Rather than a security alarm sounding as I exposed this evil plot, Harvey glanced up and dismissed me in the most exasperated manner imaginable.
‘Jesus, ok Tom, you wanna know? You really wanna know? Where do you think it comes from, Tom? This is our abortion clinic. Mothers come here, they leave their kids behind and we preserve them for you to eat for breakfast.’
He didn’t exactly try and sugar coat it, or give some other explanation, but then what other explanation could he give? It’s the equivalent of rocking up at Wayne Manor and Bruce is trying to find an excuse for why he’s donning a bat-shaped rubber suit.
I had to ask.
‘But why… why babies?
‘You been feeling better recently Tom? The younger they are, the better you’ll feel. We are perfecting the process, which, when you think about it, makes you pretty much immortal now, doesn’t it? So, do me a favour and go wait in the car, it doesn’t concern you.’
Wait in the car, like I was a child, or his fucking pet dog. Then I realised; I was his pet, his show pony. I wasn’t being kept alive for my own benefit, it was for his and I was eating the unborn to conserve my position as a fucking film star. And what’s more, I had no idea what my insides consisted of anymore. I was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. Could I keep this up forever? Would I even want to? No, ‘perfecting the process’ was to aid in the concealment, to avoid unfortunate incidents such as me losing my thumb and the countless other mishaps that had to be explained away as exhaustion, drug addiction, or literally anything more palatable than the truth. Improving us made the agents’ lives easier. Nothing more than that.
Some actors are just so self-involved they’ll never get it; they’ll never understand how they are being manipulated until they are officially dead. It took me being bitten, transforming into a Zombie and then consuming babies to get it.
Harvey put his head back in a fucking spreadsheet or whatever demanded more attention leaving me standing, try to process this. What was I gonna do about it? I was completely complicit and I’d be dead if they closed this down. He was confident I’d keep my mouth shut.
And you know what? A few years ago he might have been right. Back when I was a jizz-filled prick, searching for the next unfortunate lay or the next big pay-check, I might have maintained the pretence. But I feel… different.
Ready to accept NZ.
Ready to remember none of these horrific things I’ve done and go back to playing peek-a-boo.
I had to get away from Harvey. He wouldn’t let me skip my meds if I was in the same state, let alone city, so I went back to the car and drove it straight to the airport to get on a flight to London. Why? It’s the first place I could think of where he might not think to look for me. It also seemed like a cool place to die.
But when I step off the plane there’s this guy waiting for me, a weird-looking dude, handsome but ugly at the same time. I couldn’t tell you if the guy is thirty or a hundred and thirty. He asks me if I have a minute. We have a coffee in the airport lounge. He explains in as little words as possible that he knows everything about who I am, and if I wouldn’t mind coming with him to provide a blood sample. Also, if I’m interested, a confession of what I’ve been through.
I’m thinking. Like, really thinking, as I know what this means for me. But I’ve cashed in my chips already anyway. I follow him, and here I am. I hope whatever the dude is planning to do with this is put to good use.
I’m staying at his little facility of his because if I’m gonna turn into a Zombie, I’d rather not do it outside Buckingham Palace. If I turn in here, these guys say they’ll take care of me. I might even try to fuck the receptionist before signing off. She looks pretty dense. She thinks I’m here to buy a bathroom, Jesus.
The clock is ticking. I should have had my regular dose yesterday and from now I’ve no idea what my schedule looks like. I still feel well. But every time I think of what Harvey has done to me to keep me alive I try and throw up only to find that for my body that’s apparently impossible, so I lie here and wonder what the hell is next. I might ask them to let me stay a Zombie. I still have memories of that week before my meds kicked in. Good times.
But I can say one thing for sure. Hollywood, you’ve gone too far this time.