THE BLACK ALBUM: A Hollywood Horror Story (19 page)

Charlotte could overhear the
conversation on the phone, the man’s terrified voice as he and Loveless made
plans to meet again that would never materialize. After they said their
goodbyes, Loveless hung up and looked at Charlotte, “What the fuck is going on?
I love horror films. I don’t believe in them.”

“Texas Chainsaw Massacre,
Amityville Horror, The Exorcist, Hills Have Eyes, The Serpent and the Rainbow,
The Mothman Prophecies.” The movie titles floated up to Loveless and Charlotte
from the back seat. Lizzy was wide awake and sitting up. For a second, through
the rearview mirror, she looked to the filmmaker like one of the scary
prepubescent anomalies from the horror cult flick “Children of the Damned.”

“What about them, baby?”
Charlotte asked.

“They were all based on true
stories. You see, I like horror movies too.”

“So what are you saying? That
“The Black Album” is true?” Loveless asked.

“It’s based on true events. There
was a band. We know they did something to a missing girl. We know a kid killed
his friends and himself after listening to their music. We know the band died
mysteriously.”

“But now you’re saying they laced
their songs with
real
Satanic lyrics? That they really sacrificed a
thirteen year old runaway? That listening to the record backwards possessed a young
boy and made him kill? That the Devil really exists?”

“Maybe.”

“Why didn’t the Devil save the
band then if they had already sold their souls to him?”

“You can’t make a deal with the
Devil.
He’s the father of all lies.”

“Us actually having this discussion
is insane. I don’t like this kind of talk, Lizzy.” Charlotte was getting upset.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t change
what’s happened. Wayne, the boy who died, had been playing around the ruins of
the band’s house days before he- ,” the girl’s words, a near whisper, trailed
off altogether.

“Lizzy, are any of the kids you
know, kids at school, involved in Satanic ceremonies in the woods?”

“Stop it, J.D,” Charlotte said.

Lizzy answered the question,
“Some.”

Charlotte looked back slowly at
her daughter.

“Older kids. Dropouts. I hear
they have these parties. In the woods. At night.”

“Any adults?”

“J.D!”

“Some. Just random people who’ve
been pointed out to me at Starbucks, McDonalds, at the movies. Regular people
mostly. Fathers, barbers, lumberjacks - teachers. People you’d never suspect. I
don’t know if these kids are making it up or not.”

“Enough. Enough. I don’t want to
hear anymore from either of you. And, Lizzy, you do not, I mean it, you do
not
hang out with any kids you even think are involved in any of that!” The timber
of Charlotte’s voice made Lizzy and Loveless shut up. “I’m so tempted to quit
right now it isn’t funny. To just stop. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at
all.”

“You can’t stop, Mommy.”

Now the filmmaker and the actress
both looked at each other. Loveless studied Lizzy through the rearview mirror
as Charlotte turned all the way around in her car seat and looked at her
daughter. “Why not, baby?”

The pronouncement that ended all
conversation for the rest of the ride back up the mountain drifted up to them
low, even and in the most innocent of voices,
“Because he won’t let you
stop.”

Loveless and Charlotte didn’t ask
who
he
was.

The last day of shooting ended
three days later uneventfully and unceremoniously. Like many films, most of the
small and minor scenes were left to the end. Tedious little things. It was no
different with “The Black Album” shoot. Most of the cast and crew didn’t even
realize they were shooting the last shot of the last scene, with the exception
of Matty, Loveless and Charlotte, until the filmmaker announced, “Martini
shot!”

Donovan was on hand for the end.
He had driven up two days earlier and looked much better after having distanced
himself from the latter half of the movie shoot. The headaches were still
there, but now just a dim echo in his brainpan that any over the counter pain
medication could numb. Donovan had his snowboard and gear with him and was
headed up to Big Bear afterwards. On the way back, he would meet back up with
Loveless and Charlotte to discuss strategy for the sale of the film.

Donovan was standing right next
to Loveless. “What’s that mean, J.D?”

