The Projectionist

The reel flickered to life in his projector, and the soft hum filled the room. Leith had learned to expect the unexpected, but nothing could have prepared him for the pull he felt as the first images emerged on the screen. The film began with the familiar moody noir aesthetic—rain-slicked streets, dark alleys, cigarette smoke curling in the air. He smiled to himself. This was going to be good. Slowly, the cramped garage drifted away, he was entering the film world again. ________________________________________ The office smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and something sour—like a deal gone wrong. The kind of air that clung to your skin long after you left, making you wonder how you’d ever wash it off. Leith stood frozen just inside the door, his feet planted on the floor, as if any movement might tip the scale against him. His eyes flickered between the underworld boss and his two hulking henchmen, who filled the space like sentinels. There was no way out. Not through the door, not through the window, not even through the smoke-slicked shadows that clung to the corners of the room. The boss, a man with a smooth, unflappable face, wore a tailored suit that could’ve been stitched by ghosts of past power. His eyes were cold—glacial—but behind that icy calm, Leith could sense a storm gathering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leith said, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. The boss leaned forward, the dim light catching the sharpness of his cheekbones, casting shadows that made him look less like a man and more like a predator sizing up its prey. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” The boss’s voice was low, almost conversational, but each word felt like a threat. “You’ve been running around town, talking to all the wrong people. Planning something, aren’t you? Maybe trying to take a little something that doesn’t belong to you?” He let the question hang in the air, sharp as a razor. Leith’s heart nearly stopped. The necklace. That’s what they were talking about. The diamond necklace he’d been hunting down for weeks. If the wrong people found out he’d been chasing it—people who weren’t exactly on the up-and-up—it would be the end of him. “No idea what you mean,” Leith managed, but the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He glanced nervously at the two men standing by the door, their arms crossed and their eyes watching him like hawks. The boss wasn’t buying it. He straightened up and tossed his cigar into the tray with a clink. His voice dropped lower, hardening like steel. “You’ve been talking to the O’Leary gang across town. I know it. I don’t like it, Leith. You’re trying to steal from me. And you’ve got the nerve to stand here and deny it?” Leith swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. If they know about the necklace, it’s over. He forced himself to meet the boss’s gaze, but every fiber in his being screamed to look away. The two henchmen shifted, their presence growing more suffocating by the second. Leith felt their eyes on him, waiting, watching, evaluating. A slow, almost imperceptible movement from the far corner of the room caught Leith’s attention. He turned to see her—the woman who had been lounging on the leather sofa, barely a silhouette in the shadows. She looked like she belonged in a different era—soft waves of dark hair, red lipstick that could stop traffic, and a dress that clung to her like the secrets she didn’t share. And she wasn’t just any femme fatale, though. She was trouble with a capital T. But tonight, it seemed, she might be the only lifeline Leith had. She stood up, gliding across the room with the grace of a dancer. Her eyes flicked from Leith to the boss and back again, her voice smooth as velvet. “Oh, Max,” she cooed, “don’t be so hard on the boy. He’s just a little... naïve. It’s clear he’s out of his depth.” The boss’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room went cold. But then he relaxed, just a fraction. “You think so, Ruby?” he asked, his tone still sharp but less certain now. Ruby smiled, a hint of something dangerous flashing behind her eyes. “I do. A trip out of town might do him some good. Clear his head. Let him think things over.” Leith couldn’t breathe. This was it. He knew. They all knew. If the boss was letting him walk away, it could only mean one thing—he had no choice but to play along. As long as he didn’t end up in a shallow grave next to some backwoods logging road. The only thing left was to figure out what the hell was happening, and fast. He was drowning in a world of lies and threats, and no matter how he twisted his way through it, the noose kept tightening. Max leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, his gaze calculating. “Fine. You’ll take the trip, Leith. But if you ever think of crossing me again... well, let’s just say you won’t be coming back.” Leith’s mouth went dry. He nodded, words failing him. Ruby’s gaze softened, and she shot him a look that seemed like pity—or was it something else? Before he could decide, the two goons stepped forward, their heavy footsteps echoing through the room. They flanked him, grabbing him by the arms with enough force to bruise, and shoved him toward the door. “Don’t make me regret this,” Max’s voice followed them out. As the door slammed shut behind them, Leith felt the cold weight of his fate settle over him. He had no idea where they were taking him, but it couldn’t be good. Not with Ruby’s knowing eyes lingering on him as he was dragged out.