Chapter 18: 17

 

The shooting set.

"Brian?!" Jonathan came up to me with a surprised look on his face, "You look great!"

Shit! I suddenly thought of this one. After Jonathan's heartthrob Mike was eliminated, who else was going to help me get his undue attention?

Without noticing I twisted on my feet and Jonathan, who had walked in front of me, reached out and wrapped his arms around my waist. The chiffon skirt was so thin that the warmth of Jonathan's palm soaked through the fabric of the skirt to my waist.

Unlike the previous kisses with Alice or soon to be with Gianna, the kiss with the two female models was completely workmanlike, without a trace of personal feeling. But Jonathan's suggestive body contact made it hard to stop the goose bumps from breaking out on my arms and back.

My hand touched Jonathan's outstretched hand and I quickly stepped out of the reach of his arm as I used the momentum to stand still.

"How's that standing?" Jonathan looked at me with concern before his eyes fell on my bare legs.

It felt strange enough in my skirt, and with the strange sight of an older man, I uncomfortably tugged at the skirt I was wearing. "I'm okay, we can start filming now. My feet hurt a bit from wearing heels for so long..." I urged in a natural tone, saying the justifiable reasons.

The shoot started and Ashton, who had finished filming and was free, came over to watch, somewhat tempering Jonathan's behaviour.

The shoot was divided into three parts, with the man and woman each walking face to face and meeting each other, in which the male model dressed as a woman was required to wear the advertised perfume. This is followed by an interpretation of the man's and woman's electric expressions as they meet. Finally, the scene ends with a passionate kiss.

Walking in high heels and a knee-length chiffon dress, with Ashton's as if dictated walk with legs that must be clenched above the thighs, I tried to imitate Alice's model walk as best I could, just trying not to be too unnatural and twist like a comedian.

Then, following the points Gianna had told me earlier, I pulled the bottle of perfume out of my bag and held my hand at arm's length over my chest to let the mist of perfume spray over my neck. After spraying the perfume, I lowered my head slightly with a seemingly shy smile on my face, matching the gaze of the crowd of actors pretending to be passers-by around me just right.

"Nice, cute shy look..." praised Jonathan, sitting in the moving camera car, keeping his eyes on me. "Brian you're acting like a real girl!"

Although, as originally required of comedians, a commercial with a spoof element would have been more in keeping with the script. However, I was thinking about the social media poll, and the audience watching this video would not focus on whether you were funny or not.

After all, the funny of playing ugly in a video that has six scripts in total, the unnaturalness of the other male models must bring out the same laughs. What I wanted to do was to be perfect, which would give the viewer a sense of wonder when viewing the video.

On the other hand, however, Gianna's performance is not quite up to scratch. In fact the models in the supermodel house are more or less aware of Gianna's fondness for Mike, and just as Jamie was affected by Mike's elimination, Gianna was affected even more and has been a little distracted for the past two days.

She got a point lower than even mine in yesterday's challenge and I expected her to be woken up by that wake-up call yesterday, but apparently she's still a bit off her game. I seemed to have made the wrong choice, and in contrast to the relaxed, tomboyish look of Konani in her arms in the dressing room, Gianna didn't see the light at all.

Even though she was a young mother, Konani was perfect when I saw her pretending to be a high school boy who liked to play street basketball. Her hands were in the large crotch of her basketball trousers and she was walking around doing a fake shot.

In the second shot, the camera comes in very close. I look at the empty space next to the camera, my eyes move as if I see a sexy, handsome man, then shyly turn my face sideways and lower my eyelids. But then as if determined, my eyes look straight into the camera with a pure but seductive smile.

This image was shot several times for me patiently by Jonathan in order to get the timing right for a good laugh, and Ashton seemed to remember from this image what he had seen during the previous shoot of the set of hard photos of Mike and Alexandra together, as he ate and covered his mouth in laughter off camera.

I couldn't help but give him a flying wink after this shot was taken. Ashton gave me a cheeky flying kiss back.

"I don't suppose it's Ashton's type you like, is it?" Jonathan's voice suddenly appeared behind me, causing my heart to skip a half beat.

