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Project 30, Chapter 3 |
| Written by Project 30 | |
| Wednesday, 06 August 2008 | |
Chapter 3 - Nathan Weaver (onyxdragon)
It could be a treat, though a bit painful as well. The trip would be bittersweet for Nathan Weaver (Onyx Dragon). Having made his decision to join the party and leave his wife with her parents, because she was on bed rest with their second child, he caught his plane to Washington, D.C. He'd never been to Washington, D.C. nor had he ever flown. It was currently a first for many things in the life of Nathan. It was July and his wife was one and a half months away from giving birth to a boy, Aidyn Drake Weaver. Nathan and his wife, Crystal, had lost their first child. The child only made it to 6 weeks. They learned they had a six week old child, told the world and then two weeks later found out they had lost the child at six weeks. It was a bum wrap, but that was then.
In the weeks leading up to purchasing their first house (not counting the trailer they rented to own a year or two, then sold), Nathan remarked nervously and half-jokingly, "If we find out you're pregnant just before we go through with this loan, I say we drop out." It was a scary thing to be promising to pay $150,000 back. One week after signing the loan papers (or every page of a Stephen King sized novel), they found out Crystal was indeed pregnant. Turned out it was intended.
On the flight, Nathan had plenty to contemplate since riding by himself. He developed several story ideas in his head, various scripts ideas. Thought of his Indy film "Kings 2: Diplomacy" and how much it sucked being 2 years in-production and not moving forward much, because of all the big personal aspects in his own life and others as well. He kicked himself some for making the trip, he should be back in Missouri and tweaking out scheduling conflicts with the many actors and friends he worked with.
"What a mess," he whispered to himself, then caught himself talking out loud and looked around to make sure no one else had heard. No one had.
He listened to his iPod, his Indy Playlist. Artists and musicians he'd met online through his promoting endeavors of their production company, Onyx Dragon Productions. He closed his eyes and went into deep thought, he considered possible conversations that might arise and if he had the answers. Things like, "How did you find StoriesVille?" To which he'd respond, "I can't recall for sure. I think I just was in the kick to get my stories out there and write short stories more, I hadn't written in that format in years. I'd written mostly in play and screenplay formats. But I had some stories I really wanted to write, but I don't like writing a screenplay I can't film-budget wise-so most of my short stories are ones I can't film. I think I just searched ‘submit short stories' on Yahoo or something and it came up and I liked it so I stayed." He also figured there'd inevitably be wine or champagne at this gig, but since he didn't drink alcohol he figured someone would notice and he'd have to give an answer on that. He'd spent the previous night going back through his Bible and Greek scholars to make sure he had his answer; he replayed his rehashed findings in his mind.
As Nathan exited the taxi and approached the house on Shakespeare Avenue, he took out their Sony digital camera and took a snapshot. Another cab pulled up behind him, he turned to see and out stepped Dirkin. Nathan recognized him from one of his early profile photographs,
"Dirkin, hey, it's Nathan Weaver or Onyx Dragon."
Dirkin responded in an Australian accent, "Hello, Nathan."
"Oh, weird," Nathan said, "Either I didn't know you were Australian or I forgot."
Inside, they all gathered about the table and Mr. Admin had their places noted and boxed gifts set in front of them. After the guests had been given permission they opened and looked in; Nathan was taken back, he quickly replaced the lid. He then thought to himself, Surely it isn't real. He peeked inside and examined the revolver and noted that it was real-and it was definitely loaded. He placed the lid back on and Admin started to remark, "Rest assured that you will end using them before the end-" "The end of what?" a writer named Phil Neale inquired. The Admin smiled, "The end of Project 30, of course." Nathan was far from amused, having strong feelings against violence. He placed the gift beneath the table and rested his feet upon the top of it, securing its safety. He looked at the wine to his right and then to the water to his left. He hated drinking water with a meal, but there wasn't much choice tonight, "Now," Admin announced, "For a toast." He stood up and raised his wine glass, "Today is a day to be remembered forever, for it is the first meeting of the Alliance of Writers. Soon, we will change this world. Soon, this will be a better place to live and write in. Now, drink up my fellow writers!" All the writers grabbed at their wine glasses, Nathan gripped his water. Before anyone could drink to that, Admin downed his glass of wine. Nathan was sipping his water when he heard Admin let a question of eternal condemnation escape his lips. Nathan turned to see Admin staring at his empty wine glass with astonishment, and then... he collapsed. The writers spit the wine back into their glasses; Nathan slowly removed the glass of water from his lips and stared at his unused wine glass. In his mind, he quickly thanked his God. Some rushed Admin's body and someone quickly announced, "He's dead!" Nathan looked up and across the table, realizing that this act of soberness was going to make him look like the guilty party. He scanned those present as he lowered his glass, one middle-aged woman stared at him, her eyes widely peeled from across the table. He'd seen too many Forensic Files episodes, he knew he needed to have his answers and keep his cool. It was only natural he'd be a suspect. Good thing he studied last night. Detective Davidson pulled Nathan into an adjacent room of the scene of the crime. It was getting late, or early depending on how you look at things. Nathan was having a hard time keeping awake while waiting his turn. Davidson spoke to Nathan as he entered; Davidson didn't even look up from his notepad as he turned page, "Tired, Mr. Weaver?" "Yeah," Nathan responded. "I had been sleeping for two hours before I received this call," Davidson looked up from his notepad, "I'd been awake for thirty-two hours before that. You see me dozing off, Mr. Weaver?" "No." "That's right, and I do this for a living." "Look, I'm sorry," Nathan replied, "I know it looks bad, but I have a problem staying awake sometimes when I'm exhausted-" "And you're exhausted now, Mr. Weaver?" Davidson looking back at his notepad wrote frantically, "Why's that?" "Well, not sure really," Nathan spoke up, "I've never flown in a plane before yesterday, so I guess this is what you call jet lag, eh?" "So, you flew in yesterday? Why yesterday?" Nathan considered his answer for a bit, thinking before speaking, a trait worthy of having but often used against him. It appeared to be the only trait that kept him from getting that job with the TV station. He found his answer, "When I say yesterday, I mean the afternoon of the party. Because technically it's the morning after the party." "So, you arrived in the afternoon?" "Well, late afternoon." "When did you arrive, Mr. Weaver?" "I think my flight was supposed to land at 4:30ish, but it was a little late."
