STS Ch-41

“What the fuck…” I whispered, stunned and unsure what else to say. “Frank?”

He set the grocery bag on the coffee table with a dull thud and walked over to shake my hand. “I know what you must be thinking, but I promise you, the last time we met, I had no idea you were related to Gloria.”

Seeing him in a casual polo and jeans threw me off for a moment. The last time, he had been all business in a well-tailored suit. Now he looked like someone who spent his majority time at kids’ soccer games instead of in boardrooms.

I narrowed my eyes, thinking about something Mom had said earlier. She said she came here when she found out I was doing a film, but that news hadn’t broken until last week. Mom had been here for months.

“When did you find out?” I asked, looking between Frank and Mom.

“Frank rarely brings work home,” Mom said before he could answer. “But he does tell me from time to time about people he meets. He mentioned you after you signed your contract with Columbia. The moment I heard the name Noah Hunter, I suspected it was you, and I asked him to get me a photo. He did, and the second I saw your face, I broke down. My past came back to me, and the guilt of not knowing what was going on in your lives was too much to ignore. I had to come.”

A heavy silence filled the room. The air felt too warm, and my chest tightened with the weight of everything. This was messed up on too many levels. My boss had turned out to be my stepfather, and if this connection came out tomorrow, the press would slap a nepo baby label on me so fast it would practically be my middle name. The only assurance I had was the era. The lack of internet is good for some things at least.

“Wait, is that why Columbia bought the rights to Friday the 13th?” I asked Frank.

He tilted his head. “In a way.”

Before he could continue, Mom spoke up again. “You boys talk business while I get dinner ready. Kids, why don’t you two help me out a bit while your brother talks with Frank?”

Zach and Daisy didn’t complain. They slipped out of the room, their footsteps soft against the hardwood floor, leaving me alone with Frank.

“In what way?” I asked.

Frank leaned back on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight, and a small grin tugged at his mouth. “I started paying more attention to you once I learned about our connection. It wasn’t hard to figure out what film you were doing next. So I asked Sam to check it out and buy the distribution rights if it was good. He really liked it. The final decision was his, not mine. Although I was surprised to hear that you’re working as an unofficial co-director.”

I shrugged. “Just because you didn’t have any faith in my abilities, that doesn’t mean no one else does. Sean, our director, was impressed enough to promise to finance my next film.”

Frank’s grin widened. “You mean the same film for which you deliberately sent me a bad, barebones version of the script because you knew I’d reject it?”

I blinked in surprise.

“I’ve been in this business for a long time, kid,” Frank said, amusement clear in his voice. “And I’ve been a writer too. Tactics like that are pretty common for writers with locked deals like yours.”

“So, what now?” I asked. “You want the real script from me?”

“Do you still want to direct it?” Frank asked, his tone curious rather than confrontational. “If you do, then I’m sorry, but I can’t say yes. We have internal criteria at Columbia that we have to follow before letting anyone direct a movie. You don’t meet those criteria since you don’t have any official directing credits. Even if I misused my position and handed you the opportunity, if the movie turned out to be anything less than a superhit, I’d be the one blamed. And once people found out I bent the rules for my stepson, it would be bad.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but the words hung heavy in the room. I didn’t point it out, but I suspected that if it had been his biological son asking for a chance, the answer might’ve been different. Not that I needed his charity.

“My offer is still open, though,” he said after a moment, leaning forward with a thoughtful look. “I’ll even sweeten the deal a little. Come work at Columbia as an Assistant Director for one year, and I’ll give you a million dollars to make the movie you want. Full creative freedom. What do you say?”

I thought about it for a moment. The offer was generous, almost ridiculous, and I could tell he meant every word. But in the end, I shook my head. “I’ve already arranged the funds to finance my next film. And according to my contract, I can make it on my own as long as I handle the funding.”

Frank nodded slowly. “I know. And I’ll wish you the best for it. Just because Columbia isn’t involved, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you in my personal capacity.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said with a small smile. I knew I wouldn’t take him up on it, though. I barely have time to eat and sleep these days. We were editing Friday the 13th all day, every day, even on weekends. By the time I had the chance to sit and discuss a script with Frank, I’d be in Harvard, and he’d be back in LA.