Once again he was getting too close! I turned around with a chill behind my ear and took a few quick steps back to a distance that made me feel safe.

My panic seemed to make Jonathan misunderstand something, and he smiled as he gestured to take a step closer. In this case, trying not to offend the judges meant that I couldn't just refuse, leaving me with a sarcastic smile and turning towards Ashton, rather like I was running away.

Ashton couldn't stop sniggering as I approached, "You're like a bullied little bride, it's a good thing Chris isn't here or he would have offended the judges."

In the final scene, we had to stop short of what would have been a sloppy kiss in the face of Gianna's awkwardness and lack of relaxation, and all I could do was tug on Gianna's arm with one hand and give a slight push to look reluctant, before lowering my head slightly in the direction of the camera and brushing my lips with the other hand, hoping that this last bit wouldn't be too badly criticised.

The male models, with the exception of Ashton and Marvin, were all wilted by the time they got back to the supermodel house, having been through a disaster. The only reason Marvin was still smiling after a day of high heels was because Rena had given him an early kiss in the dressing room, making the horny kid look like Popeye on spinach.

A busy week went by almost in the blink of an eye, with another elimination on Saturday. This weekend however took a turn for the worse that even I could not have anticipated.

"Mr Bryan Moss, could you come with me for a moment?" A crew member said as I got off the bus arriving at the elimination shoot.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, putting on a comforting smile.

"Uh..." the crew member turned with a cryptic look at the other models who were walking into the studio and whispered, "Two FBI agents have contacted the crew and want to talk to you by name."

Even I couldn't help but stiffen for a moment. Why would the FBI want to find me?

If you don't do anything wrong, you're not afraid of a ghost knocking on your door. But because of the constant confrontation with Brian's personality, my mental state was often unstable and prone to losing control. So, as someone who was already a little weak, the FBI suddenly coming to my door was like a bolt from the blue for me.

It's okay...it's okay...I kept telling myself in my mind, my feet already mechanically following this staff member. I was sure I hadn't committed any crime anyway. ...... No matter what, I should be fine.

 

Waving a hand to Ashton and Chris, who turned their heads frequently to look over, telling them not to worry. I followed the staff to an unused lounge behind the stage.

Two men dressed in full suits were already waiting there. I walked into the lounge under the watchful eyes of the two men and I had the nervous tension of a mouse meeting a cat.

"Mr. Bryan Moss?" One of the agents spoke up, "We have a few questions for you about David Vincent."

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"...David Vincent?" I repeated the name blankly before saying in a rush, "I don't know anyone called David Vincent, do you have the wrong person?" That was the word, but my heart leapt.

"That might give you an idea," the other agent spoke up, "the name he's using now is Mike, Mike Tatum. Your colleague in the Chippendale Dance Company."

"Mike?" I forced my inner turmoil and made an unmistakable expression of surprise. I couldn't think of any reason why Mike would be involved with the FBI. "What's wrong with him? Did something happen to him?"

The supermodel house was completely isolated from the world because the National Supermodel Competition was held to ensure fairness. The sudden arrival of two FBI agents made my head spin with a million guesses. Mike, who to me was a normal person except for his past which no one knew about, was even better liked in life than I was.

What on earth could it be that would bring out all the FBI agents? And why was I being approached?

The two agents looked at each other strangely, and the other spoke up, "Mr. Moss, maybe you don't know this yet, but David Vincent is actually a suspect that we've had a nationwide manhunt out for over three years."

"A criminal suspect?! But...Mike, he's always been a nice guy to everyone, never even been involved in drug dealing or drug taking! What level of suspect is it that warrants the FBI?" my lips felt a little dry.

"As sorry as we are, we have to tell you that your friend Mike, who you've known for two years, is actually the real identity of a suspect in the East End serial killings that disappeared from Florida three years ago."

"And we checked all the recent phone records on the mobile phone number David Tatum used when he went under the alias Mike. You were the only personal call other than the many calls needed for work. We've also questioned the head of the Chippendale dance troupe and all say that you and David were the closest thing to friends over the last two years." Another agent interjected.

