Walter Wallace - Chapter 44

Mark sat listening idly to the reports of the local station manager. Something about never thinking this could happen and that he personally suspected sabotage. All Mark could think was why did this happen to him – he suspected it was personal sabotage. The rubble of Newport Haven Terminal sat smouldering in the floodlights of the camping reporters. They would be expecting a statement from CitaRail soon and Mark had no desire to give it; no idea what was expected of him or what he could say. His stomach churned with anxiety.

He had switched off his mobile phone in the panicked minutes that followed his final drink with Stevie. He was horrified at what he might hear if he answered a call from Boss. Sam Tank had heard him blurting about business and when Boss found out he would be finished. But the silence of his phone was almost worse. How many calls had he dodged? What would Boss do in retaliation to his desertion? He winced as the flood of worry washed through him again.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 43

Brian Smithwaite was impressed. He had to tip his hat to the new Walter Wallace. From the hermit who spent the happiest days in human history keeping his history free from all other humans, he had now begun learning the art of media manipulation. Brian had felt the biggest fault in the Walter Wallace saga had been the man himself; ugly, quiet and downright hopeless on camera. Brian had even sought to destroy (with alarming success) the career of the great Tony Holdsworth in an effort to bridge the gap between sponsorship monies coming in and the potential rating catastrophe that Walter could prove. But today had put those fears to rest.

At the door to his own room in Newport Haven hospital, Walter stood commanding the attention of a horde of news reporters. His voice rose above them as they vied for key positions, wanting nothing more than to ask the question that draws the quote of the day. Behind that door was the story of the day. Lucy Blues, back from obscurity after she had run out on her contract with Channel 8 (a fact that can easily be overlooked as a clause in a brand new contract), is dragged from a burning inferno by the one and only Walter Wallace. And now amidst rumours and here say over possible romance between her and her saviour, Lucy decides to walk, unannounced, into Walter’s hospital room in front of half the nation’s grittiest news reporters.

Brian knew the big story was in that room and that with a wave of his will that door could be opened and the two could be ambushed by the wolves - an open slather that would delight the masses – but he found it personally much more interesting to see this confident and assertive Walter Wallace step out and tame the pack.

Walter had weathered the storm by holding a mirror up to its eye; he stood calm, firmly closing the door behind himself and waited as they threw everything at him. Eventually they lost their vigour and a sense of anticipation had grown, it was then that Walter took charge.

“You have no right to be here; it is only on my goodwill that I don’t request you all be escorted from the premises. I’ll take your questions one at a time in an orderly fashion and then I expect you to leave.”

Surprisingly, the reporters fell in line, perhaps struck by Walter’s change, Walter’s charge. The interview continued for a quarter hour and as the privileged interviews became exhausted Brian could see that Walter would be hard pressed getting the peace he had negotiated. Even the most kind-hearted reporter is backed by the relentless demands of a media outlet. Perhaps Brian would let the wolves off their leash in end. He gets his fill, they get theirs; everybody wins.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 42

Whisky arrived back to Station St and found the white van still in the same place he left it. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach – another new sensation on this strange day. He looked beyond the van at the rubble that was once Newport Haven Terminal. The idea of being nervous would never have crossed his barren plane of emotional diversity a few weeks ago, but he had never faced a situation like this. His prior existence, before Walter Wallace, any risk or threat or decision was met by his ability. He was the best trained and best equipped of the Citadel Soldiers and his decisions were simply logical. Doubts and malfunctions were to be referred to a superior. His existence was never in danger; death was distant, irrelevant.

But none of that existed any more. Now he had abandoned protocol and sought personal endeavours. He had developed an instinct of right and wrong; weighing up variables outside the parameters of Citadel’s interests. But where had this got him? He walked into the wrath of Sam Tank, out of his element and backpedalling through lies and disobedience. He had covered his tracks in the moment – Sam couldn’t pin anything on him but it would not take much for Sam to check back with Boss and find that Whisky had received orders to stay on site and leave the tracking of Walter Wallace in the time of crisis.

He reached the van at a walk, after having sprinted through the back streets from the hospital. He hopped into the driver’s seat, immediately starting the vehicle and swinging it round in a single point U-turn. He did not like the idea of relying on Sam’s suspicions. The man was meticulous, always on. But he was struck by the swift exit Sam had taken at the hospital. Midway through grilling Whisky Sam had hurried off. What was he doing before Whisky had arrived? What business did Sam have hands on with Walter Wallace?

