Lights Out

Crime Fiction by Alex Finch

As a lighting technician, I notice a lot of things about light in general. Like how it can change the scheme of an entire room. Everyone thinks it’s score, it’s dialogue, it’s this, it’s that, no. It’s the light. The dark colors, the backlighting, subtle red tinting, nothing too strong, just enough to warm up the space, give that illusion of warmth, just before we switch the lighting, slowly, slowly, to pure white light, not warm orange, to make his skin go pale, make the world drop out, washed out, it’s just a colorless, gaunt figure on a screen, the background is just a backdrop, he’s turned his back, literally, on light. He’s about to lose it, and we can see it. The light shows us the way.

Right now, the scene we’re filming is meant to be the contrast, scene, the bright light that nobody will realize has been slowly dimming across the movie until we’re in near pitch-darkness. The first scene sets the mood, two figures in a park, laughing, in love, so happy to be together. You can’t believe they’d ever betray each other, that he’d turn on his lover, nothing foreshadows it just yet. Except for the fact that the flowers in the park are all grown in pairs. One of each pair is in shadow, under the shade of the tree, while the other is in the sun. Beautiful, right? The pair laugh, smile, they’re in love, they make you believe it until the director calls cut. Then the illusion shatters, the lights go up, everything’s bathed in fluorescent lights.

Normally, the lights like the ones in the hallway are a symbol, a symbol that we’re entering the suspenseful portion of the movie, the person in a dead-end job, the woman walking through the hall, heels clicking sharply against the buzz of the light, the uncanny, the familiar, made just barely wrong, too much flickering, too much buzzing, something just a little different- “Gem, girl, you’re doing it again.”

They need to fix that light. “Sorry, yeah, just got lost in thought, you know?”

Dani laughed. “Every time the lights change, you always seem to notice. So, what is it this time? What does it mean?”

She was always so understanding. As a wardrobe master, she had to be. She got lost in thought, too, looking at clothing, telling me who everyone would be, how the soft, worn leather meant they were a tired and retired former fighter, a sympathetic figure, and how sharp, stiff, modern leather jackets were a sign of evil. “The lights are starting to flicker, it’s suspense, but not true horror, as the light never fully cuts out. We’re experiencing the unsettling, not the terrifying. This is our last warning, basically.” I walked with the rest of the way to the cafeteria. “What does my outfit say?”

“That you’re a background character. Please let me give you some color, I am begging you.” Dani favored bold styles, clothing I’d been taught to call ‘structured’ instead of ‘Minecraft-shaped’ and makeup I’d learned was called ‘unique’ and not ‘EDM music video.’ She’d given me a new ‘easy-to-wear’ accessory every year for Christmas. Her latest, a burgundy long-sleeve with the thumbholes she knew I loved, still sat in my closet. Black ran my wardrobe, with my current clothes a study in the many shades of Charcoal, Ash, Ebony, Onyx, and Obsidian. The point of a stage technician’s outfit was to blend in, something Dani didn’t seem to know. Fade into the background.

“Maybe another day.” I sat down at the nearest table. I always brought food with me. I didn’t trust anything left out under a lamp for 6 hours. “What does your outfit say?” the usual rituals. Strangely comforting.

“That I’m in control today.” It sure looked like it, wearing a combination of a dark pink, or as she often called it, fuchsia top with pink crystal beads that were somehow made to look like she was caught in a freeze frame of pink rain, with a black skirt that grazed the top of her knees, ending in pink wedge heels, with the add-ons of a pink scarf holding back her silky ink-black coils and black fingerless gloves, usually stuck through with pins, always protecting her hands from her work. The light caught the beads beautifully, turning them all into reflective prisms, sending rainbows across the room. “And you’ve gotten sidetracked by the reflections, I swear, Gem, you’re three cats in a trench coat. I’m so glad I got cool undertones so I can actually pull off black. I mean, look at the wintery glow I get from this.”

I tore my eyes away from the beads. I tried to imagine I saw a ‘wintery glow’ on her rich russet skin, but I drew a complete blank. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I explained, “I don’t see what you see. I see that you’re wearing reflective prisms on your shirt and it looks like a rain scene stopped mid-fall, with glittering droplets, and I would kill to make that scene happen, and I could probably do it with the help of practical effects to lower prisms into certain patterns and do a slow-motion scene in real time,” I caught myself before I started planning an entire sequence out loud, “but I don’t get wardrobe stuff.”

Dani sighed. “One day you’ll get it. I am once again asking you to please wear something that isn’t making the entire audience think you’re the bad guy. At least dress like the bad guy in the opening scene! I’ll accept that, a nice ‘good guy’ long sleeve, something with a little color…” she kept describing the outfit I should be wearing as we walked the rest of the way to the cafeteria. I understood little of what she said, all of it involving words like ‘color theory’ and ‘tone palate,’ all of which went over my head as usual.

