Come Back

Victoria was definitely nervous as she entered the studio. Strange:she never used to be. Not when her fame was at its peak, and she was working all over the world. Again, she wondered what had gone wrong, what had come first. Had she started drinking as she got fewer assignments, or had the mails stopped coming in because she had become more and more of a nuisance on the set, because of the alcohol? Fact was that for the last three years, she had had to move to ever smaller apartments, in increasingly questionable districts. Her recent residence didn't even have a shower or a toilet. There was just a sink.

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"Now you sit here and be quite, you understand?!" Axel nodded. Despite his fathers foul mood, he felt extremely excited. For the first time in his ten year old life, he would get to see his father direct! See him at work on the set! He used to hate it when his parents had a row, both of them screaming and yelling with their over the top theatrical pathos. But this time, it had resulted in his father grudgingly taking him along to the studio, and he couldn't have been more happy!

His father turned around once more, and his face had softened a bit. He sighed. "Look, if you want something to drink, or have to go to the bath room: do you see that lady over there? That's Ulva, just go to her and she will help you. But whenever you move: always go around. Never set foot on any of the sets, understood?"

There were a lot of people around, but most of them were obviously there to work behind the scenes, in everyday attire. Only three men stood out to him as actors. One was an easy give away because he walked around with two large knives jabbed halfway into his back; yet, he seemed to be perfectly all right, joking around with what appeared to be one of the camera men. A bit further of, Axel saw two younger men, dressed in some sort of para military uniforms. One of them was wearing a black painted hockey mask. The set itself looked rather like an abandoned house, with grey, concrete walls with remnants of wall paper on them, and a barren wooden floor. And yet, all of it was wood, the walls too, he could clearly see.

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Greg cleared his throat and made a hesitant start. "Well, it all started... with my mother's admission to the asylum, I guess. You see, my mother was a highly intelligent woman, and very well educated. She had a degree in philosophy and in mathematics. As a mother she was very strict, at times even violent! She always wanted the best from me, kept me on my toes all
the time. I was her only child so I had her undivided attention. My father traveled a lot, was almost never home.
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He had been eleven years old when it happened. All of a sudden, the front door of their old trailer flew right through the room, and the next thing he knew, four white men were crowding the small space of their living.

One of them spoke: “On the couch, kid! And don’t you move an inch!” “Cops!”, he thought, though no badge was flashed, and there weren't any guns.

His mother burst into the room, wearing nothing but a white undershirt. He thought he saw a blade, as she attacked the man closest to her, but he wasn’t sure. Everything happened so fast! The next moment, he couldn’t even see his mother anymore, as all four men threw themselves upon her. There was a lot of shouting and swearing, and he could hear his mothers voice on top of it all, piercing high: “Let go of me, pigs! What do you want?! He’s not here!!!”

The shouts turned into grunts, and for a short time, there was this silent struggle. Now, his mother was a very strong woman; he had seen her fight men before, and win, sending them home with a fractured jaw or a dislocated shoulder. But this time, the odds were stacked against her.

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