Walter Wallace - Chapter 41

“Shit.”

Stevie had just switched off another Walter Wallace interview that was playing on the radio. He sat in the driver’s seat of his car massaging his own forehead, forcefully trying to roll out the white noise that was buzzing around up there. He could barely grasp what had just happened. Mark had been mute for the remainder of the conversation after his associate Sam Tank had left, and the two parted ways after a short while. Stevie needed a cigarette, offering a wry smile to the blatant arrogance in which his addiction presented itself. It was too easy to give in, his reasoning being that he could use the temporary clarity just to get his mind straight.

Mark was in some sort of trouble - that was obvious. Sam was openly warning him of an incoming reprimand once they were back in the privacy of business – but for what reason? Talking about Citadel was the wall Mark had built between them but that wall was weakened at the mention of Walter Wallace. The whispers of fate and destiny that had called to him earlier that day again rose to his immediate conscious. It all has to do with Walter Wallace. Isn’t it obvious? But maybe he was being swayed by the extremist media he read and a desire to trace meaning in the tangle of chance.

“Shit.”

He took a long drag for the cigarette, wished he had a pen and paper. Maybe if he could write this down his thoughts would become lineal, but for now he just needed to concentrate.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 40

The robot was pointing the gun directly at Phil’s chest. His blood froze up and his focus narrowed in on the small black object. The concept of death campaigned for acceptance in his head but he could not bear the idea of being stripped of life just as his moment in life was on the horizon. All those psychedelic trips that helped understand death and accept its inevitability seemed childish now. All those movies where the sickening happy ending felt cheap and obvious – where he would have preferred a sweet irony or a true sacrifice – all this meant nothing as he learned how much he truly valued his own life. He couldn’t die now, someone would save him.

“Don’t even think about running this time, Phil.” The robot said. Phil remained rigid. “That’s right, I know your name. I know a lot more than that actually. Maybe since we are getting to know each other I should refer to you by your nickname, Hippy Flip.”

Phil was struggling to remain composed but this revelation snapped his brain into gear. “How do you know my name?” he said automatically.

“I studied the tapes of you parading through the towers. Nobody thought you were much of a threat; just some punk kid having a laugh but I knew better. Such a security breach would require more planning, more skill, and therefore more motive.” The robot spoke with a sense of pride and victory. Phil found this didn’t fit with his understanding of robotics but it certainly fit with his current situation. The longer he talked the longer Phil could live. “I found your contact at the public records office – some deadbeat stoner type – he told me your name and your website.”

Walter Wallace - Chapter 39

Walter was already sitting up in his bed, but he managed to sit up a little further. His stomach fluttered and his face prickled. He felt like laughing just to shake off the sensation. The door to his hospital reopened to a wave of shouting reporters. They were being held off by at least 3 police officers as a tall, elegant figure decked out in loose hospital robes, casts and bandages limped in.

“Hi Walter!” Lucy Blues said, apparently laughing off a few of her own nerves. The door slammed shut behind her and she jumped a little before wincing in pain and grabbing at her shoulder. Lucy Blues had long brown hair - singed and a little frayed - her eyes matched the deep brown and were naturally wide and inviting. She bit at her lip as she smiled and then she walked slowly to Walter’s bedside, sitting down in slow motion and with obvious discomfort.

“I just wanted to say thank you for saving my life.”

“Anytime.” Walter said weakly. He then let out a series of coughs and struggled to stem the fit as it sliced through his throat. “Doctor said to avoid coughing,” he managed to say in a strained whisper, tensing as he fought urge to cough again. Eventually it passed and he relaxed, speaking in more normal tones, “There.”

“I’m Lucy Blues,” she said extending her left hand as the right was caught up in the cast and sling. “I never thought we would meet like this.”

Walter smiled. “So you were the one who developed the machine that picked me?” he asked though he knew that fact weeks ago.

“Yeah and now look where you ended up.” Lucy joked. There was a short silence and Walter thought up at least ten terrible attempts at conversation. “I never meant for this to happen to you.” She said, looking away from him the moment they made eye contact.

“You feel guilty?” Walter said flatly, surprised. He could see her jaw clenching as she stared out the window. “I’m fine. I’m still as happy as I ever was. Still the happiest man alive I guess...unless someone overtook me.”

