It was a typical day for her. A day she started with a bowl of cereal, milk and coffee and a bunch of emails from producers, directors and her personal assistant.

Her mother, Georgina Madden, would make sure that she was ready one hour before her appointment, but because of the tricks she learned from her daughter’s years in the business, they would show up thirty minutes late.

They arrived at the set in her van and she was immediately ushered to her dressing room for her scene.

“You’re late again,” the director said, holding a bunch of papers.

“I woke up late,” she answered, reading her script while the makeup artist worked on her face.

“We made some changes with the scene.”

“The kidnapping?”

“Yes.”

She knew there would be changes. The original script was actually bad. “What are they? Please don’t make me jump out the car. I hate it when I have to use a double, you know that.”

“There won’t be anything like that.”

“Then how do you suppose I escape?”

The director eyed her above his spectacles. “You won’t.”

“What? That will change the whole damn story!”

“That’s the point. We decided to change the damn story.”

“Then what happens?”

“You don’t get away. You get kidnapped. You will be driven away to a strange place. It will not be easy to escape. That will be your challenge.”

She scoffed. “I am a spy. I should be able to get away easily.”

“You will. In time. Here’s the new script. We’ll do the kidnapping scene today. We’ll fly to Nebraska tomorrow for the rest of the takes. Don’t be late because the plane will go whether with or without you.”

“Does my mother know about this change?” she asked as she leafed through the new script.

“She’s your manager, of course she knows. We told her yesterday. She was okay with it.”

 She sighed but nodded. There were things about her work that her mother worked on that she didn’t know until it was too late. “Fine. It’s not like I can do anything about it.”

“That’s settled then. Make it fast. We’ll need the sunlight for today’s scene,” the director said before walking out the room.

“They think having the name Hope Madden can get me anywhere. In the end, I just follow orders,” she complained to her makeup artist who just smiled at her warmly. “Make sure the scratches look real,” she added, reading through her new lines.

There really wasn’t much because the scene was mostly about her being drugged and dragged to a black sedan that would take her out of her character’s secret flat. All she had to do was say, “Shit,” once her character realized she was drugged. And then she would have to make the most believable acting of someone who was fighting to stay conscious while her kidnapper carried her to the car over his shoulder. She would try the door but it would be locked.

They would have to do the scene a lot of times to get different angles. And once she was ready, the filming began.

“Let’s do the last take,” the director said after a while. “We’ll do everything from the start only this time, we’ll take a shot of the car as it drives away,” he said to the camera guy who nodded.

The crew proceeded to driving the car out of the platform where it had been standing while they did the take of Hope struggling inside the car as it drove away.

“Hope,” the director called as hope started for the stairs up the flat.

She turned and stared at the man. She was already exhausted and just wanted the day to be over so she could take a rest.

“Let’s get this in one shot. Remember to look out the rear window with a silent cry for help before you lose consciousness.”

“We already did that, didn’t we?”

“I need a good take from afar, kid.”

“Fine,” she answered.

“Hope, honey, do you want some coffee?” her mother asked as she started for the stairs. Georgina Madden was a beautiful woman in her early thirties. Stark black hair that went just above her shoulders but for some miracle could never be blown out of its perfect arrangement. She had passed on to hope her sap green eyes, but not her high cheek bones and square jaw. Hope’s small nose was definitely not from her mother’s as well which was pointed and big. But mother and daughter dressed like their status. Georgina was the typical classy mother in sleek dresses and high end heels. Hope was the typical teenage star dressed in designer clothing (most often sponsored) that went with the current trend.

Georgina had Hope when she was twenty. Hope never met her real dad. Not that her mother had any other relationships since then. It had always been just the two of them since she could remember.

“Mom, I’ve been drinking a cup of coffee since we started filming. I think I’m fine. They told me we’ll fly to Nebraska tomorrow. Have you packed my things?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you last night. Your bags are ready. I’ll wait in the van. Do great!” Georgina said, pumping her fist in the air as she watched her daughter disappear up the stairs.

After some retouch, the cameras started running.

Hope went to the coffee machine, poured a cup of coffee for the nth time that day and took a few sips. She could have just pretended she was doing it, but she wanted everything to appear real. She didn’t want to take the risk and hear a cry of “cut” from the director. Everything was silent as she took the cup with her to the couch where she pretended to read the newspaper the production crew made up especially for that scene. She took a few more sips and waited for the right time to say “Shit,” which she did after a few seconds.

And that was when the drug took effect. She knew she should act dazed, but she was no longer merely internalizing the scene. She was actually feeling it.

A tinge of panic started at the back of her mind when the fabricated print on the newspaper started to blur. This was not supposed to happen, she thought. But the letters and the picture of the actor her character was supposed to catch continued to zoom in and out of her vision.

She tried to get up and say that she was not feeling well, but that didn’t happen. She fell right back in the couch and that was when full panic set in. She looked around helplessly, but the room started to whirl with her.

Then she saw the man approach, the same extra actor she had been acting with today.

Her mouth opened, trying to ask him for help. But no one seemed to notice anything.

They think I’m acting, Hope thought.

The man loomed over her for a moment but she couldn’t make out his face. He pulled her out of the couch by her hand and carried her over his shoulder as he did countless of times since filming started.

Hope knew they were descending the stairs now. The cameraman was following them, focused on her.

“Hel…” she tried to cry out, but no one seemed to hear.

Something’s wrong, Hope thought. Help!

They had now reached the bottom of the steps and the man was walking to the car. She tried to punch him on his shoulder as he opened the backdoor, but she could barely lift a finger. He threw her limp body inside and Hope gathered all her strength to reach for the handle. The man was behind the wheel by then and locked the doors before Hope could even pull with what was left of her strength.

The engine started.

She felt she was floating outside space. She was trying to move but there was no movement. Why can’t anyone see that something was wrong? I need to go to the hospital!

“Let’s go for a ride, Hope,” the man said, changing gear. He wasn’t supposed to say that. He was not supposed to say anything.

And he called her by her name. Her panic went full blast and the adrenaline kicked in. But she was still weak. All she could manage was whirl around and pound her sweating palms against the rear window. “Help!” she managed to cry out. But everyone didn’t move. The cameras continued to roll, the director still in his chair looking at his tiny monitor, her assistant still standing at one side with Hope’s coat over her arm just waiting for the shoot to finish.

“Help!” she cried out once more as the car turned at one corner.

“Sleep now, Hope. We’ll be driving for quite a while.”

Hope tried to cry out once more but the drug had already overpowered her adrenaline and she slowly found herself in a dark place--a very dark place.

Hope’s eyes opened and she found herself in the present, in the same dark room she had been living in for the past ten years.

Her dream started very nicely but why did it have to end to that one, distant memory? For everyone who witnessed that last scene, it was the last time they saw her alive, the child superstar who had a big future ahead of her. For Hope, it was the start of a bad dream.

For many years, she had hoped what everyone thought after that day was real: that she was dead and that the last take they got of her crying for help was the best of all her performance.

A honk from the street downstairs shook her from her thoughts. She climbed out her bed and walked to the window, peered through the blinds and looked down beyond the iron bars that had rusted through the years.

A couch was being carried down a home mover truck. A young man was holding the door open next door. It was a common sight for Hope. The house next door had always been on lease since she could remember and its renters frequently changed.

 The only thing that stayed the same was the house she was held imprisoned in.

Hers was the house that never changed. Hers was the house where no one else had moved in, no one else had left.