Night scenes always had a certain hush about them. The crew spoke in hushed tones, their footsteps careful, and the lights transformed into soft pools rather than bright floods.
Harry stood next to the monitor, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Daniel Heyes, who was standing dressed as Aaron. Dark grey lenses obscured Daniel's eyes, but Harry was aware that the real challenge hadn't even begun.
"This one," Harry murmured, leaning in closer, "you need to start with confusion, not fear. The fear will come later, when your body realizes what your mind is trying to deny."
Daniel nodded. He had been methodical throughout the shoot, but tonight his jaw was tense. This was the moment when Aaron truly crossed the line from merely pretending to be blind to actually becoming blind.
The assistant director called out.
"Rolling."
"Sound speed."
"Camera rolling."
Harry raised his hand. "Action."
Aaron stirred on the bed.
At first, it was subtle. Fingers twitched. A shallow breath. Then his eyes fluttered open—and remained unfocused.
Daniel blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing. He lifted a hand, waving it just inches from his face.
Nothing.
Harry instinctively leaned forward.
Aaron sat up slowly. Too slowly. His breathing hitched.
"No," Daniel whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
Harry didn't call cut.
Aaron swung his legs off the bed—and froze as pressure tightened around his neck.
A cloth rope. Makeshift. Rough.
Mano appeared from behind, his face contorted with rage.
Daniel's body reacted immediately. He clawed at the cloth, his feet kicking wildly against the bedframe. The panic was primal, unrestrained.
Harry raised a hand but let it linger in the air.
Aaron's fingers grazed the bedside table, landing on a ceramic cup.
Without a glance, Daniel sent it flying backward.
The cup shattered against Mano's temple.
Mano let out a cry, stumbling back.
The cloth slipped just enough.
Aaron pitched forward, coughing violently, tearing the makeshift noose away and crashing hard onto the floor.
Daniel fumbled around, hands skimming the wall, bumping into furniture. His movements were frantic. They were raw and desperate.
He stumbled upon the door by chance, yanking it open and spilling into the hallway, barefoot and without his cane.
"Cut," Harry said softly.
-----
The street felt deserted.
Or at least, it gave off that vibe.
No cars. No chatter. Just the faint murmur of a city living its life somewhere in the distance. His bare feet slapped against the chilly pavement as he stumbled forward, arms out like a sleepwalker lost in a dream.
"Help," he croaked. "Please—someone—"
Behind him, Mano stumbled out of the apartment, clutching his bleeding head.
"Where are you, you bastard?" Mano yelled, his voice a mix of rage and pain. "Where did you go?"
Aaron kept pushing forward. Straight ahead. He had no clue where "ahead" even was anymore.
Then, everything came crashing down.
A horn blared. Tires screeched. Pain erupted through his body as something heavy slammed into him from the side.
Aaron hit the asphalt, and just like that, everything went dark.
Murph's car skidded to a halt.
"What the hell was that?" Sasha screamed, struggling with her seatbelt. Her lipstick was smudged, and her breath was uneven. They'd been laughing just moments ago.
Murph jumped out, his heart racing. "Jesus—oh my God—"
A body lay crumpled on the side of the road.
"Oh my God," Sasha whispered. "Murph… did we just hit him?"
Murph knelt down, pressing his fingers to Aaron's neck. He felt a pulse.
"He's alive," Murph said quickly. "Barely. But he's alive."
"Why was he in the middle of the road?" Sasha asked, her panic sharpening. "He doesn't look homeless. Look at his clothes."
Murph swallowed hard. "Help me get him in the car."
They dragged Aaron into the back seat. His body was limp, his breathing shallow.
Sasha wiped her face. "We can't take him to a real hospital."
Murph was already dialing. "I know a doctor."
--
Dr. Samuel Brooks was already there when they arrived, his white coat draped over his street clothes, eyes sharp yet calm.
"Bring him in," Brooks instructed, glancing at his watch. "Quickly."