We sat quietly for the next few minutes, both of us running out of things to say now that the business talk was done. The room felt a little stiff. I kept a polite smile on my face even though my mind was drifting.

“You know,” he said suddenly, his voice softer, “just because I’m your boss, it doesn’t mean you have to act like you like me. I’d understand if you were mad at me for breaking up your parents’ marriage.”

There it was. The elephant in the room. I hadn’t thought about it until now. Everything had been happening so fast that I hadn’t even had time to process one thing before the next one hit me.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m not even mad at Mom anymore. I don’t like what happened in my life, but I don’t know who to blame. I’ve heard both my parents’ sides, and I can see myself in both their places. It was inevitable they’d divorce sooner or later, so blaming you feels like the worst thing I could do.”

Frank smiled at me. “You’re wise beyond your years. I was fully expecting you to cause some drama when you walked in here.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Maybe it’s just me trying to get better karma in the afterlife.”

He gave me a doubtful look. “You believe in that stuff?”

“Of course,” I said, completely serious. “I don’t just believe it. I know it’s true. The more good deeds you do, like forgiving Mom in this case, the better your karma is afterward.”

He clearly didn’t buy any of it, but that was his problem. He didn’t have the kind of enlightenment I had.

“Tell me about this movie you want to make,” he said suddenly. “I want to know what I’m rejecting.”

I nodded and began explaining the real story, the one I had never shown him. As I laid out the characters, the themes, and the emotional arc, I watched Frank’s eyes widen a little more with every detail. By the time I reached the last act, he looked completely absorbed.

“I’m not fully sure about the ending yet,” I said once I finished. “But I want the protagonist to become a better man and learn from his mistakes over the course of the film. That’s the heart of it.”

He stared at me, gobsmacked, before blurting, “You’re a fucking genius. I love that script. If you sell it to me right now, I’ll give you a million dollars. No, two million. You can star in it, and you can keep full creative control. I’ll pick the best sci-fi director available. Maybe Steven Spielberg, John Carpenter, or even Ridley Scott. He’s hot now since he just made Alien.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I’m flattered you liked it that much, but it’s not for sale. You already know my terms for making the movie.”

He frowned and rubbed his chin, then gave up. “I could only try.”

Before either of us could continue, Zach showed up in the doorway.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said in his usual flat tone. “Come on.”

Frank stood up first and ruffled Zach’s hair on his way out. “You should be more expressive, kid. Maybe then one day I’ll launch you too, just like your older brother.”

“Seriously?” Zach asked, his eyes lighting up as he leaned closer. “Then I can earn money and maybe get my own car?”

“You’re not even sixteen,” I cut in before he got too excited. “Focus on your studies for now. If you do that, I promise I’ll buy both you and Daisy new cars on your sixteenth birthdays.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said brightly, then spun around and hurried toward the dining room.

“You don’t have to do that,” Frank said quietly beside me. “It’s the parents’ job to get their kids their first cars, not their siblings.”

“I want to,” I said, just as seriously. “All my life, I’ve done everything I could to give them the life I didn’t have. They’re the only reason I even agreed to do The Blue Lagoon.”

There was also the uncomfortable fact that I had no idea how well Mom and Frank would treat the twins in the long run. She had already abandoned them once, and it wouldn’t shock me if she did it again. Frank seemed reasonable enough, but it wasn’t him I doubted. It was my mother. I wasn’t angry anymore, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten.

Dinner was a quiet affair, warm and strangely comforting. The dining room lights cast a soft glow over the table, and the smell of home-cooked food filled the space. Mom had made all the things I used to love when I was little, dishes I hadn’t tasted in years. Knowing she remembered small details like that stirred something in me I couldn’t quite name.

“Just because you’ll be going to college soon, it doesn’t mean you can’t come stay with us sometimes,” Mom said gently once I finished eating and started getting ready to leave.

“Thank you for the offer,” I said, and I meant it. “I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever in LA.”

I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “I may have forgiven you for what happened back then, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten it. If you mess up again, I won’t give you a third chance. And I’ll make sure the twins don’t either.”

Her expression tightened, somber and thoughtful, and after a long moment she gave a small, honest nod.

Satisfied she understood, I walked over to Zach and Daisy and pulled them into a three-way hug. They clung to me just as tightly.

“Don’t forget to call me now and then,” I said. “And if things ever get bad, remember you can always come live with me. I’ve bought a new house now.”

