Page 18 of Beyond the Darkness (Basic Instincts #3)

Beyond Blyham

Instead of starting the week refreshed and prepared for a whole new round of rehearsals, on Monday morning Hudson was tired and ragged.

On Saturday, he’d been up until almost two dealing with Blyham police officers who had taken three hours to come to the apartment and get his statement about Robbie Wiseman.

The constables who had attended treated him like a crank, barely disguising their lack of interest. They had left with a vague suggestion that they would look at the local CCTV footage.

Hudson had no hope they would follow through on that and intended to contact DS Benito Coppola in the morning.

After that, sleep had seemed near impossible.

When he did at last fall off, it was a troubled and restless night.

Sunday had not been much better. He’d attempted to focus on the script, but found himself constantly drawn back to the balcony, staring into the street, looking for his stalker.

He’d become restless, not wanting to go out, but feeling trapped inside the apartment.

He could have called Luke, knowing he would be there in heartbeat, but something had held him back.

As great as the last few days had been, their relationship was advancing at an accelerated rate.

Hudson had always been wary about rushing into things and this was no exception.

He trusted that his instincts about Luke were right, but he needed time and space to sit with them. To process what he was feeling.

When Luke sent him a text late in the afternoon to ask how he was doing, he lied and told him everything was great.

Sunday into Monday had been another restless night.

To make things worse, the walk from the apartment to the rehearsal studio that he enjoyed so much was out of the question. With everything that had happened and Robbie Wiseman in Blyham, he got a taxi across the river to the concert hall.

“Morning,” Jax greeted him cheerfully at the stage door.

“Hi, Jax,” he said, mustering enthusiasm he did not feel. “Any post today?”

Her eyes glanced over her shoulder and along the corridor. “Rav already asked me if there was any mail for you.” Her voice was hushed. “I assumed you’d want to receive it yourself.”

“Good work. You’re right. I do.”

She handed over a small pile of letters, containing an envelope with one of the all too familiar printed labels. Robbie Wiseman was nothing if not consistent. He thanked Jax and headed to the coffee shop.

While his order was being prepared, he opened the large envelope first, being careful not to handle it too much.

It wouldn’t make any difference. Robbie wouldn’t have left any prints on the package.

He’d been at his creepy practice for so long, he was practically a professional.

Inside was a standard eight-by-ten glossy photograph.

The surprise this time was that it was not a shot from Red Hills Massacre.

It was an image from a screen test he’d filmed for The Leopard, a superhero movie he’d been cast in many years ago, before being fired in the early stages of production.

If it had gone ahead, the movie would have taken his career into the stratosphere.

When the director was replaced, Hudson hadn’t fitted with the new director’s vision for the character and that had been the end of his hopes for mega stardom.

In time, Hudson realised he’d dodged a bullet.

The Leopard had gone on to become a multi-movie franchise with crossovers into other comic book films. Given how negative his experiences of fame had been at his current level, he didn’t want that level of exposure.

His screen test and the costume and make-up tests he’d completed had been locked tight for many years, before eventually finding their way online.

The photo in the envelope showed him shirtless, obviously. His body was bigger, more ripped than he’d ever been before or since. Robbie’s interest in him must be broadening. It made a change from seeing himself playing dead in a pair of white underpants.

Hudson called DS Coppola, who agreed to follow up on the call he’d put in over the weekend and send someone over to collect the latest letter.

He sounded marginally more interested than his colleagues who had taken the initial report.

Hudson wondered if he would pass the information on to Luke’s ex Kris.

His mood fell further when he walked into the rehearsal room and spotted two newcomers, setting up recording equipment at the side of the stage. A man and a woman, both around thirty. Shit. He’d forgotten about the fucking podcasters.

The woman stopped what she was doing when she noticed he had arrived. The man, picking up on her interest, straightened and turned in his direction.

“Hi,” they said in cheery unison.

“Fuck you,” he muttered under his breath and ignored them.