They transferred Aaron onto a stretcher, the wheels rattling over the cracked tiles as they wheeled him into a room that reeked of antiseptic and rust.
Brooks moved with a practiced efficiency.
"Blunt trauma," he murmured. "No obvious internal bleeding. Lucky."
Sasha wrapped her arms around herself. "Lucky for who?"
Aaron stirred awake to the sound of beeping.
Not the steady rhythm of a proper hospital—this was slower, more erratic. His mouth felt parched, and his throat was on fire.
"Where—" he croaked. "Where am I?"
"You're safe," Brooks replied smoothly. "You were hit by a car."
Aaron turned his head, panic rising again. "I can't see."
Brooks hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer, shining a light into Aaron's eyes.
They didn't respond.
Brooks straightened up slowly. "Your corneas are damaged. Severe trauma. That's why everything looks… gray."
"Gray?" Aaron whispered. "I see nothing."
"You're alive," Brooks reassured him. "That's what's important right now."
Aaron's breath caught in his throat. "Someone tried to kill me."
Murph lingered near the door, while Sasha stood behind him, arms crossed.
"You're not in any shape to leave," Brooks continued. "Stay one more night. We'll keep an eye on you."
Aaron felt the urge to scream, but exhaustion pulled him back under.
Later, Murph helped Aaron to the bathroom, guiding his hand to the sink and speaking awkwardly.
"Sorry," Murph said quietly. "Didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Aaron nodded, trying to memorize every sound, every echo.
He attempted to map the room in his mind, counting steps and remembering corners.
He struggled.
He ate the stew Sasha brought him—warm and comforting.
"Do you want to call someone?" she asked lightly.
Aaron shook his head. "There's no one."
Murph and Sasha exchanged a look.
--
"How much?" Sasha asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"For both kidneys?" Brooks replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "100 grand. Each. A wealthy buyer is interested."
Sasha let out a breath. "That's—"
"A lot," Brooks interjected. "But he's healthy."
Murph's voice trembled. "He'll die."
Brooks chuckled softly. "People die every day. We'll just put him on the tracks. No one will ask if had both kidneys. I'll go check on the patient."
Once Brooks stepped out, Murph turned to Sasha, "Are you okay with all of this?"
Sasha could already picture two hundred grand in her mind. "Were you okay with it when your mother sold herself?"
Murph didn't seem thrilled but followed Sasha anyway.
Aaron's fingers curled tightly into the mattress.
Brooks wheeled him into another room.
"This place feels so empty," Aaron remarked suddenly. "Like no one's around."
Murph and Sasha froze in place.
Brooks offered a thin smile. "There's a bigger hospital near the highway. This one's… a bit outdated."
He handed Aaron a gown. "Lie on your stomach."
Brooks's phone buzzed, and he quickly silenced it.
It buzzed again. Brooks grunted before accepting it.
"Yes? No I cut off the cable. It is for his own sake. How many times have I told you not to call me during operation? Now bye."
"My wife," Brooks muttered, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Always calls at the worst times."
Aaron quickly shoot up, "Operation? You said scans."
"Where's the specialist?"
Murph and Sasha moved in closer.
"Just one kidney," Murph said softly. "You'll be fine."
Aaron screamed in panic.
"HELP! DOCTOR! ANYONE!"
Hands pinned him down. He kicked out wildly, catching Sasha in the ribs.
"Son of a bitch!" she snapped, grabbing his legs. "He kicks like a horse!"
"I'll pay you!," Aaron shouted, desperation in his voice. "A million! I swear."
Sasha hesitated for just a moment.
"A million?" Murph echoed, surprised.
Aaron sobbed, "I swear on the cross on your arm. I'll give you a million."
The needle slid into his butt.
As the world around him faded, Aaron kept whispering it.
"A million… a million…"
And then, the darkness enveloped him completely.
AN: DO YOU LIKE IT WITH SHOOTING INVOLVED OR DIRECT SCENES?