The only real barrier to calling was the long-distance charge, which was ridiculous these days. But Frank and Mom weren’t exactly struggling, so even if the twins called me every day, they wouldn’t blink at the cost.

“You have?” Daisy said, her eyes widening. “And you still drive that monstrosity?” She nodded toward my beat-up car parked in their driveway.

I laughed under my breath. “I’ll buy a new one soon. I just didn’t have the time yet.”

Then I turned serious again. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you. You have my number. Call me anytime, and I’ll come as soon as I can.”

As I said goodbye and walked back toward my car, a heaviness settled in my chest. The twins would be on the other side of the country now, living a life I wouldn’t be part of day to day. Everything would change.

Maybe that would be my biggest reason to eventually settle in Los Angeles once Harvard was behind me.

(Break)

I watched Sean flip slowly through the stack of papers I had handed him. He kept adjusting his glasses as he read, his brows pulling together in concentration. A half-finished cup of cold coffee sat beside him, forgotten the moment he opened my script.

“So, what do you think?” I asked once he finally set the pages down. “I just got it registered with the WGA yesterday and sent a copy to Columbia, too. They’re eager to buy it, but they don’t want me as the director. Still interested in producing it with me?”

Sean took a breath and chose his next words carefully. “This is a very unconventional script. When I promised I’d make a film with you, I assumed you’d pick a regular genre first before diving into science fiction.”

“But is it really unconventional?” I asked. “Time loops are popular in comic books. I’ve even read short stories that use the concept. And how long are we going to keep copying ideas from movies like Halloween just because they worked? Do you only make movies for the money? Why don’t we try something new for once and let other people copy us instead?”

I didn’t say the rest out loud. Groundhog Day wouldn’t come out until the 1990s, so no one had really explored time loops in film yet. Big studios like Columbia might take the risk because fresh ideas sometimes became classics. But for independent producers like Sean, gambling on something unfamiliar was harder. Horror or rom-coms were safer bets, easier to sell and more likely to make back their investment.

“How much money would you need?” Sean finally asked.

“According to my estimates, about $600k,” I said. “I’ll put in 60% from my own savings. I only need investors for the remaining 40. But since I’ll be writing, directing, and acting in it, I want 80% percent of whatever the film earns. You get the remaining 20.”

He leaned back and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I can agree to that split, but are you sure about the budget? That number looks really low.”

“You’re not considering one important thing,” I reminded him. “Since the story has multiple time loops, we’ll be shooting different versions of the same scenes. That means the same locations, the same props, the same costumes. We can even shoot several days’ worth of scenes in one go. That’ll save us a lot of time and money.”

His expression shifted slightly as the logic sank in.

He nodded slowly, then asked one final question. “And you’ll manage all this while attending Harvard?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “We’ll shoot indoors as much as possible. Those scenes can be done in the evenings and at night. Outdoor scenes will be saved for weekends. We’ll run double shifts on Saturdays and Sundays, but we’ll make it work.”

Sean took his time thinking it over. The seconds stretched, and the faint hum of the office’s old ceiling fan filled the silence. At last, he gave a decisive nod. “Alright. Let’s do this. Let’s make this time loop movie together.”

I grinned and shook his hand, the excitement buzzing in my chest. This was better than anything I’d expected.

“But how will you write a complete script in the limited time you have?” he asked. “We’re working full days on Friday the 13th.”

“I’ll manage it,” I said confidently. “You’ll find that I can work with very little sleep when I’m relaxed. I just need to move into my new home for a month to get it done.”

I hadn’t planned on staying there yet, but I’d have to if I wanted to use my water powers to keep myself going around the clock. Even when I moved to Harvard, I’d need to find a place close to water to make everything possible. It wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be too hard.

Sean still looked doubtful, but he let it go without pressing for details.

And honestly, I already felt good about this film. The idea excited me more than anything I’d written before. Instead of copying a single movie, I wanted to build the concept from the ground up, shaping it into something unique. In the future, there would be so many films that played with time loops and time travel, like Run Lola Run, About Time, Source Code, The Butterfly Effect, Happy Death Day, Edge of Tomorrow, and of course, Groundhog Day.

My goal now was simple: create something that could stand above all of them, before they are even conceived in someone’s head.