” His voice is two parts faux-wounded, one part self-righteous.
It would be more sensible to keep my mouth shut and resume my exit, but this disorientation is too much and the majority of my energy is dedicated to keeping my shit together. Which leaves very little in the way of impulse control. “Are you trying to help like the people who went through my trash for a month and then blogged about it? Or the so-called private detective who claimed to have irrefutable proof of my sister’s whereabouts and conned me out of five grand before fleeing the country? I’m at the point where I don’t think I can handle getting any more help.” My voice cracks.
“Sasha, hold on. I really do want to help you.” Now he almost sounds sincere.
“What I think you really want is to get on my good side, so I finally grant you that podcast interview. Or to sweet-talk me into signing a release so you can use that basement footage of me for whatever spooky series you people are making here. Neither of those things is gonna happen.” I turn to go but Cameron’s next words freeze me in place.