It had been twenty-six years since the night of that fire; the fire that changed his life, and hers forever. The Clandestine Production Company took everything from him that night, and in the process of trying to save those he loved, he had scars, both mentally and physically, that would forever remind him of that event.
The Kershaw Theater was on the verge of closure, until he showed up to turn it around. With his unconventional ways of producing and directing, and his dedication, he not only got into the hearts and minds of his audience, but also one special actress.
It was a bitterly cold December, Monday morning in Manhattan, New York. The Kershaw Theater sat nestled on Central Park West, with gorgeous views of the park itself. The theater was antique, like the neighborhood around it, but the invisible benefactor that owned the structure made sure it was well maintained. There was a time, back in the day, when this majestic theater would entertain thousands of satisfied customers every week, keeping them captivated and on the edge of their seats; but now, as actors had come and gone, and with the number of theaters in the area increasing all the time, the Kershaw's audiences had dwindled. Now, due to that serious lack of patrons, the Kershaw Theater was teetering on the brink of closure, or having to be sold; only one offer sat on the table, from the mysteriously named Clandestine Production Company.
Harold Cooper, the Kershaw's house and stage manager, sat in his office thumbing through piles of scripts, trying to decide on a new production that just might save the theater. His eyes glazed over, resigned to the fact that maybe it was time get out of the theater business. He looked up at the clock; it was ten-thirty in the morning, and the company would be arriving at any moment. He got up from his desk, went downstairs to the stage, and waited for the cast.
During the morning meeting, several ideas were tossed around for plays to do for the spring performance, most of which were shot down by the crew. Just as Cooper was ready to tell them he was throwing in the towel, the door to the front of the house swung open. The silhouette of a man wearing a fedora appeared. After pausing, seemingly for dramatic effect, the man walked through the door and down the aisle.
As he got closer, more of his features came into focus. He was average in height, middle-aged, and impeccably dressed; he was wearing what appeared to be a custom tailored, three-piece, chocolate brown pin-stripe suit with a navy blue vest and a coordinated tie. Perched on the top of his head was a matching indigo fedora. A plaid blue-grey scarf, and a black heavy topcoat completed his prestigious attire.
Even from the stage it was impossible not to feel the presence and charisma of the man and most of the cast sat in awe as he walked gracefully through the theater and up to the front of the stage; there was such an impressive aura about him. He stopped, and looked up at all of them, pausing again, like a lead actor about to deliver his monologue, and who wanted to be certain his audience was looking him and no one else. Then he ascended the stairs and stood in the middle of the semi-circle of chairs, Cooper took a seat in an empty chair on the end.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I would like to introduce myself. My name is Raymond Reddington." Several gasps escaped from the mouths of the cast in front of him.
He couldn't help but feel pleased that even after twenty-six years away from theatre production and directing, his name still carried weight and created awe. He felt grateful not to have been forgotten. It felt ... right ... to be back, to be here in a theatre, his theatre, again. To look at a stage and imagine the wonders he could create with the characters and stories that he would present to audiences, as a child would show their prized artwork to their parents. He was sure that he had not lost his touch.
He couldn't wait to get started, and he could almost taste his anticipation. It had been too long, but now, he needed to be involved again. For her. He couldn't stand in the wings any longer. He needed to be within arms reach of her. And this was the very best way he knew how.
He watched their faces absorb the shock as they recognized his name. And he knew that none of them would speak of his past; most of them were mere children when it happened, and they would definitely be silent if he offered them job security, but made it clear that it was on the condition that they not talk about what they knew or remembered. At least to begin with, he knew they would respect that. Maybe later, when they came to know him better, they might venture to speak of ... things. But, initially, he knew he could prevent that.
The night of that fire, he lost everything; his wife, his only daughter, and numerous friends and colleagues. Sure, there had been reports of the fire, but none of them told the real story. None of the reports told the truth of the events of that night. It took him ten years to finally piece all of the facts together, and find himself again. And he'd spent the last sixteen years looking out for, and protecting, *her*.
Reddington had been well known in the theater community for almost ten years prior to the fire. He was a legend in the world of stage production. He had been only eighteen when he produced and directed his first show. He had made a name for himself and everyone had been willing to pay top dollar to have Reddington as their director. Back then. But he had been away so long … too long.
"Ah, it seems like my reputation precedes me," he said, smiling widely. "You may be wondering why I'm here … Well, for starters, I own this theater, and I have been watching it fall further and further into debt for some time now. Of course that is no fault of yours." He looked at Cooper and his words reeked of sarcasm. "I can tell you, though, that the theater is one step away from being sold, and if that happens, you will all, of course, be out of a job. The Clandestine Production Company, which is looking to purchase the Kershaw, doesn't care if you have mouths to feed, or if you're behind on your rent, they only care about making money for themselves. And believe me when I tell you, they will use whatever means necessary to accomplish that." Reddington saw the fear in the eyes of the company members sitting before him, however he was not there for them, not really. He was there for himself, and one special actress.
"I've stood by long enough, and I'm here now to turn this theater around. For those that don't know me, or my work, I have produced more shows than you have collectively got fingers and toes …"
Cooper cut him off. "What exactly do you think you can do, that we haven't tried already, Reddington?"
Ignoring the comment from Cooper, he continued, "I have worked with the best and the brightest actors and actresses. I am a hard ass, and I will make you work. Most of you were still in diapers when I was at the top of my game." He paused. "But before we go any further though, I have one condition that must be met, if you want me to help turn this place around and save all your careers."
"And what is that?" Cooper asked flatly.
"You're to hire Elizabeth Milhoan as your lead actress," Reddington said, smiling grandly.
"And who the hell is Elizabeth Milhoan?" A younger male voice spoke, from the back of the group.
Reddington looked at the young, strawberry- blonde haired man. "Do we have 'Captain America' in our midst today? Who are you?" Reddington asked.
"Ressler. Donny Ressler. You got a problem with that?" Ressler said, trying to sound tough.
Reddington walked over and grabbed his arm, making the young man stand up quickly. He looked him up and down, before shaking his head in seeming resigned acceptance. "I guess you'll do. Sit down."
Turning back to Cooper, Reddington continued, "Elizabeth Milhoan. She just graduated from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. You find her, and then we'll talk production." Then turning, Reddington left the stage. Walking back down the aisle and out the door in a dramatic exit to match that of his entrance.
The cast and crew looked to Cooper. "Well, then. I guess I have some work to do. Has anyone ever heard of this Milhoan gal?" Cooper was looking to his team for any insight. Blank stares were all he was met with. "Okay … I guess I'll have you guys do some minor exercises and spring cleaning, while I hunt down Miss Milhoan."