Nocturnal Read Online Free Page B

again.
    Her trance-like state is interrupted by a loud knock on the kitchen door. When the knocking persists, she rises to her feet with a beleaguered sigh.
    The visitor is Bill, a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in his sixties. He’s heading to the supermarket and wonders if Charlotte needs anything picked up. The longing in Bill’s face suggests he’s fond of the widow, but his affection is not reciprocated. She cuts short his attempt at small talk by claiming that her cousin from Montana is on the phone.
    I remembered the opening scene well: it was nicely written, and I especially liked the way Charlotte’s repressed personality was introduced. However, it was also pretty damn depressing, and more suited to a drama than a comedy. That’s why I was keen to add another dimension to the interaction between Charlotte and Bill – to somehow lighten the mood.
    But at the point where I thought the first scene ended, the conversation took a disturbing turn. My heartbeat grew faster as I read on.
    CHARLOTTE: I’ll see you later, Bill. Thanks again for the offer.
    BILL: You’re welcome. (Pauses, checking over his shoulder). Actually, I have a small confession to make. I’m not really going to the supermarket.
    CHARLOTTE: I’m sorry, perhaps another–
    BILL: (interrupting) Please, don’t brush me off. This won’t take long, I promise.
    CHARLOTTE: But I told you. I’m on the phone.
    BILL: Oh really? Because from the way your voice is quivering, I’d say you were lying. In fact, I don’t remember you having a cousin in Montana.
    CHARLOTTE: That’s really none of your business.
    Charlotte moves to shut the door, but Bill sticks a foot in the doorway. Charlotte flinches, and then backs away unsteadily, trembling with fear. Bill follows her into the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him. He pulls a long hunting knife from his jacket and runs a calloused fingertip over the serrated blade.
    BILL: You’re just like that cock-teasing bitch. She never gave a damn about the people who loved her.
    CHARLOTTE : (backing up against the wall) What are you talking about?
    BILL: You know exactly what I’m talking about, Charlotte. You can’t sweep aside the past like it never happened. Hiding behind blackout curtains won’t save you now.
    Charlotte’s eyes are wide with panic, but then a wave of recognition passes over her. She seems to understand her fate, the horror in store for her. She screams in agony as the jagged blade tears into her chest, splattering the white walls with blood. Bill plunges the knife into Charlotte again and again, laughing manically as her soft flesh yields. Her insides spill onto the linoleum floor.
    After an unrelenting attack, Charlotte’s limp body collapses in a bloody heap. Bill wipes his dripping blade clean, breathless but visibly exhilarated. He turns to look pointedly at the camera, grinning sadistically. We slowly zoom in until his gleeful face fills the screen.
    BILL: Did you enjoy that, Johnny?
    “ Jesus ,” I said aloud, seeking the comfort of my own voice. I’d been playing out the scene in my head, and Bill’s final remark seemed chillingly real, like the sick fucker was with me in the office.
    Scrolling forward, the remaining scenes had been deleted. The story ended on page three with the murder of the main character. The reality of the situation hit me.
    Someone had logged into my computer and doctored the script.
    The intention wasn’t to damage Eleanor’s work – she was still in possession of the master version. The edits were solely for my benefit. Not only the reference to Johnny, but also the knowing taunts about past sins and hiding behind blackout curtains. The writer was sending me a message. And just like the doomed version of the widow Charlotte, I understood.

4. “You know I’m a married woman”
     
    My chili cook-off story was pulled from the Tribune’s Sunday edition without explanation. I marched straight into my editor’s office on Monday morning,