After leaving the hospital, Mark Anderson drove back to the police station and waited outside in his aging Geo Metro.
Ryan Cole had informed the authorities that he no longer wanted to pursue the matter personally, and after the remaining statements and processing were completed, there was no reason to keep Paul Stevens in custody overnight.
It was nearly four in the morning when Paul finally walked through the station doors.
The coastal Massachusetts night was bitterly cold, and Paul had been wearing nothing except jeans and a thin T-shirt when he was taken in.
Mark flashed the headlights and lowered the window.
“Over here.”
Paul spotted the car and hurried across the parking lot with his arms wrapped around himself.
The instant he climbed inside and felt the heater, he shuddered violently.
“Man, I’m freezing. Couldn’t they have found somewhere warmer to keep me?”
“You deserve it.” Mark pulled away from the curb.
“Maybe next time you’ll remember that when an actor says ‘hit me,’ you’re not actually supposed to punch him.”
Paul scratched his head awkwardly.
“Yeah… sorry. I caused you a lot of trouble.”
Mark sighed, but the anger he had felt earlier was already gone.
“Forget it. I wanted to punch him too. You were just stupid enough to actually do it.”
Paul immediately grinned, relieved that Mark wasn’t furious with him.
A moment later, however, he remembered something.
“Wait. Why did Ryan suddenly back down? That guy didn’t exactly seem forgiving. You didn’t apologize to him for me, did you?”
“Apologize?” Mark snorted.
“Not a chance.”
He kept his eyes on the empty road as the little car headed back toward the production area.
“Remember the hotel footage you helped preserve? Ryan and his manager realized that footage of him partying while an entire production waited for him could become a serious publicity problem. Once everyone understood how ugly this could get for both sides, his manager became much more interested in settling everything quietly.”
Paul let out a breath.
“Good. Maybe now he’ll learn not to treat a whole crew like his personal staff.”
“There’s one problem.” Mark shifted gears.
“We’re terminating his contract tomorrow.”
Paul turned so quickly that his seat belt caught him.
“What?”
“Ryan wants out. I want him gone. His manager and Silverline will sign the termination agreement in the morning.”
“But we’ve already started shooting.” Paul stared at him.
“Where are we supposed to find another Martin Brody now? Casting someone new could take weeks.”
“I know.”
Mark reached toward his jacket, and Paul immediately recognized what he was looking for.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, handed Mark one, and flicked the lighter for him.
Mark cracked the window and exhaled toward the opening.
“If we don’t have time to find another actor, then we won’t find one.”
Paul frowned.
“I’ll play Brody myself.”
Paul considered the idea for barely two seconds before smiling.
“That actually solves a lot of problems. You were one of the best performers in our directing class anyway. Professor Harris always said you could’ve switched departments and made half the acting students nervous.”
“Very comforting.”
“I’m serious. We probably should’ve done this from the beginning. Would’ve saved us money and Ryan’s nonsense.”
Mark shook his head and looked at the dark road ahead.
“No point thinking about what already happened.”
Paul glanced at him, then rubbed his hands together for warmth.
“Pull over. I’ll drive. You haven’t slept properly in two days.”
Mark didn’t argue.
He stopped beside the road, moved into the back seat, and stretched out as comfortably as the tiny car allowed.
By the time he opened his eyes again, Paul had already brought them back near the crew accommodations.
Ryan’s manager proved remarkably efficient once both sides had agreed to separate.
Early that morning, he arrived with the termination paperwork prepared through Silverline’s legal department, and Mark reviewed everything before signing.
Ryan received only the compensation they had agreed upon for the days actually worked, while the remaining unused portion of his advance was returned to the production.
Once the documents were complete, Mark deleted his copy of the hotel video in front of the manager.
Whether other copies existed was no longer his concern.
Ryan and his manager left Martha’s Vineyard that same day.
Mark returned to the set.
Replacing a leading actor after principal photography had begun would normally have been disastrous, but only a few days of usable material had been filmed.
Mark had also personally designed the blocking and performance beats for Martin Brody, so stepping into the role meant he already knew exactly what he wanted from every scene.
A director didn’t necessarily need to be a professional actor, but understanding performance was part of directing actors.
Mark knew how Brody should move, where his attention should fall, when fear should appear in his face, and how restrained the character needed to remain compared with the more colorful personalities around him.
The challenge was no longer figuring out the performance—it was delivering it while simultaneously controlling everything happening behind the camera.
Fortunately, Paul took on more responsibility whenever Mark was acting.
The difference was immediate.
The footage Ryan had taken three days to shoot was replaced in a single long production day.
That successful reshoot transformed the mood of the entire crew.
The project had survived losing its leading man, Mark had proven capable of replacing him, and everyone suddenly felt as though the worst crisis had passed. This chapter is updated first at novelping dot com.
From that point onward, production became far more efficient.
Days became weeks.
Before anyone realized it, a little more than two months had passed.
Off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard, a production boat floated near the final controlled-effects area while the crew prepared the last shot needed for Jaws.
Mark’s version of the climax followed the same essential idea he remembered: Chief Brody would force a compressed-air tank into the shark’s mouth and shoot it, causing a violent explosion that finally killed the creature.
There was obviously no real shark in front of them.
The system would create the animal and integrate the compressed-air tank into the finished sequence during postproduction.
What Mark needed from the practical unit was the interaction between water, debris, light, and a controlled surface explosion so the digital effect would have something physically convincing to match.
The special-effects supervisor finished the final safety checks before approaching Mark.
“Water’s clear. Boats are outside the exclusion zone. Charge is ready.”
Two months of working outdoors and around the ocean had darkened Mark’s skin into a light bronze, and the constant schedule had left him leaner than when production began.
