rayaso | Season 11, Week 17, "Negative Reverse"

CLIFFHANGER

William C. Michaels was putting the final touches on the plot for his next bestselling thriller. It had everything his fans wanted: a clever, elusive villain; their favorite hero, Detective Steve Larson; and a surprise ending. The champagne was cold and waiting, all he had to do was finish outlining the final scene.

“Murder by The Book”
Chapter 36
Draft: 1

The Copycat Killer wasn’t original, but he was deadly. For the last ten years, he had been terrorizing the city by duplicating classic murders from famous stories. Now it was time for “The Pit and The Pendulum.” But this time it was personal. Tied to the table was Officer Crystal McGee, Larson’s sidekick, her long blonde hair cascading over her ample breasts. Copycat had long admired her voluptuous body, too-short skirt, and tight blouse.

The pendulum swung slowly back and forth, each swing lowering the blade, until the final arc would slice through Crystal’s body. “Too bad to waste such perfection,” thought Copycat. “But Larson’s getting close, too close – and now he’s gonna pay!”

Detective Larson was about to make one of his dependable last-second rescues. The clues had led him to the abandoned Raven Bakery. All he had to do was pry open the doors blocking his way and rescue Crystal. He thought longingly of her gratitude.

Picking up the strategically-abandoned crowbar, Larson forced the doors open, and, guns blazing, he rushed in – only to fall head first down an abandoned elevator shaft! He had found the Pit, not the Pendulum, just as Copycat had planned.

“Got them both!” exulted Copycat, when he heard the distant thud of Steve’s body. “Nothing can save her now!”

The pendulum neared its bloody end. Crystal’s terrified screams echoed through the bakery, nearly drowning out Copycat’s maniacal laughter.

THE END

Read the exciting conclusion to Murder by The Book in the next Steve Larson thriller!

“The cliffhanger will bring ‘em back for Part 2,” thought Michaels, as he popped open the champagne. “Why write two stories when I can just write one and cut it in half?” he chuckled.

Michaels drank a glass to celebrate finishing the first draft, another in toasting his talent, and after that, he didn’t need a reason. Before long, Michaels was sound asleep on the sofa, his computer screen glowing.

In his rush to open the champagne, Michaels had forgotten to close his document. The cursor flashed on the page.

“Has he passed out yet?” said Larson.

The words typed themselves on the screen.

“I think so,” said Crystal. “But you better hurry – I don’t have too much time.”

Larson stared at a large brown box in a corner. It had a dial on the outside.

“That’s it, that’s a transmogrifier?” asked Larson, scowling. “It looks like a cardboard box.”

“That’s what Copycat said it was, so get in – now!” said Crystal.

Copycat had borrowed the transmogrifier from the tiger in “Calvin and Hobbes” in exchange for a tuna fish sandwich.

Larson got in and waited. The transmogrifier began to hum, reversing his positive cell structure into a negative one so he could make the change.

Suddenly, a thick paste began extruding from Michael’s computer monitor forming Steve Larson, who began typing.

“The cuffs holding Crystal suddenly loosened, allowing her to escape her hellish fate, sweat trickling into the valley between her heaving . . . .”

“You don’t have to write like him,” said Crystal, her full, sensual lips parting to reveal perfect teeth.

“He’s a hack, so I’m a hack,” said Larson to the screen. “I can’t help it. Plus, you are unbelievably hot.”

“Keep that %$#& to yourself,” said Crystal. “I don’t want to file another sexual harassment complaint.”

“What happens off-screen stays off-screen,” said Larson. “Besides, we have a job to do.”

“Then for god’s sake rewrite my scene," said Crystal. “And put on some clothes.”

Larson’s trademark rumpled shirt, sloppy necktie and black trench coat hadn’t made it out.

The problem with draft characters using a transmogrifier to reverse polarity and escape from unfinished books was rare, but not unknown to computer companies. It could only happen before a story was finished, when characters were not yet fixed in their final form. Only then would a transmogrifier work.

It was also the result of touchscreens. “We touch their world, they touch ours,” explained one engineer. The defect was too expensive to repair, so marketing departments decided it was an “innovative 3-D feature.”

Sitting down at the computer, Larson deleted some of Michael’s text and began typing.

“Using a strategically-abandoned crowbar, Larson finally forced the doors open, jumped across the elevator shaft, and, guns blazing, he shot Copycat, who fell forward across Crystal. Before the pendulum's next swing, Larson raced across the room and stopped the deadly blade before it could harm them, saving Copycat for certain justice and Crystal for certain passion; after tearing Crystal’s restraints loose, Larson picked her up and carried her out, anticipating the throes of their ecstasy.”

“I said knock it off!” said Crystal. “Hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

“Sorry,” said Larson, “but I can’t help myself. My character is all man.”