"Where did you go after you landed?" "I got my stuff and headed straight here." "When did you get to the party?" "I think I was pretty much right on time, if not a few minutes late." "Why were you late, Mr. Weaver?" "The flight was a little late." "How late, Mr. Weaver?" "I don't recall, maybe an hour or more." Davidson finished a note with his pencil, turned the page and spoke again, "Why didn't you drink the wine, Mr. Weaver?" Davidson looked up and stared. Nathan felt the detective was trying to intimidate him and he could usually pick up on such nonsense. He was never really amused with someone trying to intimidate him and rarely felt he was intimidated, usually just annoyed, "Well, for religious reasons I don't drink alcohol of any kind. Not even a sip-I can explain if you want." "That won't be necessary," Davidson replied, "Don't you find it strange that you were the only one who didn't drink the wine?" "Yes and no. Yes, it looks bad, because someone died. No, because there are a lot of people who don't hold these beliefs as I do." "Would you say you're the only one?" "No, I know plenty who hold the position." "Mighty convenient for you tonight, you do, though-wouldn't you say?" "Yes and no," Nathan responded, "But life isn't always about taking the most convenient routes." "That's an odd thing to say, Mr. Weaver." "Is it?" "Yes, it is." There was a pause. "Mr. Weaver, if you had to pick one person that you believed was the killer, who would you pick?" Nathan thought over his response, "Sorry, wanna make sure I put this just right." "Take your time, Mr. Weaver." Nathan spoke, "I barely know few of these people. I'm in no position to make accusations." "Did you notice any suspicious behavior?" "Other than my own actions, no." "Are you implicating yourself, Mr. Weaver?" "Not intentionally, but take it as you will." Davidson considered these words and watched Nathan closely, he looked down to his notepad again, "What was your relationship with the deceased?" "I used his website-that's as deep as it gets." "For now, Mr. Weaver," Davidson said, looking straight into Nathan's eyes, "You may leave me-but not the house." "Actually," Nathan cleared his throat, he placed his gift box on the table between them, "There's one more thing." "You got a gift, too, huh?" Davidson questioned with an annoyed sigh. Nathan slid the box across the table to Davidson, he opened it and raised one eyebrow, "A gun... a loaded gun?" "Yeah..." "Why would he give you a loaded gun, Mr. Weaver?" "I don't know," Nathan searched in his brain for some reason, "I am an independent filmmaker and that's on my profile of the website, maybe he knew that and it's a prop gun." "It's real," Davidson quickly replied without emotion. "I don't know-maybe their blanks." Davidson just stared with no expression. Nathan continued to think, and then he smirked a little, "Why the smirk, Mr. Weaver?" "It's nothing-it just reminded me of something." "Humor me, Mr. Weaver." "There's this story I've been kicking around for about six or seven years," Nathan starts, "The idea is that a rich, big wig of sorts invites a bunch of people to his home and gives them all various weapons and places weapons around the house. And all the guests have at least one enemy present. The host makes a speech over the dinner table, he says something to the effect of, ‘I have a theory-I have a have a theory that every one, if given ideal conditions to commit the perfect murder, would rise to the occasion.' And after this the host is murdered and the guests start to realize that they can murder their enemies and the crime could be attributed to the first murderer. So, people start dropping like flies-thus, realizing the host's theory," Nathan stops, and clears his throat, "But I haven't written yet." "Maybe you have, Mr. Weaver." Nathan rolled his eyes and smarted off, "You want my autograph?" "That won't be necessary, Mr. Weaver," Davidson replied, "I have your fingerprints and DNA." "Alright," Nathan said, rising to his feet, "Hope you find him." "How do you know it's a him, Mr. Weaver?" Nathan sighed a little, "I don't. Just old hat. If It doesn't have a gender, It's a He. I was raised with the Kings James Version," there was a moment of silence, finally Nathan broke it, "Can I go?" "Not far." "Thanks." Nathan walked out and joined the others, he felt watched as he made his way to an empty chair. He sat in silence and mentally kicked himself for some of his remarks. He determined that it was a bad idea after all. Copyright 2008 Project 30 |
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