Walter Wallace - Chapter 38

Mark Tanenworth was enjoying himself immensely. Rarely was he in good company, and rarer still could he find time to have a drink, and never was he free from the worries of Citadel Inc. Today, however, he was with his psychologist and only close friend Stevie and already on his 3rd beer at the White Stag in Newport Haven. He tried, with surprising ease, to ignore that last little bit of information as it reminded him of the railway incident and his duty towards it – funny how alcohol works.

After his sixth beer - or was it seven? He should probably ask Stevie how many since he was buying most of them – Mark felt it was time to do some karaoke. There was no machine to sing along to but there was even less stopping Mark as he stood and bellowed out a medley of pub classics. He had Stevie, the barmen and even the grouchy old locals in high spirits – especially for a mid afternoon drink.

It would have been the only place in town that had some liveliness to it as many of the Haven natives had lost someone they knew that day. While they sought to drown their sorrows there was, for at least a brief moment, something to smile about. At this point Mark had lost the majority of his inhibitions and having come to terms with his day off from work, he began to look to more positive things, like his ability to make people laugh.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 37

Whisky made his way down through the backstreets of Newport Haven. Though he assessed it only as a minor risk, he didn’t much like the idea of pushing his way down the small town’s main street through the crowds – there was a chance that someone (aside from Chips) who could spot him leaving his post.

He had taken a quick glance at the map on his phone before exiting the van and now he was running at a steady pace towards the hospital. He estimated that Chips would return to the van after 30 minutes at the most. This gave him 10 minutes there; ten minutes back; and then minutes at the hospital. The there and back again was the easy part – he could run for days if he had to – but he was still at a loss for what his plan, or even what motivation urged him to see Walter Wallace.

He took a left at the next street, having noticed a short cut on the map that would help him reach the hospital in good time. He rounded another corner and scaled a wire fence at the end of an alley before passing through an intersection almost at a sprint. He barely had time to recognise what had happened as his peripheral caught a flash of warning. He found himself pegged to a telegraph pole, breathing steadily and listening intently for the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Believe it or not I have come up to old Newport Haven a few times in my life.” The voice of Mark Tanenworth carried down the street, revealing his jolly disposition (and his physical position also). A light doorbell tingled and Mark’s voice became slightly muffled. “This pub is a favourite of mine. Match it with some of the best in the city, I reckon. Oi! You coming or not?” There was a slight pause which even Whisky’s heart dare not interrupt before the bell tingled again.

Whisky took a steadying breath and set off again towards his destination. He was quite sure that Mark had been oblivious to him, but he was not so confident about Stevie. This matter would have to be put on hold. The slow burning rush of emotion which began earlier that day was now gaining momentum. He had no memory of this vacancy that had opened up in his stomach like the smashed window of a jet plane at altitude. He had let so many things fall outside of the bounds of his control and what was left at stake was everything that he was, everything he knew. He continued to run and at the next corner the street opened up to reveal the greying exterior of Haven Hospital.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 36

Phil was completely in his element. He may not have fit in to look at him, with his loose ragged clothing and general unclean nature – unless he was thought to be one of the passengers pulled out of the train – but he felt at home. He cruised around the hill that overlooked the wreckage at Newport Haven, slipping in and out of different TV reports. He had been on at least seven different networks already; Dad would be so proud. There was a heavy set security guard who was trying to shoo him away but it wasn’t too hard to shake this minor nuisance – Phil was a pro.

He had been having fun all afternoon. It was maybe a little callous to find joy so near to such a tragic incident but Phil was a practicing Buddhist and knew that death –even two hundred of it – was merely another passage of life that must be confronted, not feared. Now was a time of action and the best thing he thought to do was avenge the dead. And the best way to do that was to get to the bottom of this whole mess.

On the surface it may have appeared as though all Phil was doing was inflaming the reporters but he was also doing a little investigative journalism of his own. Before entering into frame he made sure to catch a little of the gist of the presentation, hoping to build a base of knowledge for his own articles that he was planning to write.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 35 (The Real 35)

Lucy Blues was in her hospital bed watching the news for the first time in what felt like years. It had only been a month since her self-imposed exile but the freedom she felt was like a planet released from the gravitational orbit of its Sun. She no longer had to care about the woes of the world and troubles of others. If not for a careless glance at the local newspaper a week ago she would still be in her father’s cottage chopping firewood or knitting a blanket. Deep down she had to admit that perhaps that lifestyle couldn’t be sustained forever but she knew it was better than her old life and as the film crews passed by the little window of her hospital door, she felt that her cottage escape was just a dream set to fade into sweet reminiscence as her real life steam rolled on like the train that brought her into town that day.

