"What do you think she meant by 'the feet?'" Cushing asked.

Brian kept his eyes focused on the road, the van bouncing along the uneven asphalt. "I don't know. I don't know if we should ask though."

He waited for Cushing to laugh.

"You really don't think so?" Cushing finally asked, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"The guy is on the edge," Brian said. "He burnt down his house. We didn't find any insights meeting his wife, did we?"

"We found out his wife married his best friend," Cushing said.

"Not best friend. Only friend." Brian said.

Cushing brought up Maverick's dad. The man who vanished after Maverick shot the monster. The man even Maverick said was a practical joker. The man who said the monster was the key to permanently ending the threat of the reservoir.

"No," Brian said. "I know where you're going. One, no way. No way did that happen."

"Look at what he said, it makes complete sense! It would be huge. He would have closure."

"No," Brian said. "He would be fucking shattered and you'd have a dramatic centerpiece. Come on, man. We got enough. I can edit this; I can make it great. Let's leave the guy alone."

"We don't have anything yet! We need this, otherwise the film fails and so do we," Cushing said.

"How does it fail? We can finish it as is. We could make a great film. It's no more a failure than Maverick."

"Maverick Casey," Cushing said. "Is a huge failure."

"Why? Because he spent his life searching for something important to him?"

"Because he didn't make money! He lives in a goddamn food truck," Cushing yelled.

"Money is not the measure of success," Brian said.

"It is in this country, buddy," Cushing said.

"Come on, man. Remember when we were down in San Antonio for that Chupacabra episode? I took you to the toilet seat museum."

"Yes. Icy outside and you took me to a barn filled with toilet seats an old man painted. An unheated barn, by the way. Yes, and I still hate you for it."

"Happiest man I ever met, and he made like no money painting and gluing stuff to toilet seats. You don't need money."

"For all we know, he has a trust fund somewhere and is just slumming. Or crazy." Cushing crossed his arms.

"You're a sad and cynical man," Brian said.

"Because I'm older than you. Because I've seen terrible things happen to good people, to great people. You're a kid. Name one moment of adversity you ran into. One moment where things went horribly wrong and you could do nothing about it."

Brian thought. "That's not the point."

Brian stopped responding, concentrating on the road as if they were navigating a stretch of icy freeway instead of old dry asphalt.

The brakes squeaked as the van stopped in front of the hotel. Cushing felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket.

John Alvarez was calling. Cushing thought about ignoring the call, but feared Alvarez may be tempted to visit him in Ventura, where he should be ending his first week of rehab.

Cushing answered, Alvarez screamed into the phone. Brian stopped at his door, watching Cushing pace the parking lot.

"Where am I? Ventura. Rehab. They just now let me have my phone back."

Brian couldn't believe it. Cushing faked rehab to shut down production and make his documentary.

"How did you find out? You visited me? Seriously?" Cushing laughed.

Brian took vacation time. Vacation time he earned. So, what if he was helping Cushing? He couldn't get into trouble, could he?

"I know. I know we were supposed to be in Baja. But you have to trust me, I got something better! This is good stuff-what?"

Brian opened the door to the room and turned up the AC unit. He closed the door behind him, watching Cushing add a little more frenzy to his pace.

"Replace me? You're firing me? Who is going to take my place, huh? That asshat in the monkey suit?"

Brian shook his head. Brian knew this was coming, the constant antagonism, the lack of professionalism, it all caught up with the guy. Cushing was finally being canned.

"No," Cushing said. "This is better than squids, this is real! We're talking cover-ups! Trust me, when you see-look, there are some major things that have happened here and I don't think anybody really understands what's actually going on. We're talking murder, monsters, creepy southern people, everything!"

Cushing stood still, his head down, watching the pavement. "Fine, then come get your shit yourself. I have a documentary to film. Wait? What about Brian?"

Looks like I'm being called back, Brian thought. Cushing will have to finish the film himself.

"Look, Brian had no part in this. He took vacation time and decided to help me out. You can't-you son of a bitch. Well, fuck you too." Cushing stared at the phone before throwing it against the side of the van, where it shattered like an old bottle.

"Ah shit, my phone," Cushing said.
Brian walked over to Cushing, his hands in his pocket.

"So, what was that about?" Brian asked.

"We've been fired." Cushing kicked at the remnants of his phone.

Brian exhaled slowly and leaned back against the van.

"So, when you said you cleared it with everyone, the production was taking a break and I could help you...?"

"I faked a rehab stint. I hoped we could finish the film and I could show up a little late in Ventura. My lawyer said he could fake more paperwork," Cushing said.

"So, I'm fired?" Brian asked.

"You really didn't know about the rehab thing? How?"

"No Internet! Airplane mode! Simple life, remember?" Brian yelled.

"Wonderful." Cushing leaned his head back against the van.

"What do I do? What now?" Brian asked.

"Sorry, Brian, really I am," Cushing said. He started to put a hand on Brian's shoulder. Instead, Brian withdrew a fist from his pocket and punched the side of the van. His fist gave a thud and left a dent in the side panel. Brian slid to the ground and screamed.

"Why did you do that?" Cushing cried.

"Because it was that or cave your fucking face in!" Brian screamed.

Cushing leapt back. Brian pulled himself up and pushed past Cushing, pacing in the lot. "I'm out of a job. I got fired from this, this...this shit show! I won't work again. Who would hire me? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck."

"Hey," Cushing said. "Just breathe man, you know, try to stay positive and what not-"

"Fuck off! You know how hard it is to find a gig like this? Or any gig anywhere? Hell, I could apply to fucking McDonalds and have to go up against nine thousand seniors looking for the same job!"

"I know some people, okay," Cushing said. "Plus! Plus, we got the film. This could help."

"The film could help," Brian whispered, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes!" Cushing forced a smile.

"This film is everything," Brian said. "We gotta talk to him about the feet. About his dad."

"Wait, you said," Cushing said.

"That was when I had a fucking job! Now? Now we gotta cut throats," Brian said, teeth clenched and spittle flying from his lips. To Cushing, it seemed every negative or cynical thought Brian buried inside him came bursting forth, having waited two decades for a little push. Brian strode back to the hotel, moving to the left to push past Cushing.

"I'm sorry!" Cushing called as the door to Brian's room slammed shut.

* * *

Cushing grabbed coffee and donuts. He knocked on Brian's door, which slowly opened. Inside, the room was dark.

He turned on the light. On the floor were a pile of ashes and burnt paper.

"My copy of the Bhagavad Gita. Also, a Gideon Bible. Fuck enlightenment, you know?"

Cushing jumped; Brian stepped out of the bathroom. Clean-shaven. Short hair.

"Did you get a haircut? How?" Cushing asked.

"I was doing some thinking," Brian buttoned up a dress shirt.

"Are you wearing slacks?" Cushing asked.

"I was only content because I had money. It wasn't the yoga or the Tao or innate sense of right and wrong. It was money that paid bills. Now, I have no money and I see the truth."

"This is like a very mundane, but terrifying, horror movie," Cushing said.

"We're making a movie," Brian said. He turned around and went to the dresser. There was a bottle of wine; he poured it into two glasses with spiders and webbing etched onto them. "Sorry about the glasses, this is all the dollar store had."

"Plastic, huh?" Cushing said.

"We're making a movie, James. It will be a success. But only if we do things my way."

"Are you trying to look like Gordon Gekko or the Macaulay Culkin in The Good Son?"

"Cheers," Brian said.