The Director

I looked at him, looking in the direction of the ringing phone.

"So much for no phone?" Shia asked me. I shrugged. He rose slowly and advanced to the other side of the small warehouse. I got up and followed him into another room I'd never been in before. He was beside a desk, watching an old-fashioned red phone ring.

"Maybe you should answer it?" I suggested from behind him.

"I dunno. I guess, or do you want to?" He turned to look at me. He looked completely under control, but his eyes gave away his fear. A second passed. Another shrill ring echoed off the walls.

He shook his head, "No, I'll answer it." He picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"

I watched him. His facial features were twitching here and there. So, that wasn't just an act. He'd done that several times when he appeared to be "frightened" in his movies. So I guess it was a habit, or it was real.

"Uhuh, and?" Shia asked.

Silence.

"No way! No, no, no, no! You listen to me!"

Pause.

"I'm not doing anything you tell me, you sick bastard!"

Wow, I'd always laughed when he'd cussed in the movies, I thought. Now, I wasn't laughing. Now, I was genuinely frightened. Another agonizing pause.

"No! I don't have any idea what you are talking about!" Shia yelled, outraged, and he slammed down the phone.

He crossed his arms and stared down at it in anger.

"Who was that?" I asked him gently.

"No! I won't do it! I don't even know you! I wouldn't do it even if I knew you!" Shia yelled at me. He backed away from me until he hit a wall. His eyes were filled with terror.

"What, Shia? What? Tell me, please!" I pleaded with him. I took a step forward and another until I was in front of him.

"The man said—he said I had to kill you, and I'd be free!" Shia said, his eyes glazing over.

"Wh-what? Me? Kill...me? Oh my goodness...um..." I started to say. I felt as terrified as Shia looked.

"I won't do it. I want to get outta here, but I'm not a murderer!" Shia slid to the ground, his arms around his long legs.

I went to him and knelt down to be at eye level.

"Look, we can get through this. I know you're not a murderer, and I trust you! Ok?" I told him with concern in my voice.

"I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! First, we're kidnapped, and now I have to kill you to get out? What the hell?" Shia asked. He banged the back of his head against the wall behind him. Over and over, he did so.

"Please stop," I said, putting a hand on his knee. He stopped and looked at me. For the first time, he actually looked at me. His eyes sent shivers down my spine. I could almost get lost in them. I'd written about them once, in a fan fiction. Everyone liked it except for this one chick that seemed jealous that I could successfully grab attention about Shia, although he was more than enough to bring attention for himself.

Oh well.

That seemed like a fairy tale compared to this.

"It just makes me wonder who would do this," Shia said.

I shrugged, "I dunno, the Mob? A love-stricken fan?" I suggested to him. My suggestions didn't seem to be helping, so I shut my mouth and kneeled in front of him.

He was staring into my eyes with his gaze that I'd only imagined in my dreams.

The phone rang again.

"I'm not getting that," Shia said.

I turned to look up at the desk and watched the phone nearly jumping out of the cradle.

"I'll do it," I said and went to the desk.

"No! Jen, no!"

It was too late. I'd already picked up the phone in my ice-cold fingers.

"Hel-lo?" I asked, wincing at the sound of my small, scared voice.

"Hello, Miss Stanson. It's great to see you are still alive. Mr. LaBeouf didn't disappoint," said a disfigured male voice. It sounded odd like the real person's voice was changed. I wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case.

"What do y-you want from us?" I asked.

"Oh, no," the voice laughed an evil laugh," I can't tell you that. You must now decide for yourselves."

"If this is some sick joke, you better give up!" I yelled into the receiver.

"No, this is no joke. It's simply a test of faith. Mr. LaBeouf will know what to do. He's been through the same thing, only with a director. Well, I'm the director and what I say goes! I say you should die. But Mr. LaBeouf refused. But that's ok; I've got it all figured out. You will die, Miss Stanson. And it will be by his hand," said the voice.

"You're crazy!" I said.

"I've been told that before. It really hurts my feelings!"

"I don't care! You need to free us! Now! I—'ll call the cops!" I said, suddenly inspired. I smacked myself on the forehead for not thinking of it the first time.

"No need to even dial. The only line your phone connects with is this one. Now, listen up, Miss Stanson. If you want your hero to live, do as I say! There's a code inside one of the lockers. It will get you out of the main entrance. Once outside, there's a lock box. There are keys inside it to the car on the left. There are two catches: the locker with the code has a bomb inside. Once activated, you will have two minutes to leave the premises. The lock box requires a vial of blood. The tools to extract the blood are beside the lockbox. Good luck, Miss Stanson."

Click.