[Owen POV]
"If you have any trouble with the lines, then ask… um, the writer," the casting director—Scott Bolando—whispered, trying to look out for me while the director stayed grumpy.
I skimmed through the script once, then handed it back.
"Huh? Why?" he asked, confused.
"I'm done memorizing it," I told him.
He was startled at first, then sighed before leaving. He probably thought I had a big ego, but honestly, the sixteen lines were simple enough.
Circuit City pulled the case straight from real life—a twelve-year-old kid from Florida who got kidnapped and locked in a car trunk, but managed to call 999 with the phone his mother had taped to his inner thigh.
It was kinda funny how seriously they treated the Florida kid story on the show, instead of just letting it be another "Florida man" headline.
I met the two main leads. The woman—blonde, cat-eyed, quite pretty—up close showed blemishes under the makeup. I wouldn't actually share a scene with her until the end of the episode.
That was just '90s makeup at work. It looked fine on TV, but in real life people could spot it. Makeup in the 2020s looks more natural.
The other lead was tall, classically handsome, already balding, with sunglasses on his face. He did the quips while the woman solved the puzzles.
The show opened with me getting kidnapped in the back of a rusty gray Mustang.
I was playing with my friend when two men snatched me off the playground.
"Set, camera, action!" the director yelled.
The extra looked terrified to be in front of the camera. He'd had my previous role before I got upgraded to lead.
"D-D-Did you bring it?" he stammered, glancing around nervously.
The director facepalmed, dragging a hand down his cheek in frustration.
I swooped in and improvised a little to save the scene.
"Don't speak so loud! Mom said Jesus is always watching! He has CCTV everywhere!" I scolded him, darting my eyes around anxiously. That even earned a small snort from the director.
The actual line was: We have to make sure no one is watching. It's in my black plastic bag.
I thought that sounded awkward, so I changed it.
I kept going, excitedly: "Of course I brought it. Porky's 2. I sacrificed a lot to get this from my brother's room. Now, we have a deal. I bring the stuff, we watch it in your basement, right?"
I'd added Porky's 2 and the "sacrifice" bit myself. That was my last improv here.
The extra nodded furiously, not knowing what else to say. I laughed, keeping the face of a teenage horndog—right until the kidnappers arrived.
Two men in black masks shouted, "That's him! Grab him."
My voice cracked like a prepubescent, "What?! Liam, RUN!" I shoved my friend away and tried to bolt, but both men caught me.
I fought, yelling, "Let me go, you motherfuckers—"
"CUT!" the director roared. "It was going so well! Why are you cursing?" He glared at me furiously.
"That's in the script," I said flatly, dropping the horny-teen act and returning to my normal calm.
"Really?" He blinked, rechecked the script, then exploded. "Who— This show is PG-13, PEOPLE!! Take out the cursing!" He barked at the writer, flipping through. "And include what the kids actually said too!"
Since it was under four lines, I didn't get writing credit.
But the writer wasn't mad—he actually liked it. A lot of writers would've resented an actor changing their lines, but he admitted kids' dialogue was his weakness, and even he thought the "black bag" line was clunky.
He bowed his head and scribbled the edits quickly. The director, calmer now, muttered, "Well, you're expressive. That's a plus. I think we can save this episode."
The heavy mood lifted from the set. Everyone stopped tiptoeing around the director.
"Kid. You're good at improvising," the director said.
The writer added with a grin, "The news only mentioned they were meeting to watch a movie, but this… Porky's… it makes sense why they'd hide it. You pull that from personal experience?"
"Of course," I replied. "We've all been there, right?"
Every man in the room nodded with me.
The next scene, I was locked inside a car trunk. They slammed me inside, then closed it over me. I did it without a stunt double since it wasn't a hard thing to do.
The casting director apologized profusely for any mistakes the extra had made, but I told him it was fine. I even suggested to the kidnappers how to become more menacing, which startled the writer and the extra.
They used a dark, simulated version of the car trunk with the side cut off for the camera to record. I showed a fearful look as the car drove away, and then finally realized I had the phone in my trunk.