“Yeah,” she replied, “but at the moment you’re all Play-Doh, so quit that #@!&!”

“Ok, Ok,” grumbled Larson, who liked his ending. He made some quick changes.

“Tearing her restraints loose, Crystal climbed off the table. She had learned all she could from Larson, so she headed back to the station to demand a promotion and her own cases.”

THE END

Read the exciting adventures of Detective Crystal McGee in her own novel, “Dame with A Badge.”

“Satisfied?” said Larson. “It’s the best I could do. I told you, I’m a hack. The publisher will fix it in the re-writes. Can we get on with it?”

Larson searched the apartment, looking for something to wear. At 6’4”, muscular and broad-shouldered, this was not easy. Larson caught sight of himself in a mirror, and paused to admire his chiseled good looks, square jaw, and mismatched eyes, one brown, one blue, with black hair. Michaels had been getting sloppy with the details and had made Larson’s brown eyes a piercing blue by mistake in Danger by the Dozen.

Finally, he found a red silk robe. “I don’t know what Crystal was complaining about,” thought Larson. “I’m an R-rated character. I’ve never had a nude scene, so I don’t have anything to show.”

Crystal, on the other hand, had had several shower scenes and Larson knew every inch of her fabulous body, except the tiny bit concealed by unfortunately-placed soap bubbles. Michaels liked to keep things R-rated for the sake of a potential movie franchise, where the real money was.

The music coming from the radio on Michael’s desk annoyed Larson. It was playing “Results,” the new song by the boy band Gary’s Idol, now in its eleventh year. Larson was more of a Sinatra guy, so he picked up a nearby hammer and smashed it. Impulse control had never been one of his traits. In the books, this had meant lots of fights to cover weak plotting, but his fans had loved it. In the real world, it meant broken radios.

Larson needed a few items, but fortunately Michaels had everything he needed. Michaels prided himself on the realism of his writing, and he had a spare bedroom filled with the paraphernalia of crime from his books, including the jet pack in Sisters from Hell. “Those nuns sure were hot,” thought Larson before grabbing a cloth hood, some duct tape, a shotgun, and most importantly, the trigger timer used in Murder in A Minute. Copycat had been very specific about everything.

Michaels was still asleep on the sofa, so Larson made sure all the doors and windows were locked and the alarm was turned on. “It’s a locked room mystery,” Copycat had said, “just like Sherlock Holmes in The Valley of Fear.”

When everything was set, Larson dragged Michaels to a chair, put the bag over his head and taped his wrists and legs to the chair. When everything was set, he finally shook Michaels awake and whispered in his ear “I’m your Number One Fan and you’re in big trouble!”

“Back so soon?” said Michaels, his speech slurred. “The play toys are next to my bed, and remember, my safety word is ‘stallion.’”

Larson shook him hard. “Not that Number One Fan,” he said, “the deadly one!”

“What’s going on?” said Michaels, finally alert.

“You like cliffhangers, but your characters hate them,” said Larson. “How would you like to be suspended between life and death for months until you get your lazy @#! off the couch and write Part Two?”

“But the readers . . .” replied Michaels.

“They hate them, too!” said Larson. “They pay all that money for your cheesy book, and then have to buy a second just to find out how it ends.”

“Well, here’s one for you,” continued Larson. “There’s a shotgun pointed at your head set with a thirteen-minute timer. I called the police, and their response time is ten minutes. It’s even money whether you’ll survive.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” said Michaels, his voice trembling.

“Larson,” he said, “Detective Steve Larson. Crystal and Copycat send their greetings.”

Police sirens could be heard off in the distance.

With that, Larson walked over to the computer, touched the screen, and was transmogrified back into the novel.

“Did you finish hacking the Word program?” said Larson.

“Of course,” said Copycat. “Remember, I’m highly intelligent. That’s why no one’s been able to catch me. You’re going to let me loose in their world?”

“That’s the deal,” said Crystal. “You help us and you walk away. Will we be able to write our own story instead of that clown Michaels?”

“Yeah,” said Copycat, “as long as Larson set that timer for thirty minutes. If that gun goes off, we’re all erased.”

“Thirty minutes?” said Larson. “I thought you said thirteen!”

“No, you idiot!” said Crystal. “It’ll take ten minutes just for the police to get there! You better hope they’re fast.”

“If we only have a few minutes,” said Larson, “let’s finally . . . .”

“Eew!” said Crystal, “is that all you think about?”

“Hey, I didn’t write myself that way, Michaels did.”

The sirens grew louder, but time was almost out. The police thundered up the stairs and burst through the door to find . . . .

THE END

Read the exciting conclusion in Writer’s Revenge, the next Steve Larson thriller, available in bookstores soon!

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From "Calvin and Hobbes"

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