nightmare sequence 3.04

IN THE LIVING room of my cottage, seated in front of the camcorder’s gaping black eye. Philippe is standing behind squinting Jean-Paul, holding cue cards, the writing on them big and Sharpie-black. Titus is standing behind me, holding the same sword I’ve used in hundreds of scenes. Alaska is in the far corner of the room, oblivious, playing with some old Ninja Turtles action figures I saved from my parents’ house. She’s got the Shredder toy in her tiny fist, stomping him down on a defeated pile of turtles and their wise mentor rat, Splinter, crushing them all. Shredder – the most badass ninja mutant killer of them all, the yin to the Turtles’ yang. For a second I want to tell her that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to work, that the Turtles and Splinter are supposed to combine forces and kick Shredder’s ass, to make things right. But the grunts of sheer joy coming out of Alaska’s mouth as she crushes the Turtles’ green plastic skulls one by one with Shredder’s iron-studded heel, because at this moment the carnage makes perfect sense. Jean-Paul presses the RECORD button. Lauren is sobbing in another room. ‘Action,’ Titus whispers. I repeat what’s on the cue cards: my real name and age, my real address and place of birth. ‘I am a wretched, squirming sinner,’ I say, ‘a true scum. I have found that my sin is truly an abomination and I seek forgiveness from the almighty –’ I hear the sword slide out of its sheath, the metallic hum. ‘Keep going,’ Titus whispers. ‘No,’ I say. I turn to look at Alaska. I hear Lauren’s sobs stifled by what might be a towel or a fist in the other room. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen, but is there ever a way it’s supposed to? ‘So that’s it?’ Titus asks. ‘That’s it,’ I say. ‘I had really hoped for more from you, Josh, but…OK.’ Yes, this will be it. No more games. Because a sudden warmth has enveloped me, a contentment I haven’t felt since childhood. My mother wrapping me in a thick wool sweater like she used to when I’d come home from sledding, worried that I might have a cold. I smell woodsmoke, my father’s strong forearms lifting logs into the biggest fire I’ve ever seen, then lifting me onto his shoulders to laugh and laugh as the blaze burns down to nothing. All this warmth is coming out of Alaska, an unbreakable cable stretching into the yellow cloud that surrounds me, blinding. I close my eyes, and wait for it. I hear the rush of the blade coming down and Lauren’s primal and beautiful scream and there’s no pain, only a brighter rush of yellow and the sudden string of words, as big and blinding as a five-million-watt high-high-definition billboard illuminated by five million moons reflected off the calm, mirror-like water of Long Island Sound: THIS WILL BE OVER BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.