We sat down, discussing our work through lunch. Few other places, I realized, would have me wanting to keep talking about work after the official break times started. I struggled to understand why the villain couldn’t wear blue in the scene where he first shows his dark side, how it had to be a darker but still cool color, forest green or eggplant, and likewise, she struggled to understand why the sunlight had to come in from the west, in an afternoon lighting scheme, hitting him just at the sides, making his skin glow like fire. We hardly noticed the director approach our table, in the usual light gray zip-up hoodie, light blue jeans, and rotation of graphic t-shirts that had become his uniform. Dani always referred to it as ‘highschooler who never bothered to grow up chic.’

“Oh, hey Cass.” Dani turned and greeted him. I paused my explanation to give a friendly nod and smile.

“Hey, Dani, hey Gemini, how’s it going?” Cass loved to fake being friendly, but he never approached someone without a reason. We kept polite smiles on our faces.

“Just telling Dani about the side lighting I’m doing in the next scene, nothing too bold, just enough to let the audience know that this is transitional. I ran that by you last month after I got the script, remember?” He nodded.

“And I was just telling Gem about my costuming plans. I sent the seamstress the final measurements, keep in mind, though, for scene 29, he’ll be in an ill-fitting shirt, that’s intentional, not a mistake.” He brushed off her rapid-fire concerns.

“Don’t worry, Dani, I know you have your plans. I was here to talk to her, if you’ll give us a moment.” Dani left with a smile that disappeared when Cass turned his back.

“Now, I’m here about that side lighting you requested, I just don’t think-“

“It’s the only thing that works,” I interrupted. A fatal move, but I could back it up. “I assure you; this isn’t a choice I made on a whim, I have a masters in theatrical production with a bachelors in lighting design, and all my training tells me that this is how we create the feeling you wanted.” I pulled out my notebook, full of designs, reasoning, everything that could be used to prove my point. “If this doesn’t make sense to you, here’s what it says. The light from the side will case a strong shadow. Not enough to obscure our leading man’s handsome face, but enough to show the audience that this is the turning point. Enough to cast a dual shadow before he turns into soft darkness. Nothing too dark, just enough to visualize the point of possible return. If you think.” I took a deep breath. “That your two years as a director and associates degree in cinematography qualifies you to know more about my field of expertise than I do, please, let me know.”

I hadn’t realized I’d raised my voice until I stopped speaking. The room was silent, not even the sound of the buzzing lights, although it could’ve been the ringing in my ears. I don’t take disrespect well, and I certainly don’t take disrespect to my craft. Cass was a proud man, but he had to see the truth. What I knew was more important that what he thought.

“And what if I don’t want my work, the film,” he always called it a film. How pretentious. “Under my direction, under my name, not yours, to look as boring and traditional as your classes have taught you to make it? What if I’d rather my audience see the face of the stars I paid so much for? It’s my job to tell you what I want, and it’s your job to make it work. I want overhead lighting, a midday feel. If you can’t do that, I can find another gaffer.” He walked away as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Lighting technician,” I muttered, staring daggers into his retreating back. I wasn’t about to throw away all the work I’d done just for the whims of someone who thought he knew what he was doing, that complete and utter-

“Gem?” Dani sat down next to me, snapping me out of it.

“I need fashion advice,” I muttered absentmindedly.

Dani clapped. “Yes, finally! What do you need?”

“A revenge arc outfit.” A plan was starting to shape up in my head. “Something that shows I don’t back down.” The same thing I’d done to the lesser-known indie company, one that never got off the ground. That director had had a different artistic vision, too. It was strange, I’d had a long career, but only those two directors had ever tried to mess with my vision.

Hours later, Dani was in my apartment. I kept it clean and simple, mostly white and neutral furniture, a white chest of drawers and a freestanding metal clothing rack that served as a closet, very open and minimal. I’d noticed that the light above my bed had gone out, but without a ladder I’d have to wait until the landlord bothered to fix it. It seemed to cast a shadow over the room, as though I’d installed a darkbulb of sorts. I noticed the longer shadows stretching behind me and around me, as though my own apartment recognized what was about to happen. Dani didn’t seem to.

Dani opened every drawer, pawing through them to find the right outfit in a post-work outfit of black leggings and an oversized army-green shirt with a matching headband in her hair. How she managed to always look stylish was beyond me. She’d laid out some clothes already, dark gray snakeskin-print leggings and a form-fitting dark red long sleeve. Small ruby-chipped stud earrings, and black fingerless gloves. Deep purple lipstick from her own personal store, and my long brown hair twisted into a pair of braided buns that I’d never be able to replicate on my own.

“I can’t thank you enough for this.” It truly was the perfect outfit, just costume-ish enough to look good onscreen, and functional enough to work with me instead of against me.

“Gem, I can’t thank you enough. I’ve been dying to do this for so, so long.” She pulled out the last item, a silver bracelet. “Silver, but only on one arm, like the broken cuff motif we used for the anti-hero in the last movie I worked on. Wear it on your right arm, got it?” Half an hour of instructions later, she left, leaving me alone with the outfit and enough time for a little research and a good night of sleep. I’d finally have a use for my other minor, electrical engineering.