Despite the exhaustion, his eyes were brighter than ever.
“Good.”
He raised his radio.
“All units, final effects shot. Lock it down.”
The crew confirmed one position after another.
“Cameras ready.”
“Safety boat clear.”
“Effects ready.”
Mark looked toward the water.
“Roll cameras.”
A brief pause followed.
“Detonate.”
The effects technician began the countdown.
“Three… two… one.”
BOOM!
A column of white water erupted from the ocean, followed by spray and scattered debris designed specifically for the shot.
The cameras captured the expanding blast from several protected angles while the crew remained safely outside the designated effects zone.
Mark watched the playback carefully.
The explosion spread exactly where he wanted it.
Once the system added the shark, the compressed-air tank, and the final creature destruction, the shot would complete Brody’s climactic victory.
Mark slowly smiled.
“Cut.”
Everyone waited.
Mark removed his headset and raised his voice.
“That’s a wrap on Jaws!”
The boat erupted in cheers.
Paul immediately produced a bottle of champagne from somewhere behind the equipment cases, popped the cork, and sprayed foam across anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.
Laughter spread through the crew as months of exhaustion finally broke into celebration.
Mark walked toward the camera department and personally checked that the final media cards had been removed, labeled, duplicated, and placed into their protective cases.
Losing footage after surviving everything else would have been an unforgivable way to end production.
“Picture wrapped!”
Paul appeared behind him wearing a suspicious grin.
Mark immediately became wary.
“What are you planning?”
Paul whistled toward several camera, grip, and lighting crew members.
They surrounded Mark before he could retreat.
“Oh, no.”
“Director needs a shower!” Paul shouted.
Several people grabbed Mark and lifted him off the deck.
“Wait! My phone!”
Mark managed to pull it from his pocket and throw it toward Paul, who caught it before tucking it safely away.
The crew carried their director toward the edge of the boat while Mark struggled uselessly against half a dozen people.
“One!”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Two!”
“Paul!”
“THREE!”
They threw him overboard.
For the brief instant Mark hung above the water, one completely irrational thought flashed through his mind.
What if there really was a great white shark down there?
Then he hit the ocean.
By that point, the effects team had already confirmed the detonation area was safe, and the crew’s celebration took place well away from the controlled blast zone.
There was certainly no movie monster waiting beneath him.
Mark surfaced just in time to see Paul strip down to his shorts and leap from the boat.
Splash! This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Water hit Mark directly in the face.
“You idiot!”
Paul surfaced laughing.
Mark swam back toward the ladder, climbed aboard, and changed into dry clothes while more crew members jumped into the water.
He stood on deck watching them celebrate and couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
The past two months had been brutal.
Long hours, weather problems, boats, equipment, transportation, casting trouble, Ryan’s behavior, police involvement, sudden reshoots, and an unforgiving budget had pushed everyone harder than Mark originally expected.
Yet despite everything, the production had finished.
Paul deserved a great deal of the credit.
Once Mark took over the Brody role, Paul had quietly absorbed many of the responsibilities that normally would have fallen on the director’s shoulders between takes.
He coordinated departments, handled small disputes before they reached Mark, chased down equipment, kept the crew moving, and somehow maintained morale even during the worst days.
That evening, production held its wrap party at one of the island’s nicer waterfront hotels.
They used what remained of the production’s designated hospitality and wrap allowance rather than wasting money that still needed to cover postproduction, and for the first time in months, nobody had a call time the next morning.
Paul became drunk remarkably quickly.
Even while barely able to stand straight, he grabbed Mark by the shoulder and slurred, “You still have enough money for post, right? Because if you don’t, I’ve still got savings.”
“You are not giving me your house money.”
“It’s not house money anymore. At Los Angeles prices, it’s maybe… garage money.”
Mark laughed and pushed him away.
Unfortunately, the rest of the crew had noticed.
During production, Mark had never been an especially gentle director.
He demanded repeated takes, raised his voice when departments fell behind, and had more than once frightened inexperienced crew members by losing his temper.
Now there was no production schedule left to protect him.
“Director!”
Someone shoved a drink into his hand.
Another appeared immediately afterward.
Then another.
Mark eventually lost count.
He had no idea when the party ended or how he made it back to his hotel room.
When consciousness finally returned the next morning, he discovered himself lying on the carpet beside the bed with one shoe missing and his jacket somehow serving as a pillow.
His head felt as though someone had used it for percussion practice.
Mark slowly sat up and reached toward the bottles on the table.
The first glass bottle had a small hotel tag beside it.
$12.
Mark stared at it.
“Twelve dollars for water?”
He carefully put it back.
Beside it were two ordinary complimentary bottles.
Much better.
Mark grabbed one, emptied most of it in several gulps, and finally felt vaguely human again.
After taking a long shower and changing into clean clothes, the last of the fog began disappearing from his head.
He walked toward the window.
Morning sunlight covered Martha’s Vineyard, turning the Atlantic bright blue beneath the sky while gulls circled above the coastline.
Mark suddenly realized that despite spending more than two months here, he had barely stopped long enough to appreciate the place.
Every beach had been a location.
Every boat had been production equipment.
Every sunrise had meant another call sheet.
Mark rested one hand against the glass.
“Next time I come here, I’m coming on vacation.”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“And I’m staying in the best suite they have.”
Then his expression became serious.
Principal photography was finished.
But Jaws was nowhere near complete.
Mark closed his eyes.
The familiar translucent interface appeared in his vision.
[Ultimate Film VFX and Audiovisual Assistance System activated.]
[Production media detected.]
[Import complete.]
[Beginning edit and postproduction workflow…]
Mark opened his eyes.
Now the real work began.
(End of Chapter 9)
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