First published 18 November 2005.
Ultraviolet handed John-Erik the prop gun.
"It's a bedroom scene," said John-Erik.
"Your character's a weapons expert," said Ultraviolet.
John-Erik looked at Ultraviolet's dirty leather jacket, purple t-shirt, and swollen nose full of greasy blackheads.
He looked at the prop gun and stared down the barrel carefully, forgetting it was fake.
The set was empty. Everyone was still at lunch.
Ultraviolet never went out for lunch, he brown bagged a cheese sandwich with pickles and mayo everyday or at least since they'd started on the Cover Up pilot two weeks ago.
Cover Up was an idiotic name for a show but Jon-Erik didn't mind. He resigned himself to the fact he was never gonna get the parts Mickey Rourke got but it didn't matter. He was happy to still be doing TV.
People had liked The Voyagers but it got canceled after two seasons. John-Erik guessed there was only so many times you could send a guy back in time to stop Billy the Kid from killing Theodore Roosevelt.
Ultraviolet checked his Casio, "We have to wait all day for these assholes."
He walked over to the coffee machine and picked up a plain white envelope.
"Jaren left this for you yesterday."
John-Erik took the envelope. It was addressed to his P.O. Box with a return address for Jane Rosen.
"Wait til you see this dog, she stuck a class picture in there."
John-Erik pulled the girl's picture out. Jane wasn't pretty but that didn't mean Ultraviolet should call her a dog. He was a disgusting person himself as far as looks went, with his oily brown hair shaved high up the sides but left long and dangly on top.
He started reading the letter, "Dear Mr. Hexum-"
"This is gonna be another long night, I fucking knew it," said Ultraviolet.
"Whatever Rick feels like doing, he's the director," said John-Erik, trying hard not to punch the kid, thinking of all the guys just like UV who didn't dress funny or go by queer names, guys who would work ten times harder and love every minute of it.
John-Erik had no tolerance for people who didn't love this line of work. Hollywood was the best thing you could do with your life, being on TV, making people happy.
He looked back at the letter.
He pictured the girl sitting alone in her bedroom writing it. Probably had all these angel decorations and one of those wicker desks with a mirror on it that you kept all your makeup on.
I love the way you fix the stuff that goes wrong with time. I love the way your golden hair curls. Why did they cancel Voyagers? Will they ever bring it back?
"Seriously if I miss Amazing Stories tonight I'll off myself," said Ultraviolet.
John-Erik was half in his daydream of the girl, Jane Rosen.
He was half distracted.
"I might off myself too," he pressed the barrel of the prop gun against his temple while still keeping his eyes on the letter.
Ultraviolet laughed this phony laugh.
"Let me see that thing for a sec," he said.
"I'm warning you Ultraviolet," he kept the gun steady and squeezed on the trigger, "I'll do it."
"Seriously man," said Ultraviolet, "It's a prop-"
BANG!
A bright flash of light.
The blank cartridge slams against John-Erik's temple and sends a quarter-sized chip of bone on a trajectory through the grooves of his brain.
Into his temporal lobe.
A pink and gray ball of slime.
And in his head he was in the letter and he was Jane and he made
Jane feel like he was right there, whispering in her ear.
She wanted him to be there. She wanted it so bad she she was scared her heart would implode. Her heart was dead for everyone else.
She thought she would seriously be in heaven is he fucked her, or if he just touched her anywhere.
Even the time he ran his fingers down her back still left her feeling exhilarated and it was a fairy tale. Something she imagined. John-Erik Hexum never touched her.
It still made her short of breath.
The Voyagers was on in repeats still.
He was on the screen with his sidekick, a little ugly kid with lots of freckles.
He was shooting an ugly Mexican outlaw down in a gunfight.
He was always around the ugly people. Taking their misery away.
The freckled kid was talking into this remote control. It was called the grox or something. It was like a handheld computer that told John-Erik what to fix in each time period he was sent to.
It was always so comfortable watching the show. Especially after she came home from school after everyone called her nasty.
She had this picture of him standing next to this model girl and she had to fold it down the middle so she could only see him.
The model was always frowning all the time.
Jane didn't know who the girl was, not outside the picture; she would lick her fist and jam it up inside herself pretending it was him.
It wasn't like she wanted to be a virgin. She just had no interest in boys.
They were disgusting next to Hexum.
The doorbell rings.
She runs downstairs.
The mailman gives her this envelope.
Addressed to her, to Jane Rosen from John-Erik Hexum.
Just as black smoke streams out of his temple Jane tears envelope.
John-Erik screams in agony as Jane pulls the headshot out.
Ultraviolet wraps a towel around John-Erik's head to stop the blood but there's too much.
Hexum is topless in the picture and his chest is rubbed with oil, he slumps back onto the bed and dies still holding the letter.
Jane smiles and almost dies when she reads the inscription that he would have written, "Look me up next time you're in Burbank. Love, John-Erik Hexum."
