THE THRILLING CONCLUSION!
Read Episode 7 to catch up!
When we last left Emma, she had just acquired the missing MindShifter episode from her boss. When she brings it to Chloe Rachel Mann, what secrets will be revealed? What truths uncovered? What friendships renewed?
Read on to find out!
And thank you so much for following along with this experiment in literary distribution!
Episode 8: Zero Hour
Excerpt from The Unauthorized Guide to MindShifter by Melinda Midge:
That issue of TV Guide? September 13, 2001, its cover bearing the image of the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? I bought a copy when it was originally on newsstands. It lays here on my desk as I write these words. Here, I’ll turn it to the page in question. To young Eliza Danvers, her eyes closed as the world ends.
Throughout the book, I have restricted myself to the facts as I have gathered them, supplemented with speculations those facts suggest. Yet looking at the black-and-white image of young Eliza Danvers, I feel tempted to indulge the personal.
It was common for MindShifter viewers, particularly young girls like I was when the show originally aired, to identify with young Eliza. To see themselves in her. But I must admit, this was not the case with me. Young Eliza seemed as foreign to me as any outer space alien. I have never identified with the characters I am supposed to, especially not when I was a pubescent girl. I hated being that age and didn’t want to be reminded of it. If I identified with anyone on the show, it was Dr. Rathbone. The obscure authority who knew far more than he let on—that was, and remains, my experience.
Yet I once had a viewing companion who did identify strongly with young Eliza. When I asked her what she liked about her, she said, “Eliza is so . . . grown up.” A strange thing for a young girl to say about a young girl character on TV. If she liked Eliza because she seemed so grown up, why not prefer one of the actual grown-ups?
Yet I have since learned that some people will always prefer potential over product. The promise of something arriving, rather than its actual arrival. This is foreign to me. I want nothing but the product. I await impatiently for the arrival. Yet I must ask the following question, if only to preserve my own sense of integrity.
If I found “Zero Hour,” if I watched it at last, what would I do with it?
I know what you would want me to do, devoted, contentious reader. You would want me to write one million words about it. Page after page. Book after book. The secret masterpiece of the 21st century. And know that I could, were I given the chance to watch it at last. Yet I also know what I would do if I ever did see it.
I would never write another word.
Emma crossed the street, the videocassette clutched tight to her chest like a letter promising her lover’s return home from the war. She crossed the threshold of the hotel. The hotel that rose like a mirror image of the one across the street, where Dorothy remained, unaware of what Emma had taken from her. For now.
She took the stairs rather than wait for the elevators. She could not stop moving, not even for a moment. Stop, and she might realize she had crossed a line, committed an act she could never take back. Keep moving, and her momentum would carry her onward, leaving her brain thankfully unconsulted.
She arrived at Chloe Rachel Mann’s room. Knocked on the door, and was granted admittance by Eunice. Chloe Rachel Mann sat on the bed. She nodded at Emma, at the videocassette clutched to her chest, and said, “That’s it.”
A statement, not a question. She asked no other questions, either. She did not ask Emma how the operation went, whether or not Dorothy suspected anything ulterior. Reducing Emma down to the bare minimum of her single purpose.
Chloe Rachel Mann nodded at Eunice. Eunice extended her hand, her palm open, waiting. Emma placed the videocassette upon her hand. Eunice walked toward the TV, toward the VCR hooked up to it. Chloe Rachel Mann watched her approach without even glancing at Emma.
Emma’s insignificance gladdened her. Having passed the point of no return, she found that she did not wish to go anywhere else. Did not want to witness anything further. She stepped away from Chloe Rachel Mann, and toward the door. She did not want to watch “Zero Hour,” whatever it might be. All desire evaporated within her, whether to keep her job or gather the clues or even find Melinda. Well, no—she still wanted to find Melinda. That desire remained. But its aim proved more elusive. She did not care if finding Melinda would allow her to fulfill her dream of becoming a filmmaker. She did not care about piecing together some puzzle that was handed off to her. She only cared about seeing Melinda one more time. Seeing her, and saying nothing. For nothing that could be said was worth saying.
She took another step backward. Her hand, behind her back, opened. Ready to take the handle and open the door so she could step out unnoticed. Her fingers reaching.
Cacophony upon the door.
Furious knocking. Voices raised, shouting. A voice Emma recognized. Dorothy’s.
“GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!”
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Very Distant Lands Newsletter to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.