"999, what's your emergency?" the fake operator asked from the side. She was a recurring character in the TV series, a beautiful, thick Latina woman.
"Help!—" I immediately lowered my voice, cupped the phone slightly, and whispered, "I'm being kidnapped."
The operator said, "Stay calm. Can you tell me your name?"
I whispered, "Arthur… Arthur Fletcher. My mom is Jennifer Fletcher. Call my mom. Let her come and get me."
I didn't improvise that. That was word-for-word from the actual 999 operator transcript.
"Good, Fletcher. Do you know where you are?" the operator asked. "Can you make out the car model or what the guys look like?"
I replied in a scared tone, "In a… trunk. A gray car… They wear masks... I don't know where they're driving."
"That's okay. Stay quiet and don't let them hear you. Look in front of you—can you see a handle or a latch inside the trunk?"
"N-no… just the seat." I checked around the trunk.
"Alright. Some cars let you push the back seat forward. Try to feel for a lever or push the seat up. Do it slowly, only when it's safe," the operator said.
The scene ended there. And then, in the middle of the episode, it shifted to the main cast trying to find me and figuring out who the kidnappers were.
I came back in the third act of the episode. But I shot the scene on the same day.
We changed the location to a real street. I didn't have any lines—just got out of the trunk and went to the front seat before starting the car and driving off as the kidnappers went to an oil station to get gas.
I slid into the front seat, fumbling the keys with shaking hands, and stomped the pedal.
The operator told me, "I'm going to teach you how to drive, okay?"
"I already know how to drive," I replied, sweat beading on my face. "But… let's pretend I don't.." I added coyly, like I was trying to protect my image.
The director was impressed by the emotions I showed—it was a mixture of rebellion and fear.
He kept changing angles, making me reshoot the scene multiple times: once from the side of the car, once through the rearview mirror, again when the kidnappers slammed the trunk shut and checked on me, and even from the front as I drove the car away.
My chest rose and fell heavily as the car lurched forward. Just when I thought I was free, one of the kidnappers leapt onto the hood. I let out a raw, terrified scream and floored it. His palms slapped against the windshield with a sharp, hollow sound—though that crisp echo would, of course, be perfected in editing.
For safety, the car had been rigged on a platform and pulled instead of me actually driving. Stunt doubles handled the part where the car struck the kidnappers.
I ended up spending eight hours on set. By the time I finished, I was yawning. These days, I needed at least sixteen hours of sleep for my body to recover, so overtime wasn't possible.
The director wanted to wrap that day, and I agreed. The final scene showed the main characters bringing me back home.
Inside the car, I teased the woman beside me. "You're pretty."
She blinked in surprise before scoffing, "I'm way out of your league, kid."
"I said you're pretty. I'm not hitting on you. I don't want to date an old woman anyway." That line was lifted straight from the real police ride. The nerve of that kid.
"So, what were you doing with your friend at Griffith Park?" the mom suddenly shifted, her voice turning from warm to sharp.
My eyes widened and my body stiffened. "Mo—MOM! I can explain!"
"Explain? EXPLAIN WHAT? Greg told me everything! Porky's?! REALLY, ARTHUR?!"
"Mom! It's not what you think! We were watching it for research purposes!" I protested, sneaking in a bit of improv.
"Research— You idiot!" She grabbed me by the ear.
The reunion shifted from heartfelt relief into a comedic beat, as my friend ratted me out about the Porky's VHS, earning me the infamous ear-pulling.
The director and writer insisted on keeping that last gag, wanting continuity with the opening scene.
Every episode of Circuit City carried a comedic undertone, and this one was no exception—it made the transition from danger back to comedy feel seamless.
"It's a wrap for today. Thank you Owen." The director told me and then exchanged cards with my manager. "You don't have an agent right? So I'll let Bolando call you if there's anything for you to take."
Suddenly, the writer interrupted us with a pale face, he disconnected his call and put the phone in his pocket. "I'll tell him."
He turned to the director and said, "The producer said he can't get the guest star credit. Only the day player credit."