“Last shot of last scene of every
film, the director calls ‘martini shot.’ Except in Mexico. They call ‘tequila
shot’ and bring over a tray full of shots of tequila for everyone in the cast
and crew.”

“Next time we’re filming in
Meheco
,”
Charlotte said cheerfully. Everyone’s spirits seemed lifted, now that the end
was at hand.

Matty signaled to Loveless that
he was ready. The filmmaker called
action
. The scene played through
without error. Moments later,
"Cut
.”

“Checking the gate.” Matty pulled
out a pen flashlight to check the lens of the digital camera he had been
shooting with. After that he reviewed what they had just shot on a small
monitor. Satisfied there were no obstructions to the shot on the screen like a
hair or dust particle, Matty reported, “Gate clear.”

“Well, folks, that’s a wrap.”
Loveless didn’t realize how relieved he was until that exact moment.

“And not a second too soon,”
Charlotte said as she looked to the sky. The clouds that had been gathering in
the distance for the last five days - since Della’s eerie-as-hell prediction -
had finally become one humungous mass, headed right for the mountain, loaded
for bear.

Matty consulted the weather app
on his cell. “Check this out. They’re predicting a blizzard.”

“Blizzard,” Loveless echoed. “Did
they actually use the word blizzard?”

“That’s my cue,” Donovan hooted -
excited about the extreme weather - as he hugged Charlotte and shook hands with
everyone else. “I’ve gotta shred the gnar on some serious white powder. Catch
you two on the way back down. We’ll chat then ‘bout what comes next.” A
heartbeat later, the fledgling producer Donovan was gone.

The filmmaker looked at Matty.
“We better get you and our other out-of-towners down the mountain before the
storm hits.” Matty, the actress playing Grace’s sister, and the actor playing
Grace’s love interest were the only out-of-town cast members still in
Arrowhead. Loveless had ‘shot out’ the actor playing the demon Jeremy in one
week, mid-shoot, and sent him back to Los Angeles. The filmmaker had scheduled
all Jeremy’s scenes back to back because he was the most high profile actor
they had in the movie. He had once guest starred on the short- lived TV series
“Firefly,” which was the filmmaker’s favorite guilty pleasure cult show.

“We’ve all got our stuff packed,”
Matty said speaking for himself and the others, who were waiting for him at the
house that had been rented for them throughout the shoot. “We all rode
together, so we’re good to go.”

“Thanks a lot for everything,
Matty. You did an outstanding job. If the weather wasn’t about to turn ugly,
I’d have suggested you and the others stay one more night, so we could take you
out for dinner and drinks.” Loveless looked at the clouds again. “But if you
stayed, you’d likely be snowed in for days.” He handed the cinematographer
three envelopes containing the final paychecks for him and the two actors.
“We’ll all do lunch in LA.”

“Thanks. I hear ya, man. No
worries. I’ll tell the others you said bye.” Matty man-hugged Loveless, kissed
Charlotte on the cheek and took off fast, looking over his shoulder at the
heavy gray clouds moving across the sky like a pregnant blanket.

The actress took out her cell and
looked at the display. A concerned look spread over her face.

“What’s the matter?”

“I didn't want to say anything
earlier, because I didn't think it was anything. Lizzy’s hanging out with her
friends. She was supposed to text me two hours ago where she’d be at so I could
pick her up. She hasn't. I’m worried.”

“I can have Jerry and Collin wrap
the equipment up and drop it off by my place. I’ll go with you to look for
Lizzy. We don’t want to get caught out in the storm.”

“Thanks, J.D.”

As Loveless sped through the mountains,
the roads were eerily barren as if a worldwide pandemic or zombie invasion had
wiped out the general populace. The residents of the mountains had seen the
storm clouds coming and they were battening down the hatches. Hunkering in. As
the filmmaker drove, Charlotte called all of Lizzy’s friends. None had seen
her. Desperate, the actress had Loveless stop at Starbucks. The place was
virtually empty. Carla was one of two employees behind the counter. The other
employee was busy putting things away, preparing to close in a hurry.

