Read Midnight Movie: A Novel Online
Authors: Tobe Hooper Alan Goldsher
Midnight Movie: A Novel (16 page)
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: re: re: re: the quake
DATE: May 5, 2009
Dee—
I need you. Do you think your mom would let you sleep over tonight? I’m scared.
So we go to the doctor, and she gives me the once-over, and says that I was probably right, and that I went into a little bit of shock. Then she took some blood tests and she made me give her a urine sample. So I went to the bathroom, but I didn’t really have to pee, so I sat there and started thinking about last night, and what it was like kissing the old guy, and I started getting excited down there, which wasn’t helping with the peeing. So I wiped myself off, because I didn’t want that stuff mixing with my pee, and here’s the scary part.
The toilet paper came away red and blue.
I screamed. I couldn’t help it. One of the nurses banged on the door and asked if I was okay. Part of me wanted to tell her that there was some blue stuff coming out of my hoo-hah, but the other part of me wanted to keep it quiet, because after all that stuff that happened with Willy last year, I HATE hospitals. But I looked at the toilet paper again and decided that since I was already there, I’d better say something.
The doctor made me go right to my gynecologist, and I’ll spare you the details, because she ran about a MILLION tests,
and they all hurt SO badly, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just want to stay here in bed, and I want you to come and keep me company, because I hurt, and I’m scared, and I can’t stop thinking about the old guy no matter how hard I try, and my sheets are getting stained blue. Come over ASAP.
xox,
Gwennie
EXCERPTED FROM THE PAPERS OF DR. AARON GILLESPIE,
RISK MANAGEMENT ANALYST FOR THE DEPARTMENT
OF HOMELAND SECURITY
May 7, 2009—I am in, and it could not have been simpler. It is an offshoot of an offshoot of an offshoot. In typical fashion, they do not even know what group they are splintered from, and, also in typical fashion, they do not care. Their only concern is the cause.
They knew who I was, but that was not a surprise. Most of these field generals take themselves and their work quite seriously, and they do their research. The leader, who goes by the name Brian, told me that I was far from the first Homeland Security agent to “turn.” Upper management keeps us all isolated from one another, so it was little surprise that I was not aware of that.
Brian has refused to give me specifics about the mission, which I believe is because he does not have all the specifics himself. So all we have done is train and procure. It appears that is how it will be for the foreseeable future.
We train right by Lake Michigan in Evanston, a suburb just north of Chicago, right out in plain sight. But we have nothing to hide. We are simply exercising: yoga, running, tai chi. We must remain in tip-top shape. We do not know why. That is simply the fact.
They would prefer that I live with them in their compound, which is actually a modest house on a quiet side street in an affluent neighborhood, but I prefer to sleep in my own bed. They realize that I bring a wealth of knowledge to the table, so they have compromised: sixteen hours with them, eight hours away.
They are quite paranoid. I have told them time and again that, due to our edict of plausible deniability, nobody at the department knows of their existence, other than me. They do not believe me, which is understandable, but they will come to. Numerous times, I have demonstrated that I know more about their world than they do. They are impressed. They like having me around.
They are also taken with my ability to build weaponry. I brought along a pipe bomb recipe that Brian called the finest he had ever seen. My concoction for a fertilizer bomb is far less expensive than theirs, and I am confident that it will be equally powerful, if not more so. Much to my surprise, they did not know what a barometric bomb is. I doubt we will ever use one, but it is good to have them available.
One thing that was quite disappointing to me was their lack of respect for their firearms. They have a Stinger FIM-92A missile in the basement that has never been fired, but they do not realize they must keep it clean whether or not it has been used. I spent almost an entire day wiping off the layer of dust that had covered the weapon, both inside and out.
Two days after they let me into their inner circle, I took them to an underground shooting range on the South Side of Chicago that they did not know about. It is things like that that help me ingratiate myself. Sooner or later, they will trust me in full. I hope it is sooner.
I do not even have a clue what my mission is. All I know is that if I have anything to say about it, it will involve bloodshed, and pain, and destruction, and, if all goes well, a body count for the ages.
http://andidaltrey.blogspot.com
Andi-Licious
The Useless Musings of Sophomoric
Sophomore Andrea Daltrey
MAY 11
MY WARDROBE
My clothes don’t work for me because they cover too much. Like if you can’t see my NIPPLES through my shirt, then that shirt has to go. If you can’t see the CRACK OF MY ASS peeking out of my pants, those pants have to go. If you can’t see my CLEAVAGE, that’s unacceptable, because if I walk down the street and a guy doesn’t stare at me then something’s wrong.
