Tribesmen (14 page)

“It’s all right,” Jacque said, not sure if he was talking aloud in his sleep or just talking in the dream. “I’m going to have to stay here, on the island, aren’t I?” he asked.

The old woman did not answer him. She just turned her head to look out over the ocean, up into the bluish-black sky, and watched as the stars began to blink themselves into existence.

EPILOGUE

THE CITY

The black girl would have intimidated Roland—there was such intensity in her eyes—but there was something pitiful about them, too. She was covered in bandages and scars, limping into his office and looking like she hurt all over.

“Here’s your fucking movie,” she said, setting down a heavy package on Pressberg’s desk. “The director says it is pure cinema. Whatever. I’m not even sure what that means. All I know is that now I get a percentage of the profits. I earned them.”

Taking up the letter opener from his desk, Pressberg slit the tape on the package and lifted the flaps.

“Clothes?” he asked, lifting up a pair of floral patterned sundresses.

The girl snatched them out of his hands.

“I buried it deep, in case I got caught by customs.” Under the bandages, she was a very pretty girl. But that voice: pure Queens, possibly the westernmost limits of Long Island.

“I was wondering when I’d be receiving this,” he said to her, lifting up the first canister and reading the label. “Tito usually delivers these things himself. How did you say you got a hold of it?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I’m the star,” she said. “When can I be expecting a check?”

“
Tribesmen
…that’s kind of generic. People won’t even know it’s a horror picture.
The Tribe from Cannibal Hell
,” Pressberg said, inspecting the title of the film and trying to avoid talking money with this girl. “Where is Tito? I haven’t heard from the little toad in a week, which is unusual.”

“Dead,” the girl said, stone-faced. “He died making that movie. So did a lot of other people.”

Pressberg put the top canister back in the box and stared back at the girl. After an uncomfortable moment, he smiled and began to laugh.

“You had me going there for a second,” he said, reaching into his middle drawer for his checkbook. “Tell Tito I think that the gag is a wonderful idea: pretending to be dead to drum up some free publicity. Who should I be making this out to, Tito or yourself?”

“Make it to cash,” she said.

“Oh, I get you. You’re trying to limit the paper trail. A dead man shouldn’t be cashing checks.”

He started scribbling out an advance, plus a bonus for the stunt, but hesitated before handing it over. “Before you take this, one thing: make sure that you keep a low profile for a little while, too. Nobody will believe the trick if you show up in twenty of these kind of pictures over the next year. It will ruin the illusion.”

“Don’t worry,” she said grabbing the check and tucking it into her handbag.

“I’m quitting the business.”

The End

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Suspense, Horror, Mystery and Crime!

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When Ruth’s empty-nest depression hits perilous depths, her pastor husband suggests Windfall Lodge: a lovely rustic estate/ house of rest, where she and other emotionally troubled wives and mothers might find the treatment they need, the peace and purpose they crave.

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Claire is a first-rate paramedic, with a heroic devotion to saving lives. She is also a survivor of unspeakable abuse, who has rebuilt herself entirely, as far from home as she could get.

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About the Author

Adam Cesare
is a New Yorker who lives in Massachusetts. After studying English and film at Boston University, he decided to stay in the area to work and write. His nonfiction has appeared in
Paracinema
,
Fangoria
and other venues.

Copyright Information

A Ravenous Shadows Original Publication

Copyright © 2012 by Adam Cesare

Ravenous Shadows™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-486-0

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.