“Carla, have you seen Lizzy?”

“No, Ms. Rae. It’s like I told
you on the phone, I’ve been working all day.”

Charlotte gave Carla a stern
maternal gaze. The teenager wilted under it. “Carla, you only call me Ms. Rae
when you’re hiding something from me. You know where she is.”

“She made me promise not to tell.
But I’m worried. She’s hanging out with some older kids.”

“What?” Charlotte was now
completely alarmed.

“I have to get back to work.”

That wasn’t going to work with
Charlotte. The mother grabbed Carla’s arm and held it. “Where’s Lizzy at? Who’s
she with? You tell me right now, Carla.”

“I don’t know them. Brent knows
them. Lamont, kids who run with him.”

Charlotte continued to look Carla
in the eye for several more seconds to make sure she was telling the truth.
Convinced, she let go of the teen. The mother knew who Lamont was. He was a
nineteen year old who was generally regarded as bad news. A trouble-maker.
Lamont had been kicked out of school on several occasions, until he was finally
kicked out for good. He’d also been arrested. Charlotte had seen this kid
around before and didn’t like the looks of him one bit: curly black locks,
tall, gaunt, Goth with a fuck you smirk perpetually plastered across his pasty
white face, a nasty attitude, and some serious anger management issues. She got
a horrifyingly bad vibe as she thought of the way Lamont would look at Lizzy as
he said hi, when they would come across him at the store or some other place in
town. The mother could feel him checking out both her and her daughter’s asses
after they had walked by. It gave Charlotte the chills. “Come on, J.D.”

In the SUV, Charlotte directed
Loveless. “I bet Brent knows where Lamont is.”

They entered the clearing at the
Rock. It was now dusk, but seemed later. The scant bit of daylight there was
left wasn’t helped by the thick gray storm clouds bearing down. Charlotte got
out and headed around back to where the kids hung out. Loveless followed.

Brent and some of the others were
standing around the fire-pit. They weren’t sitting down on the rocks that
surrounded it as usual because the winds were whipping the flames wildly. It
would have been hazardous to get any closer. The teens shuffled back and forth
on their feet for warmth, hoodies up, hands tightly in pockets. It obviously
wouldn’t be a late night hanging at the Rock. Red faces and runny noses were
about to chase them all home.

When Brent noticed Charlotte
approaching, Loveless saw the teen mouth something under his breath along the
lines of, “Oh shit!”

Hell hath no fury like a lioness
looking for her cub
,
the filmmaker thought. But with each passing moment, Loveless was getting more
concerned for Lizzy as well.

“Where is she, Brent?” Charlotte
said as she got within voice range. The other teens, hearing that parental tone
in her voice, dispersed into the night, leaving Brent on his own. “
Thanks
guys
,” Brent retorted with dripping sarcasm to his fair-weather friends,
then turned to Charlotte, “What makes you think I know where the fuck she is?”

“Curse or lie to her again, I’ll
knock your teeth down your throat.” Although few people ever saw it, Loveless
had a mean streak earned from growing up in a very bad area of Brooklyn. He was
so calm people sometimes mistook him for passive. It was a bad mistake to make
with someone from the wrong part of the ghetto when he was in a foul mood.

Charlotte turned to Loveless.
“It’s okay, J.D. I can handle this.” The mother didn’t like seeing an adult
threaten a kid. Brent was nearly seventeen. She turned back to the teen.
“Please tell me where she is, Brent.”

“I don’t know, Ms. Rae. I’d tell
you if I knew.”

“He’s lying, Charlotte.”

“Fuck you,
Jack Daniels
.
You’re a damn grown-up. You can’t threaten me.”

Brent was a punk. The filmmaker
knew the kid was a punk from the first time they met. Loveless was on the kid
in seconds, one hand around the kid’s throat, the other twisting his arm behind
his back.”

“What the fuck, man?” Brent
croaked in a last stab at bravado.