Ding.
The elevator doors opened, and Mark Anderson stepped out first.
“Wait here. I’ll bring the car around,” he told Paul Stevens and Megan Carter before heading across Silverline Pictures’ parking garage.
Following the memories he had inherited, Mark eventually found a tiny white hatchback parked in one of the far corners.
It was a 1996 Geo Metro, an inexpensive American compact that was almost thirty years old.
The little four-seat car had a manual transmission, excellent fuel economy, and barely enough interior space to qualify as comfortable, but it was perfectly adequate for someone trying to save money.
Mark hadn’t regularly driven a stick shift in years, so after stalling it once, he finally managed to coax the aging car out of its parking space.
He pulled up beside the elevator, where Megan’s eyes immediately lit up.
“Oh my God. That thing is adorable!” she exclaimed while staring at the tiny car with genuine fascination.
Her expression looked so sincere that Mark couldn’t even tell whether he should feel insulted.
“Just get in.”
Paul climbed into the passenger seat while Megan squeezed into the back.
She immediately began looking around the interior as though she had entered a museum exhibit, then discovered the manual window crank beside her door.
“Wait, you actually have to turn this thing yourself to open the window? That’s amazing.”
Paul glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
“Where did Eddie find this girl? Has she never seen an old car before?”
Mark laughed and pulled away from the curb.
Rather than heading anywhere expensive, he drove them to an old neighborhood barbecue joint he and Paul had visited regularly since their film-school days.
The place was cheap, filling, and familiar, which was exactly what Mark wanted after discovering that he currently owed Silverline Pictures twenty-four million dollars.
Paul climbed out and stared at the weathered restaurant sign.
“Seriously? Collins and half the development department are celebrating with seafood, and we’re eating barbecue?”
“You’re lucky I’m buying you lunch at all.” Mark shut the driver’s door and headed toward the restaurant.
Considering what the Geo Metro was worth, he sometimes wondered whether locking it was more about maintaining appearances than preventing theft.
Megan followed behind them, looking around the old restaurant with the same curiosity she had shown toward the car.
Once they were seated in a booth, Mark ordered brisket sandwiches, fries, and drinks before turning directly to business.
“Megan, how familiar are you with production paperwork and location permits?”
“A little.”
The way she blinked immediately destroyed Mark’s confidence.
Apparently, “a little” meant almost nothing.
Mark had trained inexperienced assistants before, so he decided not to worry about it.
“Your main job is going to be helping me organize preproduction. That means keeping track of the project paperwork, budget releases, location agreements, insurance certificates, permits, schedules, and whatever other administrative work keeps us legally able to shoot.”
Megan straightened slightly and nodded.
“For commercial location filming around Los Angeles, we’ll need to identify the exact jurisdiction first,” Mark continued.
“If we use locations handled through FilmLA, you’ll prepare and track the permit applications and make sure our insurance paperwork is in order. If we shoot somewhere outside their jurisdiction, especially once we start looking at coastal locations, you’ll find out which local authority handles filming and coordinate with them instead.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
“You’ll also stay on accounting until Silverline transfers the $700,000 Evelyn approved into the production account.” Mark took a sip of water before continuing.
“Once we have access to the money, I can start locking down equipment, locations, crew, transportation, and casting.”
For the first time since they had sat down, Megan looked genuinely focused.
“What exactly are we making?”
“Jaws,” Mark answered.
“A horror movie.”
Megan and Paul both stared at him.
“A horror movie?” Megan repeated.
Paul’s reaction was much stronger.
“Hold on. You’re serious? After everything that happened with your last movie, you want your comeback project to be horror?”
“Exactly.”
Paul leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“Mark, horror is practically dead theatrically in this world. Studios barely touch it unless there’s some safe psychological explanation or old folklore angle. You have seven hundred grand and one chance to keep Parker from owning your career for the next fifty years.”
“I know.”
That calm answer only made Paul more worried.
“You’re not planning some supernatural story that gives us trouble with distributors, are you?”
“Nothing supernatural.” Mark smiled.
“The movie is about a seaside town being terrorized by a massive great white shark.”
Paul stared at him.
“A shark?”
“A great white.”
Paul scratched the side of his head.
