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Another performance in a production they were only beginning to understand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Anna Martin's second-floor walkup was exactly the kind of place where you'd expect a struggling actor to live—crumbling brick exterior, window unit air conditioners rattling in their frames, bicycle delivery guys constantly coming and going.Her roommate, Tracy, met them at the doorway in paint-splattered overalls.
"Anna left hours ago," Tracy said, glancing between them nervously."Said she was meeting Paul Wilson at the Revival Cinema.Something about preparing for tonight's showcase."
"The showcase was canceled," Finn said.
"That's what I told her.But she said Paul had this idea about filming her performance anyway.Said it could be good footage for her reel."Tracy twisted the hem of her shirt."I thought it was weird, with everything going on, but Anna said Paul's been really supportive of her work.Said he understood her artistic vision."
Sheila felt her stomach tighten."What's Anna's cell number?"
Tracy recited it quickly.Sheila dialed while Finn continued questioning Tracy.
"Did she say specifically where they were meeting?"Finn asked.
"The main theater, I think.He has all his recording equipment there."Tracy's eyes widened as Sheila's call went straight to voicemail."Wait, is Anna in trouble?Is Paul—"
"Try her again," Finn said quietly.
Sheila redialed.This time, it rang once before going to voicemail.She shook her head.
"Call us immediately if she contacts you," Sheila said, already moving toward the stairs."And Tracy?Lock your door."
They hurried down to their car, Finn sliding behind the wheel while Sheila tried Anna's phone one more time.Still nothing.
"How far to the Revival?"she asked, checking her weapon.
"Four minutes with lights and sirens."
"Make it three."
The Revival Cinema's brick facade loomed before them less than three minutes later.Finn killed the sirens a block away, not wanting to announce their arrival.The side door was unlocked again, but this time the building didn't feel empty.As they drew their weapons, a door closed somewhere inside.
"You hear that?"Finn whispered.
Sheila nodded.They moved carefully through the dim corridor, checking each shadow.The main theater was dark, but a shaft of light spilled from beneath the projection booth door.
A woman's bag sat abandoned near the booth stairs—expensive leather, the kind of investment piece a young actor might buy to look professional at auditions.A script lay nearby, pages scattered as if dropped in a hurry.
"Anna's?"Finn asked quietly.
Sheila picked up the script.The margins were filled with careful notes in small, precise handwriting.The same kind of detailed character analysis they'd found in Sarah Martinez's apartment.
They climbed the stairs silently, but the projection booth was empty.The door to a small adjoining room stood open, revealing something that made Sheila catch her breath.
The room's walls were covered in monitors, each displaying footage from different locations around town.The Mountain View Hotel lobby.The Coldwater Theater's stage door.The Art House Cinema's parking lot.
"He's been watching everyone," Finn said softly.
Shelves lined the remaining wall space, filled with carefully labeled recordings.Not just audition tapes, but surveillance footage going back years.Each box had a name, a date, and detailed notes about the subject's "performance evolution."
"This is more than just auditions," Sheila said, examining the labels."He's been studying them.Their habits, their routines."She pulled out her phone to call for backup, but something else caught her eye—a notebook open on the desk.
The handwriting wasn't Wilson's careful block letters, but something more flowing, more artistic.The last entry was dated that morning:
P says he's finally ready to show me his private collection.Says he's been documenting true performance art for years.Maybe this is my chance to prove I understand his vision.To show him I'm ready for a starring role.