"The Fallen Angel"
I'm Thomas Pickles, the big, famous Hollywood director. I'm here to tell you about the single most mind-boggling, odd, and disturbing experience of my entire life.
It all started on a Friday afternoon. I was in my office, working out the budget for a movie about a circus I was directing. I'd hired some damn picky acrobats that demanded such and such a salary for x number of scenes filmed in x amount of time and so on and so forth. My head was already spinning from the numerous shots of whiskey I was drinking to stay conscious, and by then I was about to pass out anyways, so why the hell bother staying awake. It was then that I heard a tap on the door.
"Come in," I said, seriously not caring if it was an arsonist ready to burn down the studio. "The door's open." D-uh. He'd already walked in.
The guy who walked in was tall, probably a head taller than me, with longish brown hair and emerald eyes that bored imaginary holes in my skull. "Hello," he said, almost in a whisper.
I tried to maintain a businesslike stance. "Can I help you?"
"I heard you were hiring acrobats for your film," he said. Dammit, I must not have gotten all the audition posters taken care of.
"I'm sorry, but the three positions requested are..." I searched for the right word. "...already filled."
"They are not as good as I am, sir." This guy had a LOT of courage.
"Psh. You wanna be a stunt guy?" Maybe he'd go away if I at least gave him some sort of job.
"No. I am the best there is." Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe he'll go away if I drink just one more shot...no wait, I'll try to handle this logically.
"I'm very...busy right now, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
"Just watch me. You will change your mind."
"I doubt that. Listen, mister...what was your name?"
"Deville. Philip Deville."
"Mr Deville, I have budget work to take care of. Come back tomorrow, if you please?"
"I may not be in the area tomorrow."
"Fine, I'll watch you." I picked up my stuff and led him into the studio, where there was a large circus arena set up for filming.
Deville slowly climbed up the ladder and got on the tightrope. He began performing a rather elementary routine. I sighed and resumed working on the budget. A few moments later, I glanced up, just to see if he was done or not. He was about to grab one of the trapeze bars, when his hand just missed the bar. I stood up in shock. He was done for. He was falling from so high...and about to land on the cold, hard sawdust. He was about to land headfirst when...BANG. He hit the ground.
"Oh my god!" I exclaimed.
Silence. The cloud of sawdust around Deville settled. He stood up, good as new! He casually brushed himself off and advanced in my direction. "How'd ya like it?"
I was reduced to the point of stuttering. "How...you...the bar...the ground...what?" How the hell did he do that? I wondered.
Deville must have seen my shock, because he said, "I've been practicing my fall for a long, long time. It started long ago...first I fell out of bed. Then I fell down some stairs. Once I even fell off my roof! Then I took my biggest fall, the one that - " He stopped to swat a fly near his head. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a rambler. Have I got the job?"
"Of course! I can work in your scene, leave it to me and the writers!" There was no way I was going to let this guy outta my sight. After the movie became a hit, Deville could go on tours and stuff...Dollar signs began to flash before my eyes. I imagined myself literally rolling in smooth, crisp $100 bills when I snapped out of it and only saw Deville's smiling face.
"Thank you, Mr Pickles, and I'll see you tomorrow on the set. I don't expect a salary." He smiled. And suddenly I was alone in the arena. I looked around myself. Hm, he must've left while I wasn't looking.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
a/n: Yes, there's more. Keep reading and reviewing. (And if you've read the story and know how it ends, don't spoil it for everyone else!)