She didn’t actually remember too much from the train. Her last memory was recognising the velocity increasing dangerously. Then she felt as though she were asleep in the cottage again with Walter Wallace’s face smiling down at her gently. It was surely a dream but as she willed herself to wake up his face only became clearer. It was charred and worn. He wasn’t smiling, instead wincing and his pained expression softened into acceptance as a wave of light and noise crashed over them. Reporters and news programs were snapping at them from every angle before the paramedic crew muscled them to reasonable distance.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 35

Whisky sat in the driver’s seat of the white van a short distance down the road from all the other vans that lined Station St outside of what was once Newport Haven Terminal. Chips was away from the van doing a recon on the crash zone for Boss. Not too far down the road Whisky could see Mark Tanenworth, who was initially supposed to be surveying the area. Boss, however, never trusted his brother and had decided to use Chips and Whisky – who were in the town keeping tabs on Walter Wallace – to investigate.

“What about the mark?” Whisky had asked Boss after receiving his instructions.

“I told you, Mark is useless- you mean Walter. Look, don’t call him the mark anymore. Just call him- OK. FUCK! Look, the trains are more important than Walter for this one moment. Sure good ole’ Walt is a goldmine but he isn’t bigger than CitaRail. Find out what’s happened because we are going to need a statement on this soon and I don’t have time for your FUCKING OPINION!”

Whisky had thought to disagree. Walter was bigger than the trains; possibly bigger than Citadel itself. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. It filled him with a great deal of confusion. Despite everything that he felt programmed to do - everything that Chips would do in a heartbeat and that he would have done in half a heartbeat only a few weeks ago - he resisted his duty. His growing ideals of insubordination should have been reported to Boss by now, he still felt a natural inclination to do so, but his resistance continued.

Walter Wallace: Chapter 34

Whisky sat in the driver’s seat of the white van a short distance down the road from all the other vans that lined Station St outside of what was once Newport Haven Terminal. Chips was out of the van doing a recon on the crash zone for Boss. Not too far down the road Whisky could see Mark Tanenworth, who was initially supposed to be surveying the area. Boss, however, never trusted his brother and had decided to use Chips and Whisky – who were in the town keeping tabs on Walter Wallace – to investigate.

“What about the mark?” Whisky had asked Boss after receiving his instructions.

“I told you, Mark is useless- you mean Walter. Look don’t call him the mark anymore. Just call him- OK. FUCK! Look the trains are more important than Walter for this one moment. Sure good ole’ Walt is a goldmine but he isn’t bigger than CitaRail. Find out what’s happened because we are going to need a statement on this soon and I don’t have time for your FUCKING OPINION!”

Whisky had thought to disagree. Walter was bigger than the trains; possibly bigger than Citadel itself. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. More importantly it filled him a great deal of confusion. Despite everything that he felt programmed to do - everything that Chips would do in a heartbeat and that he would have done in half a heartbeat only a few weeks ago - he resisted the duty that made him naturally inclined to report his growing ideals of insubordination.

Walter Wallace: Chapter 33

Stevie sat in the back of an ambulance with his shoulders slumped from exhaustion, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. He didn’t usually smoke but he had inhaled so much today he figured he may as well get some of the good stuff while he was at it. He stared back down the hill at the smouldering terminal. The building had further collapsed and now it was sealed off as all carriages had been searched for life and the dead were left as the structure threatened to completely collapse at any moment. The smoke that still rose made the setting Sun hazy in the distance, as though it were a mirage on a desert horizon. Scattered along the hill there was still a strong gathering of reporters and cameras though a sizable chunk had disappeared trailing the two ambulances that had taken Walter Wallace and Lucy Blues away.

Stevie hadn’t yet had time to decipher the whole situation. It would be a juggling act of chance and convenience. Both of which offered little to the reasonable doubt he was bound to. But more intriguing still was the presence of fate. Stevie was a spiritual man – he based his thesis on Eastern philosophy in Western medicine – but he never believed in any voodoo claims such as greater beings and destiny. But then how could he accept the fact that Walter Wallace had strode into an inferno and rescued the woman who had plucked him from obscurity. This doctor had disappeared weeks ago to the point that the network was embarrassed to admit they knew nothing of her whereabouts. Now, like some fairytale, these two meet and...and if he were to succumb to such theories then what should he make of his own chance encounter with the man in question. Was there some force drawing the two together? Ridiculous, surely. Stevie took another long drag from his cigarette and let his mind clear again.