"What?!" The director was angry. "He had over 20 lines!" He shouted.
The writer nodded profusely and said, "Yeah I know. I told them that."
SAG doesn't count each sentence with a period; they count "spoken dialogue lines" as written in the final shooting script.
But since the episode was written for a guest star, they used more pauses, more periods to increase the emotional weight of the lines.
If the writer/AD sneaks it in as long, continuous speech– with semicolons, commas, etc. – , it can still be counted as ONE line, even if it's a paragraph-length dialogue line.
This is 100% where producers cut corners: they will reformat the script to make sure a kid isn't suddenly considered a "Guest Star" if they don't want to pay that rate for an unknown kid.
Basically, I got screwed because I didn't negotiate the contract before filming my scenes. Instead of getting 5000 dollars for a guest star fee, I got 790 dollars. 8 hours work was 560, then I got the additional overtime charges.
I made Micheal let the matter go as this was the industry norm. The industry does suck up to actors, but that was when you had your big break. Before that, you can expect to get screwed over… a lot.
And if an actor tried to fight this, the industry might label them as a difficult person to work with so there would be less chances for them to get their breakout performance later in the future.
Thankfully, I was still negligible to get a SAG residual even as a day player.
Well, at the very least it was better pay than just being an extra.
…
The next day, I went to the screen test audition for the aunt role in The Sixth Sense.
I had slept until four in the afternoon, thankfully, since the screen test was scheduled for six, after George finished his initial rounds of auditions.
Four actresses had been shortlisted: Laura Linney, Julienne Mooray, and two others I didn't recognize. I remembered Laura Linney from The Truman Show, though at that point she had only two minor roles.
Julienne Mooray was already an established actress, wanting a million dollar salary for this role. Both seemed to have natural chemistry with me and seemed to be perfectly solid choices.
The third actress didn't click. She had too much smugness for us to work together smoothly.
"George, can't we just go with Mooray? She's the best choice so far," Jessica asked—she had been watching the screen tests too.
"Let's not be rash. There's only one left," George replied before calling the next auditioner.
Then came the last actress. She had been in the industry for fourteen years, yet had never landed a solid or lead role.
"Jenny Ortega? Sounds familiar… doesn't look familiar… —maybe the lips," I whispered as I checked her headshot. "And the eyes. The eyes are also similar."
The moment she stepped into the room, I felt it—a strange pull, a familiar sensation. I sensed a degenerative taint.
She was someone who escaped the demon contract, just like George.
I was stunned for a moment, then whispered something to Jessica. She widened her eyes in shock and murmured something to George. He, in turn, whispered to Lenny.
I looked at them in disbelief for a moment before stepping next to the actress.
She was tall and slender, with a graceful yet slightly stiff posture, as though molded by years of disappointment.
Her dark hair fell straight past her shoulders, catching the fluorescent light above.
Her eyes… there was a flicker of hunger in them, but also something fragile, yet surprisingly warm.
"Cole. You can tell me. I won't get mad," she said, testing her line with subtle disappointment and frustration while trying to maintain a warm smile.
"She's good," Jessica said, narrowing her eyes at Jenny, who wasn't intimidated by the gazes surrounding her.
"Alright. We'll give you a call—" George began, but Jessica cut him off, blurting out, "When can you be ready for filming?"
She turned to George with disbelief. He mirrored her expression.
"Didn't you say we're going to pick her?" she asked.
"I did. But we have to at least pretend to discuss it, you know?" George said helplessly.
Jenny's eyes widened. "What?"
I told her, "We're picking you for the role. When can you start filming? We have to travel to Philadelphia soon."
"Um, I can be ready tomorrow…" Jenny replied without hesitation.
"Good. It's decided then." Jessica clasped her hand, squealing with excitement. She walked over and shook Jenny's hand. "Welcome aboard."
…
The night before our flight to Philadelphia, I held a dreamscape session with Jessica and George.
Unlike Serpent's Son, which George had six years to plan, this one had been created barely two weeks ago, so the dreamscape helped visualize complex edits.