“You realize shark attacks are rare, right? People aren’t their normal food. Why would anyone pay money to watch a movie about a fish swimming around?”
“That’s exactly why you don’t understand horror yet.”
Paul gave him a skeptical look.
Mark leaned back against the booth.
“The shark itself isn’t the most frightening part. What scares the audience is knowing it could be somewhere beneath the water without being able to see it.”
Paul remained unconvinced.
“I still don’t get it. Honestly, I don’t think the shark sounds frightening enough, and I’m not convinced horror is worth betting everything on. Why are you so determined to make this?”
Mark’s expression became serious.
“Because horror is a science.”
Megan rested her chin on one hand.
“What does that mean?”
“Film is art, but it’s also popular entertainment. No matter how beautiful the cinematography is or how impressive the effects are, a movie still has to tell a story that keeps people watching.” Mark leaned forward slightly, and even Paul stopped joking when he noticed the change in his tone.
“Stories are how people give shape to imagination. We tell stories about love, war, history, heroes, monsters, family, ambition, and everything else human beings experience.” Mark tapped one finger lightly against the table.
“But fear is even more basic than most of those things because you don’t need education, money, or cultural sophistication to understand danger.”
Paul raised an eyebrow.
Mark smiled faintly.
“At the most primitive level, the rule of a horror story is incredibly simple: don’t get eaten.”
Megan’s eyes brightened.
“That’s the foundation. You understand what an audience instinctively fears, and then you control when they receive information, when you hide it, when you let them relax, and when you take that safety away.” Mark’s voice became more animated as he continued.
“A good horror director doesn’t simply show something ugly and expect people to scream. You make the audience participate in frightening themselves.”
Megan remained completely focused on him now.
“What I want to make is a movie that attacks instinct first,” Mark continued.
“Imagine someone swimming in calm ocean water. Nothing is visible beneath them, but the audience knows something dangerous may be down there. Suddenly that peaceful water becomes terrifying without the director needing to show anything.”
Paul slowly stopped looking amused.
“The audience sees the surface, hears the water, watches someone swimming, and starts waiting for the attack. Every extra second becomes uncomfortable because their own imagination is creating possibilities faster than the movie can show them.” Mark spread his hands.
“That’s why the shark doesn’t need to attack every five minutes. The possibility of the shark can be more frightening than the shark itself.”
For the first time, Paul looked genuinely interested.
“Movies are controlled adventures,” Mark continued.
“People can experience danger while sitting safely in a theater. Action movies give them excitement, romances give them emotion, comedies give them laughter, and horror gives them permission to experience fear without actually being in danger.”
He picked up his drink and emptied half the glass before continuing.
“But the horror movies I’ve been looking at here barely push that feeling. They explain everything too quickly, soften the danger, or rely on predictable tricks. I don’t want the audience merely startled for ninety minutes.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed with excitement.
“I want them walking out of the theater feeling like they survived something.”
The table became quiet.
“I want people hesitating before swimming at the beach. I want someone lying in bed that night remembering dark water and wondering what might be beneath them even though they know perfectly well they’re safe.” Mark smiled.
“If we can make fear stay with them after the credits end, then we’ve actually made a horror movie.”
“Damn!”
Paul suddenly slapped one hand against the table hard enough to make the silverware jump.
Megan immediately started clapping, her cheeks slightly flushed from excitement.
“That actually sounds amazing.”
“Exactly!” Paul nodded enthusiastically before turning toward Mark with an impressed expression.
“I have to admit something. Your ability to confidently talk complete nonsense while making it sound inspirational has gotten frighteningly good.”
Mark’s expression went flat.
Paul burst out laughing.
Mark picked up his glass and leaned back in the booth.
“So after listening to all that nonsense, are you helping me or not?”
Paul’s grin faded into something more serious.
He lifted his glass and tapped it against Mark’s.
“You even have to ask? If we’re going to destroy our careers, we might as well do it with a giant shark.”
“Cheers.”
A third glass suddenly appeared between theirs.
“Cheers!”
Mark and Paul turned toward Megan.
She smiled innocently, stuck out her tongue, and took a sip of her drink.
The two men exchanged a look before laughing.
This girl might actually fit in with them.
(End of Chapter 5)