Walter Wallace: Chapter 32

Walter jumped out of the Channel 8 van and ran towards the wreckage at Newport Haven Terminal. Angela called out to him but it was lost in the muffled cacophony of panic that sounded as though it were emanating from a seashell held up close to his ear. His vision was blurry as he dashed and ducked between the people but he felt all his senses focussed and tuned in to the exact location he wanted to be. It was similar to the sensation of anger he felt the morning after speaking to William Unston but he had no time to decipher or distinguish meaning from this connection.

Hordes of reporters were standing with their backs to the scene, facing their respective cameras and reporting on the crises. Police were still trying to seal off the area and firemen were gearing up for entry into the large complex. Walter couldn’t see any fire but a large plume of smoke rose from the rooftop. He couldn’t be sure from his vantage point but it appeared as though part of the roof had caved in. Three of train’s carriages poked out of the entry to the station, disfigured into metallic S shapes, the windows blown out.

He tried to grasp why that scene looked so peculiar but before he had a chance to consider it a policeman stopped him in his tracks, almost catching him as he flew down the hill towards the station.

“You can’t go in there!”

“We have to! There are people in there! We have to help!”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m Walter Wallace! Let me past.” He didn’t know why he said it, but it seemed to have the desired effect. The officer stepped back, unsure how to react. Walter took the chance to duck by, but the moment he did an explosion went off inside the building and knocked them both off their feet.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 31

The sky was clear as the Sun began to make an impression on the highest peaks of the Silver Mountains. The stars had all but bid farewell as the approaching dawn called out to the morning birds. They called back in song, relaying the pleasant wake up call to the other creatures in the nearby wood. Lucy was already awake, hugging a hot mug of tea against the lingering chill of an early spring night. The Sun would soon stretch down the mountains and bring the comfort of warmth and light, and Lucy loved nothing more than to feel it kiss her face and fill her with energy for the new day.

Every day had felt like a new day for Lucy now. She had escaped her previous life, retreating to the isolation of her father’s old cottage. He had told her so many times that she ought to take a break from her lifestyle; that the cottage might not have the flair of her inner city apartment but it would help her clear her wonderful mind. He was right about the flair: the electricity was temperamental, the only phone was a landline that had a constant buzz and the nearest town was a 30 minute drive along an unpaved road.

But in the aftermath of her break down she had known no other option. She couldn’t call her father to hear his words of wisdom; he had passed away 18 months ago. He was so capable of calming her when she became overwhelmed. All those long nights slaving over the machine and pouring her every hope and desire and sanity into it, her father had always been her rock. She could always rely on his advice so now she finally took the one piece she could remember.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 30

Walter was getting the hang of this. Like most things, being in front of an audience was daunting at first, but through persistence he grew comfortable and found himself. It was just like one of the really tough crossword puzzles where the discarded newspaper or magazine was old and tattered and had sections of the clues faded or torn out and he had to be patient and open to the possibilities. He had even used this analogy recently in the second stop on his national tour and after the show one of the producers or publicists approached him with the idea to release a crossword book with his face on the cover. He agreed and the next day a printed version was given to him as a gift. Crosswords for Cross Minds: The Happy Puzzle. He opened it up and found that he had written the foreword. It was the quote from his interview.

“We have 20,000 more printing as we speak. We expect that they will sell out by the end of the week.” The female executive/producer/crossword puzzle publisher said.

“Quick.” He replied, honestly as ever.

“The idea was brewing in me a while, I just needed a selling angle and you gave it to me last night.”

“Glad I could help,” Walter said smiling. She smiled back. Walter was becoming increasingly aware of his ability to make people smile. He supposed it had always happened; he had just never had so many chances to exact it. Sure, at the moment he was mainly just managing to make executives smile about the millions of dollars in revenue he was generating for them, but he also got to interact with millions of people and felt that was his true purpose.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 29

Frederick Torse couldn’t believe it...5:30am already. He stretched out his arm, swiping with futile effort at the alarm as it buzzed just out of reach.

