Leo's POV:
I woke up ten minutes later to the same ceiling and the same mild panic in my chest. Apparently lying down, and staring into space was not the solution to learning how I just teleported into words. Who knew?
I sat up with a groan and looked around the motel, like it would have changed. Spoiler. It did not.
"Right." I muttered "Time to go along with my great plan."
My stomach growled. Very Loudly.
"Add that to the list. Need Food! No memories, no idea why I keep becoming a psycho with face paint on."
"Whatever the hell that was." I looked at the pile of papers like I was accusing it of a crime. "It doesn't seem like it's going away anytime soon."
"I guess. I should look around where I am. Get my bearings." I muttered.
I threw on the least wrinkled shirt in whatever mess was in my room, black shirt smelling like motel soap, and shoved whatever else including the wallet and the god forsaken script into a duffel bag.
The hallway outside the motel room was nearly as depressing as the rooms inside, stained carpet, buzzing tube lights, and a smell I could not place for the life of me. Burnt Coffee or despair.
I wandered down to the front desk, expecting to find someone who could help me, that's on me.
Instead I found a guy in his mid-forties who actually looked like he hated being alive.
"Morning." I said.
"You checking out?" He mumbled.
"No I actually had a couple questions actually."
He sighed like i'd asked him to do the hardest thing in the world. "Room Number?"
"Twelve..?" It sounded more like a question than an answer to be honest.
Tap. Tap. Tap. He looked at the screen. "You've been here four days."
That surprised me. "Four?"
"Yea checked in under Leo Augustus. Paid in cash. No ID, no card. Just handed over a wad and said not to disturb the room."
I blinked, and thought about it, why would Leo not give an ID or card, he had both in his wallet. I guess, he probably just wanted to end it quickly and not be disturbed for a while.
I leaned against the counter. "Did I do anything strange? or talk to anyone else?"
The clerk raised an eyebrow "Strange? You mean like muttering to yourself over and over 'You wanna know how I got these... cars?' Something like that."
I'm guessing he means scars. "Is that all?"
He shrugged. "Look man, I see a hundred guys like you every day, I figured you were probably rehearsing lines or something."
I squinted. "Rehearsing lines?"
"Yeah, people like you come through here all the time. Wannabe actors. Usually rehearsing for something. We are in Los Angeles."
"Los Angeles huh." Now I have a good idea where I am, and probably why I am here.
I leaned over the counter again, "When is my checkout?"
"2 days, you okay man?"
I rubbed my temples, "I'm alright, just needed clarity."
I walked back to the room, head spinning a little.
Two days. Same as the date on the script. I'm guessing it's an audition.
Whatever this was, it was just getting started.
I locked the door behind me and tossed the duffel bag onto the bed.
For a second I just stood there, staring at the script like it was a cursed doll from a horror movie, maybe it was.
I sat down, on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath.
"Alright," I said aloud, to no one at all. "Let's see what the hell your problem is."
I picked up the script again, flipping past the lines I'd already read. Same bold text. Same Highlighted quotes, my arm hair was raising, I felt the same feeling again.
I cleared my throat.
"If you're good at something.... never do it for free."
Nothing.
I tilted my head at the script. "Nothing, really?"
"If your good at something, never do it for free." I repeated, this time slower, imagining how the line would actually sound.
The world didn't ripple this time. But something tugged at me. Like my body was being pulled in.
I flipped to another page, saw the next monologue. The one that's pulled me in every time.
"You wanna know how I got these cars.."
I'm a dumbass.
"You wanna know how I got these scars."
I read it, quietly. Nothing happened
"You wanna know how I got these scars."
I said it a bit more unhinged.
And then...
Snap.
The motel walls unfocused swirling around as I got sucked into the words. I wasn't on a motel bed anymore. I was on a pool table, holding someone's head steady... a knife shoved in their mouth. My voice spoke again, more unhinged, more playful, more cruel.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?"
I watched myself, or more like I felt like I was watching someone else in my body, talk. Perform. Every twitch of the face, every flicked of the eye, every head tilt, the way I moved the knife closer to the cheek of the person as I told my story. I was him. I was The Joker.
Just as I swiped the knife.
Black.
I gasped awake on the motel bed. Palms sweating, heartbeat pounding.
The script was open beside me, the act which I had just done staring at me.
"Okay..." I panted. "So... I get it now."
"This isn't just acting. This is something else."