[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xPfAC72.jpg[/img][/center] [B][center]Interlude Pt. 2[/center][/b] [b]Hollywood 1931[/b] Pearl Jones kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot through the dirt and grass towards the hill, the bright lights of Hollywood fading behind her. It had been a tough walk up here even though Eddie’s mansion wasn’t that far away. In her condition walking anywhere was hard. It felt like there were hot pins in her left thigh, pins that shot pain through her leg with every step. Blood was oozing out of the deep gash on her thigh and trickling down her leg until it dripped from her feet and coated each footstep in crimson. “Don’t worry,” she whispered aloud. Sirens began to sound off in the distance, getting louder as they drew closer. One hand held a revolver loosely while the other cradled her swollen stomach. “We’re almost there.” --- [b]Nine Months Earlier[/b] Eddie Mueller flashed a smile that had very little warmth in it. He sat behind his big, walnut desk and eyed Pearl the way a butcher eyed a cut of meat. His opulent study, nestled in the corner of the mansion’s second floor, contained packed shelves of books with no cracked spines. Directly behind Mueller was a bust of Mussolini. Mueller looked a lot like [i]Il Duce[i], albeit with far more girth around his neck and jowls and his swarthy features replaced by pasty, blotchy skin. He was completely hairless and smooth. To Pearl he looked like a giant baby with a drinking problem. Word was that he had some strange medical condition that made all his hair fall out when he was a boy. “I saw your screen test, Ms. Jones, and I liked what I saw… oh, yes.” “Thank you,” Pearl said with a polite nod. “That means a lot coming from you.” “Been doing background work in pictures, isn’t that correct?” “Yes, sir.” Mueller chuckled and stood. Or at least he tried. After four attempts to get out of his chair, he was finally on his feet. He turned the corner of his desk and sat on the end of it. The wood creaked and groaned under his weight. “This next picture of mine is going to be something spectacular. I got a kid doing the script who’s a whiz. Everything Freddie touches turns to gold. I’m lining up Clark Gable as my leading man. For leading lady… I want you, Pearl.” Pearl felt her heart flutter with excitement. Her? She’d had dreams of being the leading lady ever since she was a little girl in North Dakota watching Mary Pickford on the screen. After four years of either flat-out no’s or getting paid ten dollars a week getting extra work, she was starting to wonder if it would ever come true. “I just need to know one thing,” Mueller said, licking his lips. “Can you play sad?” “Of course, Mr. Mueller. I can--” She was cut short by the back of Mueller’s pudgy hand slapping her across the face. He was on her, his hands around her throat. “Can you play terrified?” Mueller tossed Pearl to the ground. She screamed as the fat man pinned her down, one hand holding her in place while he worked his pants off with his free hand. --- She was just a few days away from giving birth when she knocked on Mueller’s door intent on revenge. After the day she could never forget, she’d never heard another peep out of the man. Her polite inquiries about the film were rebuffed, and then when she found out she was pregnant her calls stopped being answered altogether. The studio had her on their list of persona non grata and the times she came by the house, the police had been called to escort her away. They would probably be here soon so she had to act fast. “Look,” the butler said as he opened the door. “Mr. Mueller is not here and if you--” The revolver in Pearl’s hand shut him up. He started to say something, but was stopped by the bullet to the throat. Pearl stepped over his crumpled body and waddled through the sprawling mansion. “Eddie… Oh, Eddie.” She thought that this man, this [i]animal[/i], having a house this big and nice was a waste. He had no family and no guests. He only bought it because it was expensive and a symbol befitting his status. He didn't need it and he sure as hell didn't deserve it. She figured she wouldn’t have enough time to burn it down. “Please…” She found Mueller in his study, huddled behind the desk in a vain attempt to hide his mass. Of course he would be here. It was poetic justice that he would die here. “If it’s money you want, I’ll give you as much as you need. Just don’t kill me!” She fired a potshot at the desk. Expensive chunks of wood flew through the air. “I don’t care about money.” “I’ll make you a star, then. L-like I was supposed to!” That caused Pearl to fire twice at the desk. Mueller squealed like a pig and started to move around the desk. “I'm sure Hollywood is ready for its first knocked up starlet. The Floozy Greta Garbo,” said Pearl. “They called me a floozy, you know? The police. They called me a lot of things. I tried to tell them what you did to me. I was making a statement to an officer when a flashy man in a flashy suit came in and started to talk about how I was crazy and how what we did was something I wanted. That I was a dirty little slut who got off on slapping and choking and beating and I was just after your money. They kicked me out and threatened to arrest me for making a false statement if I ever came back.” “I’m sorry… please… please.” Pearl came around the desk. Mueller was crouched and shaking in fright. She saw a patch of wetness on his crotch and laughed loudly. “I got good news for you, Eddie,” she said as she aimed the revolver at Mueller’s head. “You’re a daddy. Bad news? I don't think you're gonna get to teach him how to ride a bi--” Mueller suddenly lunged at her with a sharp letter opener. She cried out when he plunged it into her upper thigh and twisted. He tried to swat at the revolver, but missed. She pulled the trigger and shot him point blank in the face. --- Pearl looked out at Hollywood. She stood on the first “O” of the Hollywoodland sigg and tried her best to stay still. It was windy and the soles of her feet were slick from the blood on her leg. At least Hollywood looked nice. It was all lit up and pretty like it always was a night. From a distance it could fool you like that. Fool you like she had been fooled years ago. She came in on a bus in ‘27 and was entranced by the tall buildings and theater marquees and spotlights. It was supposed to be the place where dreams were made. That was true for a few, but for most... it's just where you realized how foolish dreams where. She could see the police cars down at the foot of the hill and little figures marching up the hill towards her. She figured they must have followed the blood trail all the way from the mansion. “I’m sorry,” she said as she rubbed her stomach. “So sorry. You deserved better than what this world had to offer, kid. I just wish I could have given it to you.” Pearl Jones put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Her body fell the fifty feet down to the ground, where it landed with a loud thud at the foot of the Hollywoodland sign. --- [b]Now[/b] “Jesus Christ.” Charlie Rembrandt shook his head and rubbed his face. He sat looking up at Pearl Jones’ ghost. She had her arms wrapped around her and her eyes on the floor. She'd told the whole story that way, too afraid to make eye contact with Charlie. They were in the very study where she had been raped and impregnated, and then committed murder. “The next thing I knew, I was back in the study. Cops were all around Eddie Mueller’s body but they couldn’t see me or hear me. It took a few hours but I figured out what happened and what I had become. I’ve been in this house ever since. I’m stuck here, detective. I've tried to leave but I can't. How long have I been here?” “It's been… eighty-seven years.” “My goodness… I didn’t realize it had been that long.” “I’ve got a good picture of what happened with our friend a few rooms down,” said Rembrandt. “But I think I need a few more blanks filled in. What led to you driving Mark Preston to suicide?” “Well, detective,” she said with a humorless laugh. “You see, all this time when nobody could hear or see me… but I could see and hear them. And I saw it all.”