[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xPfAC72.jpg[/img][/center] [center][B]Interlude Pt. 3[/b][/center] [b]Hollywood 1977[/b] The sounds of laughter drew Peal Jones away from the study window. She heard a gaggle of footsteps approaching from the hallway. More laughter and giggles as the door to the study was opened. Six people, three men and three women, filtered into the room and started to look around. They were young and had long hair. Even the men had hair down to their shoulders and wore colorful shirts and pants. What year was it? How had America changed so rapidly in just the short time she’d been in the study? “I found it,” one of the women said. Pearl noticed she had a thick book in her hands that was open to a particular page. She looked down at it and began to read. “‘It was in the study that poor Preggars Pearl turned her gun on Eddie Mueller. The maniacal mother to be demanded cash for her and her soon to be birthed babe. Thirty thousand dollars for Eddie Mueller’s life.’” Everyone laughed and giggled. Pearl stared to shake her head and yell. “That’s not true! That’s not what happened! The son of a bitch raped me!” “Shut up,” the woman with the book said to her friends, oblivious to Pearl's shouts. “There’s more--” “Who writes this shit?” One of the other women asked. “You never met Jake Stowe?” one of the men asked her. “My dearr, you just haven’t lived until you've met that slimeball.” “There’s more here, so let me finish. ‘Tight-fisted Eddie wouldn’t come off the scratch, so Pugnacious Pearl popped shots aplenty and expired Eddie’s existence. After stepping over the body of the blown away butler in the foyer, Pensive Pearl took a happy hike up the hill to the Hollywoodland sign. From atop the sign's first O, Perilous Pearl whispered sweet nothings to her unborn child and blew her brains out. Her body fell right at the foot of the Hollywoodland sign and spattered blood across it. Thus ended the story of Promiscuous Pearl: a failed film star and a repugnant roundheel that tried to extort a man with power. When she couldn’t get what she wanted, Passionate Pearl took up the gun and killed four people, herself and her baby two of them, all in the name of greed and desperation. Hollywood, ain’t it a bitch?” The small group broke out into fits of laughter at the story. Pearl had retreated to the far corner of the study during the telling and looked out the window while they laughed. She couldn’t believe that she was in this horrible little book, her story not even anywhere close to being accurate. It cast her as some sort of cheap whore who only wanted money. She tried to do the right thing, tried to go to the cops. Killing Mueller had been done in a fit of rage, but it was never about money. The men and women took turns reenacting the murder of Eddie Mueller. One of the girls had stuck a throw pillow under her shirt to look pregnant. Pearl began to cry as they continued to relieve the worst moment of her live over and over, their laughter ringing in Pearl’s ears. “STOP!” The laughter and partying stopped at an instant. Their eyes darted across the room in search of the cause of the voice they heard. “What the fuck was that?” “C’mon, Brent, let’s get out of here.” They hurried out of the study as quick as possible. Pearl sat in the corner and wiped tears from her eyes. Was that what she was remembered for? Being a crazy, gold digging tramp? Eddie Mueller was just a footnote in her story, a victim of Preggers Pearl. Hadn’t she been a victim when he held her down in this fucking room? But that was her legacy now, wasn't it? A homicidal harpy. Pearl laughed through the tears. She could come up with a turn of phrase just as good as Jake Stowe, whoever he was. --- [b]2018[/b] Pearl tried to block out the moaning, but she couldn’t. She was curled up in her corner of the study, fingers stuck in her ears. Try as she might, the thumps and crying from the next room persisted. A low, ruthless chuckle came through the walls. The man who owned the house was bad. He had not had the mansion long, but in that time he had caused his fair share of damage. Pearl never thought she would think this, but Mark Preston was worse than Eddie Mueller. Pearl heard all the horrible things being done to young women in search of work in the pictures. She had screamed and tried to intervene. She tried to channel all her rage into being heard like she had that night all those years ago. But it was useless. She was powerless to stop