It was an early shoot day, the next morning, with everyone staggering onto set in their best impression of either a zombie or a drug addict. Either way, it was flawless. Even Dani looked exhausted in a red fitted tank top with green baggy cargo pants. A shame I might not even get the chance to ask her what it meant. I’d worn the outfit she’d picked out, with all her instructions and my best attempt at the hairstyle she’d suggested. I had to admit, Dani was right. I did look like I was dressed for revenge, with sharp contour and arched brows framing winged eyes and bloodred lips.

“Gem, you look fantastic.” She held up her hands in a ‘camera frame’ gesture. “They’re going to put you in the movie next, I swear.” Her pager beeped aggressively. “I’m so sorry, I have to run, tell me how you like it later!”

Thankfully, I hadn’t had to speak. I praise the day I built that pager interceptor. It had been easy to pack gasoline, nobody had checked my thermos, there was always Styrofoam onsite, a lighter was never too suspicious. The 5-inch wooden fuse, however, had proven troublesome. I’d needed a comfortable outfit that fit close to my body, and the fuse showed wherever I tried to stick it. My bags were checked upon entry, by bodyguards and security who seemed to think they were protecting Tom Cruise instead of a b-list actor who was barely famous enough to be the first result for his own name on Google, so I’d had to find another way to bring it in.

As the only awake person in the studio, I had plenty of time to double-check my scene cues. Give Cass a second chance. My corner was dark, naturally, with only some dim lighting towards the back of the booth, enough to read cues by, without disturbing the scheme. The transitional scene was crucial, a key turning point for this character. He was about to show the audience that he still had good in him, but it wasn’t going that way at the moment. I set the lighting cues. Afternoon lighting. Prior to sunset. One last chance for Cass to see this for what it was.

“Hold the cue…” he squinted at the lights. He turned and yelled up at my booth, seemingly forgetting that we were all wearing headsets and could hear him just fine. “I thought I said midday? This is sunset!”

“Alea iacta est,” I muttered, placing the stick in my lap. “Of course, my mistake.” I called over the mic. I switched the headset off. “Alright, everyone out of the booth, I have to reset all the boards. He had a very specific midday in mind, it didn’t all go through. I’ll have to troubleshoot.” The word ‘troubleshoot’ really was the magic word for getting new lighting techs to run from the expensive equipment. 4 main panels, littered with every button and slider known to man. I opened the thermos, plopping some nearby Styrofoam into the can, stirring it with the stick occasionally as it dissolved into a sticky, flammable liquid, like the baby of gasoline and Silly Putty. I’d created the right lighting scheme already, but that wasn’t all I’d created. I plugged a flash drive into the main console.

It took effect almost instantly, with the cameras flicking to looped video and the automatic ‘filming-keep out’ locks engaging on all but one door. The lights, of course, were my specialty, washing the entire stage and the surrounding area in a crimson red that started to flash. I walked out with my thermos, the Styrofoam fully dissolved by now. The flashes were my countdown, going faster and faster. Nobody took any notice of me, all of them gazing up at the lights. I texted Dani to exit through the west doors, only moving once I saw a lone figure moving towards the west door. Just in time. I’d built enough grace into the flashes that we’d both have enough time to get out. I kept my eyes in a squint, preparing them.

A funny thing about red light, it gets your eyes used to pitch darkness. It’s a good transitional stage, from pure darkness to bright light and vice versa. A few minutes in the dark and your eye adjusts to using a different part of the eye to see, night vision. Worthwhile when the entire set cuts to total darkness. One… Two… Three… Four… Five…

The lights snapped on in bright, blindingly white fluorescents, enough to make a sunlight-adjusted eye blink a few times, and blinding for people who had just come from darkness with wide open eyes. I placed the thermos under Cass’s chair and lit the fuse. Only a matter of time before their eyes adjusted and someone noticed-

“Fire!” someone shouted, as I was nearly out the door, too late for them to do anything, as I locked the door behind me. It was a nice day outside, warm, very bright. Almost cloudless.

“Do you want to tell me what the hell that-“ Dani started, stopping at the sound of a loud ‘boom’ that shook the windows.

“Don’t go back in there,” I advised, ordering a cab through an app. Hopefully Lana, one of the lighting interns, wouldn’t mind me borrowing her phone. Dani went pale.

“You mean you…” she gestured at the studio.

“Yes, and quite well, too.”

She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the survivors already have. I cut off cell service last night, but emergency calls still go through.” My driver would be here in 3 minutes. These things always took too long. “Why are you still standing by me?” I asked, cleaning the dirt out from under my nails.

She seemed to finally realize that she was, in fact, still standing next to me, running to the other side of the building, her phone nearly slipping out of her hand. The exterior cameras would see her in a few minutes, suspicious enough to keep the attention off of me. Hopefully she’d use the name I gave her and everyone else in this building. Gemini Locke. What a shame no such person existed; it was a beautiful name.

The cab arrived, driven by someone who looked bored enough to ignore an incoming police car, if we even passed them on the way out. She rolled down the window. “Is this Lana?”            

I smiled. “No, I’m her sister, Isabelle Thatcher.” I got in the backseat. “Take me to A24 studios West 27^th, Manhattan. I have an interview for their lighting department

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Bio: Alex Finch is an American author. They have three other works on The Yard, and they spend their spare time researching the dark side of history and getting a degree in medicine.

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