Undeterred, they headed straight in his direction.

“Hey, Hudson, it’s great to meet you.” The man thrust his hand forward in an overfamiliar bro manner.

Hudson raised his hands to show that they were both full, one with a coffee cup, the other with mail.

Not to be put off, the man smacked him on the shoulder. “Corman Curtis, man.”

“I’m Amber Payne.” The woman curled her shoulder-length blonde hair behand an ear and fixed him full-on with her laser-sharp blue eyes.

She looked like a perfect, filtered influencer profile image brought to life.

“We’re honoured to be here. It’s really exciting for Beyond Blyham to be part of your amazing show. ”

“We’re big fans,” Corman said. Once again, his words were full of bro friendliness and devoid of sincerity. Corman was the Ken to Amber’s Barbie. Gym-built physique, black hair, ultra-sharp lines in his facial hair. His jeans and T-shirt seemed like they had been tailored to his powerful body.

“Look,” Hudson said. “I’ll be honest with you from the start. We’ve got a shit load of pressure and stress upon us already. The last thing we need is to be a sideshow on your podcast.”

“We’re not like other podcasters,” Corman said. The perfect smile did not falter.

“And, although we feature local issues, our show is listened to internationally.” Amber was all business. “Our streaming numbers are consistently on the rise, month on month. We’ve won awards for…”

Hudson stopped listening to her. He knew exactly what they hoped covering the production of a play that was also the subject of an active murder investigation would do for their numbers.

He raised his pile of envelopes to stop them.

“I’m sure that’s all very impressive, but I’m not going to lie.

If I had my way, you wouldn’t be here. And I’m going to do my best to make sure you’re here for the shortest time possible.

In the meantime, I intend to stay out of your way. Please do the same for me.”

With a smile as insincere as Corman’s, he walked away.

“You’ve got the wrong idea about us,” Amber said. “We’ll prove our worth to you and you’ll come around.”

There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her voice. This pair were not used to being turned down and rejection had little meaning for them.

“What’s rattled your cage?” Steve asked. He sat on the floor, legs crossed as he stretched. For once, he was not posting selfies or inspirational messages on his socials.

“What do you think? They have no business being here.”

Steve wrapped an arm around the opposite elbow. “I think they’re pretty cool. And they’re telling the truth. They do have a big following. Like, seriously massive.”

“Excuse me if I don’t shit myself with excitement over that.”

Steve stared blankly at Hudson, as if he’d just spoken an entirely new language. And then, after the cogs had ground in his brain, he said, “Probably too modern for you anyway. I forgot you’re from the dark ages.”

Cheeky motherfucker.

Rav was on his phone when Hudson approached him.

Without a care for his privacy, Hudson took the seat beside him and slapped the large envelope on the desk.

He sipped his coffee while he waited for him to finish the call.

There was nothing sinister in the other letters.

Standard fan mail and requests for autographs.

“Another one?” Rav asked when he was done.

“Yep.”

“I’ll have my team look at it.”

“No need. The police are on their way to collect it.”

“Police? Oh right, they took the letters from last week too.”

“Yes. Police. My stalker is here, in Blyham. I saw him outside my building over the weekend. These photos are coming from him. I’m sure of it.”

“Are you all right?”

“Not really. I wasn’t in the best of places when I came in.” He pointed at Corman and Amber, huddled across the room. “And they are only making it worse. How long are they here for?”

Rav shifted his ass uncomfortably. “The next two weeks. They’ll be here all the way to opening night.”

Hudson’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Do you know how much media interest there is in this production now? We have to give them something. At least this way we can control what gets out. Corman and Amber are highly influential. It’s not just their podcast, they’ve got TikTok, Instagram. Their reach is huge.”

“I don’t give a shit about their reach. This is…fucking heartless, is what it is. We’ve lost a vital member of our team, and you want to use that for…what? Some fucking online content?”