him. Whatever it was that kept her soul from going to hell, it bound her to this room. She could hear all the horrible things Preston did, but he never did them in the study. Preston came into the room to conduct business from time to time, but every time she tried to scare him it had been pointless. He couldn’t hear or see her no matter how hard she tried. She heard the sound of shouting from the room next door. Heavy footsteps followed. The door to the study burst open and a woman wearing a tattered negligee came rushing through the door. Mark Preston came right behind her, shirtless and with a leather riding crop in his hands. He beamed at the woman as she tried to hide behind his desk. “Very good,” he said, shifting the crop from one hand to the other. “You can play terrified. But… can you play sad?” Those words echoed through Pearl’s head. She was suddenly back in 1931, with the fat little hairless man’s hands around her neck and his hot breath against her ear as he defiled and debased her. Her rage began to build as she remembered his smooth, soft little hands roaming over every inch of her body while she cried and begged him to stop. “NO YOU DON’T!” Preston’s eyes went wide in surprise. He started to look around confused as books flew off the shelf and rained down on top of him. Pearl took a deep breath and stood. She wasn’t sure this would work, but the crazy idea in her head had to be attempted. She jumped towards the woman cowering behind the desk and suddenly… she was her. She was inside her and in control. “Get your jollies by torturing poor, helpless girls, buster?” The voice she spoke with was the woman’s, but the words carried her voice as an echo. She was now on her feet and quickly covering the distance between her and a bewildered Preston. “You think this is what it means to be a man?” She asked with her hand raised. She slapped Preston hard, the woman’s nails raking across the his face and drawing blood. He snapped back to reality and his confusion quickly turned to rage. The riding crop whistled through the air, but Pearl caught it with the palm of her bare hand. Preston tried to jerk it away, but Pearl kept a firm grip on it. “What the fuck are you?” “Your best friend, Pearl,” she said with twisted grin. “Think of me as you guardian angel, pal. And I’ve been watching you, Marky. And I don’t like what I've seen.” She jerked the crop easily from his hand and tossed it away. Pearl stepped out of the girl’s body. She collapsed to the floor unconscious, but Pearl’s spirit stayed upright. And Preston could see it. He screamed in fright at the sight of her. “One question, Marky?” She asked over the sounds of Preston’s terror. “Can [i]you[/i] play terrified?” --- [b]Now[/b] Rembrandt leaned back in his chair and sighed. The silence between the two of them lingered until he finally spoke. “Did he do it by his own hand, or did you jump into his body and make him hang himself?” “Does it matter?” asked Pearl. “What bit of difference does it make?” “I want to know.” Another long silence from Pearl. She continued to gaze out the window and the reporters gathered behind the police barricade. “The world had just figured out what kind of man Preston was,” Rembrandt said after a nod towards the window. “The DA’s office was preparing to file charges on him. The system would have gotten justice for his victim’s.” “I saved a young girl from being raped. Besides, maybe I didn’t care about your justice,” Pearl said as she turned away from the window. “Maybe I care about [i]my[/i] justice.” “What you did wasn’t justice,” said Charlie. “And neither was what you did in the 30’s, Pearl.” “I took out two men who hurt countless women.” “And you killed yourself, an innocent bystander, and your own unborn child.” “We’re all guilty of something detective,” she said with just a hint of emotion in her voice. “As far as the kid goes… it was a mercy killing.” Charlie stood from the chair and gave the study one last look. Pearl had stepped away from the window and smiled at Rembrandt as she held her wrists out. “Arrest me, detective. Take me to ghost jail.” “You’re stuck in this room forever,” Rembrandt said as he started for the door. “That’s justice enough.” “That’s not justice, detective!” she cried. “No,” Charlie said as he opened the door. He gave Pearl one last look. “But it is [i]your[/i] kind of justice.” He closed the door and quietly walked down the hall, ignoring Pearl’s screams and cries every step of the way. [center][h3]END[/h3][/center]