"So we'd like to ask you to assist in the investigation. You should be aware that there are accessory crimes for harboring a suspect."

The two FBI agents were talking to each other, stepping up to the plate in terms of dominance of words. Maybe it worked for the good, uncaring common folk, but for me, it only made me laugh.

Because ever since Mike and I last saw each other, I've been living in a supermodel house, with cameras watching my every move. It was the once-a-week calls to the outside world that were also done under surveillance cameras.

It was redundant for them to use this threat-like approach to force me to talk. Because even if I had something to do with Mike, they didn't have any evidence.

A million thoughts flashed through my mind as these two men questioned me.

Just as my mind was in a tizzy, the thing that threw me into crisis all of a sudden just exploded. Surprisingly, I let a moment of mental laxity break free what I had been trying to suppress since I lost control over what happened to Dan.

The busy non-stop schedule of America's Next Top Model and the reason for mixing with the other contestants. I wasn't able to get enough time to hypnotise myself and unplug after that outburst. The pitfalls that were planted then are now reverberating back at once.

The memory of Brian flooded my five senses, and it was as if a blood red was in front of me, Mike's usually smiling face flashing in visions, his hand flicking to shake off the drops of blood dripping down from it.

A strong wave of disgust rushed out of my mind and attacked my whole body and limbs. I took a few steps backwards with my hands over my face, trembling and about to fall.

......

No wonder, no wonder I always felt that Mike and the me with Brian inside was alike. We always had false smiles on our faces and spent our afternoon tea talking about unwarranted interests. When he turned around, his hands were stained with blood.

So much like, so much like that I wanted to slash his hypocritical expression with a sharp knife when he put on that hypocritical smile at me! And then let him plunge into the depths of hell!

......

But then...what difference would it make if I became like him? ......

I heard myself snort a laugh and felt the coolness of tears flowing from my eyes as I covered my face in my hands. Yes, the closest friend I'd known for two years was a serial killer in hiding, and I should have been shaking with fear and crying with grief.

"There was a ping and the door to the room slammed open.

"What's going on, gentlemen?" A familiar voice suddenly rang out, "Oh my God! Brian, Brian! What have you done to him? He's not one of your prisoners! Our camera footage all but proves that he had nothing to do with your case, nothing! You'll be prosecuted for going too far! ...and look what you've done! He's my most anticipated player right now!!!"

Jonathan's voice, which had annoyed me, brought me back to reality with a buzz in my ears. The blood red in front of my eyes seemed to dissipate as Brian was yanked back into the cage I had reinforced once again.

For a moment as the killing intent receded, I suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. It was the first time that my own disgust for serial killers had combined with Brian's bloodlust, a few seconds of personality disorder that spoke volumes about my precarious state of mind.

It was clear that Brian's brother, Dexter, had also killed someone, but why didn't that trigger my desire to kill? Was it because of the obsession in Brian's mind that counteracted my distaste for serial killers?

If so, could I use that to deepen the self-imposed message to myself, to build an unbreakable cage deep inside? But again, Brian's obsession with Dexter threatened to lead me off on a tangent. It was a risky endeavour.

I should be grateful to Mike's exposure for allowing me to discover the underlying crisis deep in my psyche in advance. After two years out of the mental sanatorium, I had really started to take it too easy on myself.

As an ordinary person who suddenly learns bad news about a friend and feels cheated, what should their reaction be?

Jonathan rushed over and crouched down to take me in his arms, and I took the opportunity to loosen myself up as my voice broke, "Mike...he wouldn't be like that...he was the only friend I had for two years!" Those were the words the police would always hear from the serial killer's friends and neighbours; he wasn't that kind of person.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Bryan. But we need to know from you about David Tatum, and as far as we know, you're the closest person he's been to since he changed his name to Mike. Perhaps we can find out where he is likely to be hiding from the information you give us." Agent Mr. Redface saw that the situation was not right and tried to speak up before Agent Mr. Blackface who had been searingly close.

Agent Mr. Blackface said helplessly, "Well, even if he doesn't say anything anyway, as long as the BAU team is sent from above, what else can be hidden from us."

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