“Fuck.” He cursed, and slowly raised himself to a seated position. The alarm on his phone continued to ring and with one hand furiously rubbing his eyes he mashed the keypad into submission. It hurt the skin on his forehead to keep his eyes open at this stage of his morning routine so he plodded blindly through the morning twilight, feeling for the frame of the door and the cool of the bathroom tiles. He turned on the shower and took a piss as it warmed up. He opened his left eye just enough to stare through the haze of sleep dust and tangled lashes and make sure not too much of the piss was missing the bowl.

He flushed the toilet and with the grace of the Frankenstein monster he walked back to the shower and stood under its blissful stream, motionless for 5 minutes straight. He didn’t care to wash his thinning hair or thickening body, instead using the next 3 minutes to remember some of the images from the porn he watched before going to bed. His climax was rather anti-climactic but that had become his expectation over the years. What was once his shame and joy was now neither, instead just an over worked tool at his disposal for tension release and chemical induced pick-me-ups – no caffeine shot ever matched the buzz of coming.

He dried himself hastily and cursed again as he realised he had forgotten to do his washing again. He fished out a selection of used underwear and decided on the red ones which, although going in for their third tour of duty smelt better than the remaining less experienced troops. He put on his pants and work shirt and hand ironed it over the curve of his gut. He made a large bowl of cereal which boasted to be full of energy (sugar) and thought about making a sandwich before eventually deciding to get takeaway in his lunch break.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 28

Manny Holdsworth stood over his father’s still body. It barely moved but for the slight rhythmic up and down motion caused by the machine induced breathing. The lump that was his father was almost completely covered by the white bed sheets. What part of his face that could be seen looked colourless. One could be mistaken for assuming that he had been pronounced dead, but a constant reminder beeped out of the cardio monitor adjacent to them.

Manny couldn’t unravel the tangle of his emotive state; he didn’t have much desire to do so either. The hospital room was heated but the atmosphere felt cold and vacant inside, hollow, grey. He could sense himself as a third person looking on at a still from a graphic novel; the flowers in his hand the only offset of colour or life. He threw them despondently onto the seat and took a few paces to try get some feeling back in his body. He did a few semi circle laps of the bed, rotating his head in full circles to loosen the tension. After a few cracks he stopped back in the same spot he was positioned earlier: staring at his comatose father.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 27

Walter stood up rather awkwardly from his chair in the Channel 8 studios. The show had just been wrapped. He was trying to learn more industry talk (or “Indo Lingo” as the stagies liked to call it) so he could keep up with the rapid directions that were fired from all corners of the studio. He found it all a little overwhelming at times but right now he felt a little lost as nobody was actually giving him any direction on what was to happen next.

All around him the stagies were rearranging furniture and props, the audience was being ushered out - though a few were trying to bypass the ushers and get closer to Walter – and Tony Holdsworth had disappeared the instant the red light went off not even giving Walter a chance to say goodbye. He had noticed Tony acting strange in the commercial breaks, popping more pills than regular and mumbling inaudibly to himself, but Walter assumed it was all part of his routine because he was the Tony Papa Holdsworth that everyone had known for years (or in Walter’s case, days).

“Walter! Great show!” the rushed looking headsetted girl approached Walter and used her clipboard-clad hand to gently guide Walter in a general direction of her choosing. Walter had become familiarised to this gesture and understood it was designed to rush him to a certain destination without actually transferring any nervous energy to the subject. He smiled, appreciating both the silly nature of the business and his increasing knowledge of it. He felt good; back to normal and recognised this consciously. It was a strange habit he had picked up since his conversation with William Unston but he realised he simply had to accept this rather than hide from it.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 26

The show was wrapped up at around 3pm. It was due to air at 7:30pm that night – the execs had decided to refrain from live telecasts in light of the William Unston episode. Tony was already in his office. The recording couldn’t have finished soon enough. He was pacing back and forth; his hands shaking uncontrollably and giving off a steady rattling sound. He didn’t want to think anymore and popped the lid off the bottle and poured out a handful of pills. This gave off a softer rattle as he stared at the small white objects.

“Fuck!” he said, gritting his teeth and poured them back into the bottle, a couple spilling onto the ground as his shaking hands failed to synchronise. He slammed the closed bottle on his table and continued to pace, running his hands over his hair plugged head. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! FUUUCK!!”

It had taken all his will and control to refrain from saying that on set. Sure it wasn’t live and they could edit and censor it, but he was a pro if nothing else and the game wasn’t over no matter what that fucking worm said.