Page 35 of Silent Home (Sheila Stone #13)

Greenwald was very still now, his eyes moving between Sheila and Finn. She could see him processing angles, possibilities, just as she was. The director in him was still working, even now.

"It won't work," Sheila said. "However you stage this, however you film it—it won't have the impact you want."

"No?" Morrison raised an eyebrow. "Watch the footage from the other scenes. Watch their faces in that final moment of transformation. When Jessica realized she'd finally become her character completely. When Thomas understood true redemption. When Sarah—"

The movement was so subtle Sheila almost missed it. While Morrison was focused on his artistic justification, Greenwald's hands had been working at the wire binding his wrists. The director's years of experience with practical effects had taught him something about knots and bindings.

She saw the exact moment the wire gave way.

Greenwald lunged forward just as Morrison was adjusting another light.

The wire around his throat pulled taut, but his newly-freed hands shot up, grabbing the gaffer's wire before it could strangle him.

Morrison stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden movement, his camera remote clattering to the floor.

"Don't move!" Sheila ordered, but Morrison was already reacting, using his grip on the wire to yank Greenwald backward. The director's chair toppled, sending both men crashing into one of the camera setups. Expensive equipment crashed down around them.

Finn moved to get a clean shot, but the struggling figures were too entangled. Morrison had wrapped the loose end of the wire around his fist, trying to regain control of his scene as monitors sparked and lights toppled around them.

"You're ruining the composition!" Morrison shouted. "The framing has to be perfect!"

Greenwald drove an elbow backward, catching Morrison in the ribs. But the cinematographer's grip on the wire was too strong. They slammed into an editing station, sending hard drives and equipment crashing to the floor.

Sheila circled left while Finn went right, both looking for an angle that wouldn't put Greenwald at risk. But Morrison seemed to sense their movements. He hauled Greenwald upright, using him as a shield while backing toward another set of monitors.

"Stop!" Morrison's voice had lost its gentle quality. "This isn't how the scene is blocked. This isn't how it's supposed to look!"

"It's over," Sheila said. "Let him go."

"Over? This is just the beginning of the third act." Morrison's free hand found another piece of wire on a nearby table. "The moment of crisis, when everything hangs in the balance."

But as he reached for the wire, Greenwald made his move. Instead of pulling away, he drove backward hard, slamming Morrison into the monitor bank. Sparks flew as electronics shattered. The grip on the wire loosened just enough.

Greenwald twisted free, but Morrison was already swinging the second piece of wire like a whip. It caught the director across the face, drawing blood. Greenwald stumbled, giving Morrison the opening he needed to lunge forward with the wire stretched between his hands.

"Freeze!" Finn shouted.

But Morrison wasn't listening anymore. His careful staging had been ruined, his perfect scene destroyed. Now, he moved with the desperate energy of a performer who'd lost his script, improvising a new ending.

He caught Greenwald around the throat with the wire just as Sheila reached them. Her tackle took both men to the ground, equipment crashing around them. Morrison's grip on the wire was maniacal—she couldn't break his hold without risking Greenwald's throat being crushed.

Finn tried to move in, but Morrison rolled, keeping Greenwald between them. "The scene isn't finished!" he screamed as he rose again, dragging Greenwald with him. "They have to see! They have to understand!"

Sheila saw Greenwald's face starting to turn purple. They had seconds, not minutes. Her hands found the wire, trying to work her fingers between it and Greenwald's throat, but Morrison's grip was too tight.

Then she felt something else—a second wire, the one that had originally bound Greenwald's hands. It had tangled around Morrison's legs during the struggle.

"Finn!" she called. "The wire!"

He saw it too. As Morrison focused on strangling Greenwald, Finn grabbed the loose wire and pulled hard. Morrison's legs went out from under him, breaking his grip just enough. Sheila wrenched the gaffer's wire away from Greenwald's throat as the director rolled free, gasping for air.

Morrison tried to scramble up, reaching for another piece of wire, but Finn was already on him. The cinematographer fought like a man possessed, screaming about ruined scenes and perfect moments, but Finn got him face-down on the floor.

"It's all wrong!" Morrison shouted as Finn cuffed him. "The blocking, the lighting—none of it works! We have to reset! We have to—"

"James Morrison," Sheila cut him off, "you're under arrest for the murders of Jessica Gregory, Thomas Rivera, and Sarah Martinez." She helped Greenwald sit up, checking the wounds on his throat. "And the attempted murder of Bradley Greenwald."