Secret society

The executive's smile remained fixed, like a mask that had been glued in place, as he leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "You see, Mr. Rivers..." He paused, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.

"The truth is, You have been in a coma for exactly three months and sixteen days, after you miraculously conquered death."

The words hit Alex like a physical blow.

'Oh god, have they found out that I'm impersonating Jason?. This is way worse than identity theft'

The room seemed to tilt sideways, the expensive artwork on the walls blurring at the edges of his vision. His collar suddenly felt two sizes too small, and he could hear his pulse thundering in his ears.

"The studio has spent considerable resources managing the situation," another executive continued, his voice as dry as autumn leaves. "Medical bills, media control, damage control... It's been, shall we say, financially draining."

'They're talking about a man's death like it's a minor inconvenience to their quarterly reports,' Alex thought as his gaze snapped to Sarah, who was studying her perfectly manicured nails with unusual intensity. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

'All those times she looked at me with pity… It all makes sense now'

Sarah's lips formed a silent "I'm sorry" before she quickly looked away, her usually perfect posture showing the slightest hint of a slouch.

"This is precisely why," the silver-haired executive interjected, his tone sharp enough to cut glass, "you need to take every project seriously. The studio is..." he cleared his throat delicately, "currently operating in the red where your contracts are concerned."

'Great. I'm broke. The dead guy I'm pretending to be is broke. This is like a twisted version of 'Trading Places' meets 'Weekend at Bernie's.'

The meeting concluded with handshakes that felt like sealing deals with the devil. Alex's palm was sweaty as he shook each executive's hand, trying to maintain what he hoped was a professionally concerned expression rather than the panic-stricken grimace he felt forming.

The drive back to the hotel was wrapped in silence so thick you could have cut it with a chainsaw. Alex stared out the window, watching the city blur past in a kaleidoscope of colors and lights.

'Comatosed for three months. Three months. That's... what, twelve weeks of being unconscious? Eighty-four days of not being unconscious? Why am I doing this math?' he thought almost like he was knowing this fact for the first time.

Sarah kept stealing glances at him, her fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on her tablet. The tapping seemed to echo in the quiet car, each soft pat like a tiny accusation. Tap-tap-tap. Guilty-guilty-guilty.

***

The walked through the hotel lobby and rode the elevator in continued silence, the soft muzak version of "The Girl from Ipanema" creating an absurd soundtrack to their mutual discomfort.

'Even the elevator music is mocking me,' Alex scoffed.

As they entered the suite, Alex finally broke. "So, were you ever planning to mention that detail about being broke? Or was that supposed to be a fun surprise?" His voice came out sharper than intended, crackling with nervous energy.

Sarah's professional mask cracked slightly, showing a glimpse of genuine emotion. "It wasn't my place to—"

"Not your place?" Alex ran his hands through his hair, probably ruining whatever styling product Sarah had insisted on that morning. "I'm literally pretending to be alright, Sarah. A celebrity who's apparently broke. I think that might have been something worth mentioning!"

Before Sarah could respond, a knock at the door caused them both to freeze.

The door opened to reveal a young man who looked like he'd stepped out of a GQ magazine spread titled "Business Casual for the Unfairly Handsome." His charcoal grey suit was perfectly tailored, his chocolate brown hair styled in that deliberately messy way that probably took an hour to achieve, and his green eyes held a hint of amusement as he surveyed the room.

'Great, another impossibly attractive person to make me feel more inadequate,'

"Mr. Rivers," he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, "it's time."

Alex blinked, looking at Sarah with what he hoped wasn't complete panic. "Time for...?"

Sarah's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, you know," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "the other meeting."

'Thanks for that crystal-clear explanation, Sarah. Really helpful,'

"Oh! Yes, yes, that meeting. PARDON MY MEMORY!!" Alex responded, stressing the last part to Sarah while trying to inject confidence into his voice while internally screaming. 'What meeting? What's happening? Why does everyone in Hollywood speak in riddles?'

The young man – who still hadn't introduced himself, rude – waited patiently as Alex straightened his tie and grabbed his jacket. As they walked to the elevator, Alex could feel Sarah's eyes burning holes in his back.

If looks could kill, he'd probably be as dead as the real Jason Rivers.

They left the hotel and enter a black town car. The man alone with him seated in the car.

The car ride was brief but felt eternal, each turn taking them deeper into a part of the city Alex didn't recognize. The buildings grew older, more ornate, with Gothic architecture looming against the darkening sky. For all he knew, he was probably getting kidnapped right now but Sarah seemed to know what this was all about so...well...

They pulled up to a building that looked like it had been plucked from a Victorian horror novel. The young man led Alex through heavy wooden doors and down a dimly lit corridor. Definitely leaning toward murdery.

The room they entered was large and circular, lit by what appeared to be actual gaslight fixtures. Men in red jackets sat in a perfect circle, their faces partially obscured by shadows.

'Oh good, a secret society,' he recognized at once, swallowing his spit.

His companion smoothly removed Alex's jacket and replaced it with a red one identical to those worn by the others. The fabric was heavy and rich, smelling faintly of cedar and something else, something older.

The silence in the room was absolute until a voice, deep and resonant as a church bell, cut through the darkness: "Welcome back, Mr. Rivers."

Alex stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. Welcome back? Welcome back to what? A cult? A secret society? An extremely exclusive jacket appreciation club?

So many unseen eyes pressed against him from all sides as he waited for what would come next.