“That’s not what this is about. We need them. The show needs them. Tickets don’t sell by themselves, you know. And as great as you are, your name alone can’t fill the theatre every night.”

Hudson tightened his fists. “What the hell are you taking about? It’s already sold out.”

“In Blyham. We’ve got to focus on London now. I’ve got a shit load of interested investors, but they’re not ready to part with their money just yet. The first week here and the reactions to it will get us over the line.”

“And you don’t think your cast and crew are talented enough to achieve that? You need cheap gimmicks. I thought this was serious theatre, not a return of vaudeville. Besides, we’ve already got Luke covering the build-up.”

“It’s a different world now, Hudson. And a whole lot of different mediums. We’ve got to be across the lot. We need to exploit every opportunity that’s available to us.”

Before rage threatened to consume him, Hudson took a deep breath in and counted to five, then exhaled once more on five. “I have nothing more to say other than that I’m disgusted that you see Julian’s murder as an opportunity to exploit.”

“C’mon, that’s not what I said.”

Hudson grabbed his coffee and stood. “Just keep that pair of assholes away from me. And while you’re at it, do me another favour and stay the fuck away from me yourself.”

* * * *

Sal Morte, Julian’s hastily arranged replacement, arrived just before ten, accompanied by Manuella, who clung to his arm like he was her personal property. Hudson held back a few minutes as Andie and Rav made a fuss of the newcomer, greeting him like a saviour.

Hudson knew he had to cut the guy some slack. He’d been plunged into a situation beyond his control. None of this was his fault.

When things settled down, he went over to introduce himself.

“Hi, Sal, it’s nice to meet you.”

The Spanish actor shook his hand with great enthusiasm.

He was around the same age as Hudson, dark-skinned and handsome with remarkable blue eyes.

His salt-and-pepper hair was enviously thick.

“It’s an honour to be here, despite the tragic circumstances.

I only want to do my best to serve your show and the man who went before me. ”

There was a beautifully soft lilt to his accent. Though his demeanour was confident, Hudson detected the notes of uncertainty in his expression. It would be impossible to hold a grudge against Sal, even if he wanted to.

“You’ll be terrific. I’m sure of it.”

“I already know Julian’s role by heart. And I’ve been working all weekend on learning the understudy lines. I won’t let you down.”

“Don’t put any pressure on yourself about that.” Hudson held back from telling him that he had never missed a show in his life. Who wanted to tempt fate anyway? Given the troubled state of the production already, it would be Hudson’s bad luck to break his leg and miss the whole damn run.

For the benefit of Sal, and the morale of all concerned, Andie decided they would spend the morning going over Act One.

It was a great idea. After a few days off, it gave Hudson and his co-stars a chance to settle back into the rhythm of the script.

Sal nailed his lines, bringing nuance and humour to the small part.

Hudson’s chest tightened with sadness as he realised just how easily the producers had replaced poor Julian.

Corman and Amber watched from the side, their eyes sharp and intent.

He did his best to ignore them and was glad to see that Luke kept out of their way, making his own notes and observations from a subtle distance.

Incredible to think that this time last week, Luke had been his antagonist, and now his presence was a comfort.

Though everything went well, it was a relief to break for lunch and to get some time with Luke. They found a table at the back of the coffee shop downstairs. Luke leaned straight in for a kiss, which Hudson accepted willingly, without a care for who might be watching.

“It’s good to see you,” Hudson said.

Luke’s hand lingered on Hudson’s waist until they sat. “I missed you yesterday.”

His heart brightened at the news. “Really? I thought you had lots of work to do.”

He shrugged. “I can still miss you, even when I’m busy.”

Hudson flushed. If he was honest with himself, he’d missed Luke too. He’d gained absolutely nothing by spending his Sunday alone, other than becoming moody and melancholy. The answer to his troubles had been one call away. He’d been too stubborn to realise it.

No more pig-headedness.

He put his hand on top of Luke’s. “What are you doing later?”