First, we watched what Jessica imagined the movie would be. She had imagined a full 3 hours long movie.
Then George took over, refining it further, cutting it down to 90 minutes. We watched it on the floating visual panel, the rough edit of the movie.
"The story is good, but something's missing," Jessica muttered.
George considered this, then asked me, "Owen, what do you think?"
"I'm an actor," I replied, pursing my lips —but I crumbled when I saw Jessica's glittering eyes, full of expectation.
"The scare factor is lacking," I said. "There's no twist. You need more scary scenes and jumpscares."
I added a few eerie sequences to the film– a sensation of legs being grabbed while trying to sleep, being dragged down a dark hallway while screaming for help.
"That makes it darker," Jessica said. She wasn't apprehensive about the scarier edits but wanted something more.
"The story builds up—sometimes dead people don't realize they're dead. What if we add a subplot about a ghost trying to help Cole?" Jessica suggested, adding an extra 30 minutes to George's cut.
George inserted Bruce Willis into the edit so the character's presence was clear, which made me curious to see if this version truly reflected the M. Night Shyamalan style of this universe.
Mrs. Ortega acted really well in the film, but the main focus remained my character.
The palpable fear combined with jumpscares created a suffocating second act, before the resolution began in the third act.
"This is a better film. The twist at the end… I think it can really pull audiences into theaters," George said.
He was impressed but cautioned, "Although adding a big name like Willis, the story might get overshadowed by him, taking attention from Owen."
"I don't mind that—"
"No. We can't do that to Owen. He needs to be the main focus," Jessica interjected decisively.
"I said I don't mind it—"
"That's it. We can find another actor. I have Stellan Skarsgård's number; I think I can get him to act in the movie," George said, discussing options with Jessica.
I paused, then said, "If you want someone, I know an available actor."
That's how Ralph Macchio joined the movie.
It was a good deal for him—he wasn't working on any project at the time, and this movie offered a chance to break out of his Karate Kid typecast. If successful, it could mark a second resurgence in his Hollywood career.
Before ending the session, I asked Jessica a personal question– Why write a movie about ghosts and monsters if she had been victimized by them for years?
She smiled softly and replied that writing and reimagining her trauma with a different ending was her coping mechanism. Her stories weren't just for profit—they were therapy.
"If there's something bothering you, a story you're repressing, I'd be glad to hear it," she said kindly, before leaving the dreamscape, leaving me alone.
"Working out your traumas by sharing them with the world, huh?" I muttered. Then Isabelle's image floated in the dreamscape, smiling at me.
"Well, in the social media era, people monetize their own traumas online. I guess I'm doing something similar," I reflected.
The next day, I flew to Philadelphia with Michael and Elena as my assistants.
"Should I bring the snake eggs?" I muttered. Then, I decided to shove them into my pocket and bring them on the plane with me.
I sat next to Jessica in economy class. They billed me for first class—my venture fund paid—and pocketed the difference. I wanted to hit George, but held back.
All fifty of us, including actors and actresses, flew together.
On the long flight, I asked Jessica, "Can you teach me how to write a story?"
She lit up. "Of course! I'll teach you everything!"
Suddenly, the plane light flickered, and the entire plane body shook as it hit turbulence.
"That scares me a little." Jessica muttered with shock. Elena reached out her hand and touched my shoulder from the backrow. She was sitting directly on my back.
"It's fine. There's nothing supernatural about the turbulence." I grabbed her hand and comforted her slightly.
We landed in Philly without any hassle. Micheal, Elena and I stayed in the same hotel together.
"This place is filled with Yin energy." I muttered as I felt the air around Philly. The energy was richer here compared to LA, but it felt slightly darker too.
I found a lot of Spirit Grass in my exploration in this land– after we wrapped up filming for the day. Ralph and Mrs Ortega were quite shocked by the filming speed of George's crew, and Mrs Ortega was a bit worried that George was shooting the movie without any proper plans.
Then she saw the storyboard I had made for Jessica and George after the dreamscape session, which eased up her concerns.
A week into the shooting, my tv episode finally aired on ABC.
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