The door opened. My time had come. Michael walked down the steps with a blindfold. "You ever see that old movie, Sunset Boulevard?"

"Sorry?"

"Sunset Boulevard. American movie. Directed by Billy Wilder with William Holden and Gloria Swanson?"

"No," I said. "I don't believe I've seen it." I hadn't even heard any of those names before.

"It's a good picture," he said. "At the end, the police are there and...oh, I guess I shouldn't ruin it for you."

"You're about to kill me," I said. "I don't think I'm going to get a chance to see it."

"You sure? It's a really good one."

I sighed. "Go ahead."

"At the end, they're dragging Norma Desmond out of the house and she looks at the camera and says, 'I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.' And that's you right now. You're ready for your close-up."

He laughed. I didn't get the joke.

"I guess you kind of have to see it."

Of the many regrets in my life, missing out on some movie that came out forty years before I was born didn’t rank towards the top of the list.

No, the biggest regret at this moment was being such an asshole to Kurt. And, now that I thought about it, everybody that cared about me. My mom. My brothers. This whole thing could have been prevented if I wasn't such a prick.

Oh, well, I thought. Live and learn.

"I like the old movies," he said, approaching me. "Black and white. I like the way they look better than the newer ones. Like Touch of Evil," he said. None of this meant anything to me. "Cheryl wouldn't let me do this in black and white, but I did what I could."

"Do what?" I asked.

"We're filming a movie," he said. "No one's going to believe you're dead unless they see it for themselves. She let me have the main role of the Leitberg terrorist. It's a complicated role. Here, sorry, I need to do this."

He put the blindfold on me then lifted me up and dragged me up the stairs.

"When I got the script, he didn't even have a name. I came up with a name though, Raymond. And I also put together a good backstory for him, I think," he said. "Why he became a terrorist. When he was little, his mother was murdered, and his father said it was the Aldonians."

"That doesn't make sense," I said. "Aldonia hasn't committed an act of violence in five-hundred years."

"Of course," he said. "I know that, and you know that, but Raymond doesn't know that. The reality is, his father was the real murderer, but Raymond doesn't know that either. When I'm killing you, it's avenging my mother's death. Imagine the dramatic irony when he finds out the Aldonians were innocent all along?"

We made it to the top of the stairs. He put me in a chair under bright, hot lights.

"Can't he have this revelation before I die?" I asked. He started tying me up. The ropes were tight. I didn't have a whole lot of wiggle room.

"Where's the drama there?"

"Maybe he realizes he almost killed an innocent man."

He paused for a minute. I felt a few brush strokes on my face.

"Are you...?" I asked. "Are you putting make-up on me?"

"Yeah," he said. "Not too much. Just enough to give your face some definition. Keep you from getting washed out by the lights. I'm not sure if this is the right color for your skin."

I heard Cheryl's voice. "Michael, it's fine. Can we just get this show on the road?"

"I want it to look authentic. He says it might be more dramatic if we don't kill him."

"Of course he said that," Cheryl said. "He doesn't want to die. We need him to die."

"You can't fake it?" I asked. "Use special effects?"

"I wish we could," Cheryl said, "but if you want to make an omelet, you've got to crack some eggs. If I thought we could trust you to disappear off the face of the earth and not get in contact with your mom or brothers or Kurt or a photographer, then maybe. It just makes things easier if we kill you."

"I can keep a secret," I said. "I can disappear. I'd rather do that than die."

"We also want to make sure it looks real," Michael said.

"If I thought there was another way," Cheryl said. "I'd do it. Really, it's nothing personal."

A few more brush strokes across my face.

"If you're going to do that," Cheryl said. "Don't make him look glamourous. Make him look beat up."

"He's a prince, he should look beautiful."

"I am beautiful," I said.

"I meant on camera. The camera isn't very flattering if you don't use it right. I want to make sure to bring out your lips."

I knew perfectly well what the camera could do to me. The paparazzi didn't always pick the best pictures.

"Just put some blood and bruises on him and let's go," Cheryl said. "Do you know your lines?"

"Yeah, yeah," Michael said. He put on an accent. "On behalf of the citizens of Leitberg, we are reclaiming the land that is rightfully ours. If the land is not surrendered to us, we will kill the members of the royal family one at a time, beginning with Prince Beau."

He dropped the accent. "Click. Bang. Fade to black."

"Fine," Cheryl said.

"Can I add some more?" Michael asked. "I worked hard on the backstory. I want to show that it's personal."

"Stick to the script, Michael."

"It's a good script," he said. "It just needs some touching up."

"Michael!" Cheryl said. "You're being difficult. Do you want me to recast it?"

"No, Professor."

"We're sticking to the script. No improv."

"No improv."

"Michael," I said. "You know I'm friends with Xander Dutch."

"You know Xander Dutch?" Michael asked. Our film industry was still developing, but those familiar with it, as I suspected Michael would be, certainly recognized the name of our premier film director.

"I might be able to pull some strings and get you in his next movie."

"You could do that?"

"We're pretty tight," I said. "I'm sure I could."

"Gag him," Cheryl said.

"But..."

"I said gag him."

"He said he was looking for a Clint Eastwood type for the one he's working on," I said. "I think you’d fit the bill."

"That's it," Cheryl said. "I'm recasting your role."

"No, Professor. Please."

"Gag him," she said.

"Sorry," Michael said. "It's an honor to be working with you," he shoved a handkerchief in my mouth and then used duct tape to force it shut.