I want every guy to stare at me. I want every guy to want me, even though I don’t want every guy. But if I want a guy, he has to WANT me, and I don’t want to work at it like last night. I went to the Beauty Bar and wore a white baby-doll tee without a bra, so my nipples were all out there. I wore a short skirt without PANTIES, and while I was sitting at the bar, I spread my LEGS apart a couple of times just for fun. I don’t remember the name of the headlining band, but it was a good thing I wore what I did, because the second I saw the drummer, I wanted his cock in my MOUTH.
After they were done playing, I went backstage and grabbed him by the back of his neck and gave him one of
those new KISSES that seem to put guys under my spell or something. After I pulled away, I stuck my hand down his pants and squeezed and he came immediately all over the place, and it was blue just like it always is. I LICKED my hand clean, then wiped the rest of it onto a guitar case, then I went home and rubbed myself until I feel asleep.
Good night sweet dreams dream of me getting you HARD AND SUCKING you dry and turning you blue.
a:
The undersigned investigator was assigned to assist in the investigation of a missing person (Gary Samuel Church, sixty-four-year-old white male of Swall St. in Los Angeles, May 14, 2009).
b:
The subject was reported missing by his brother, Warren Roderick Church of Seventh Ave. in Brooklyn, NY. Warren Church last had contact with the subject on April 23, 2009, via a text message. Warren Church says that Gary Church had been “acting weird” for several weeks before the disappearance. Warren Church says that the last individual to see Gary Church was Donna Nathan, a key grip on the film that Gary Church was shooting at the Twentieth Century Fox Studio (10201 Pico Blvd.) until his disappearance. The date was May 2, 2009. Warren Church claims that Donna Nathan has expressed her willingness to submit to an interview. On May 10, Warren Church examined Gary Church’s house for information and did not uncover anything “useful.” Between May 10 and 13, Warren Church approached several of Gary Church’s neighbors, who could offer no suggestions. Warren Church has also called numerous local hospitals, to no avail.
c:
No definitive conclusion can be made at this time.
d:
It is my recommendation that we do a second sweep of the local hospitals and interview as many individuals who worked with Gary Church on the Fox lot as possible. According to Warren Church, Gary Church had never displayed any suicidal tendencies, but considering that Warren Church emphasized that Gary Church had been “acting weird,” suicide is not being ruled out. As Gary Church is well-off, it is also recommended that we conduct an airline search, both local and domestic, to see if he simply left his home without telling anybody. A secondary search of the house is also essential.
e:
—8″ × 10″ photo of Gary Church
—Keys to 1424 S. Swall
I was laid up in the hospital for a month, and at first, my friends were wonderful. I had visitors coming in and out of my room, and everybody had a present for me: books, stuffed animals, pizza, DVDs, pretty much anything I wanted. My professors were also terrific. They all stopped by with lecture notes, and homework, and lots of bad jokes that made me laugh despite myself. Andi came by, all slutted up in her new sexy-time outfits. She was her usual self, just … sluttier. I tried to grill her about this new look and attitude of hers, but she’d always change the subject. Honestly, I was too tired to push it. I regret that to this day, and probably will for the rest of my life.
As the days progressed, the visits kind of dwindled. I guess I can understand. I had some decent friends in Austin, but they weren’t the kind of friends you’d keep in touch with after graduation. You’d become Facebook buddies and maybe get together when you were in the same town, maybe not, but we’re not talking lifelongers here. It was kind of like they did their duty, then they moved on.
Naturally, I watched a lot of TV—a lot of CNN, to be precise, because my hospital roommate would kick and scream if I even thought about putting on VH1 or something—and by the end of my stay at Chez Sickbed, the news was driving … me … fucking … crazy. Terrorists blowing up shit in Chicago; a mini-riot in Atlanta; earthquakes in San Diego, Baja, Tijuana, and New Mexico; and, of course, the rash of fires in Austin … I think there’d been almost three dozen at that point, and some of them were really bad, like five-alarm bad. The only good news was that the Dallas Stars might make the playoffs.
When they sprung me, Andi came to pick me up, and she was off in the ozone. I said to her, “You look tingly. Did you find a boy or something?”