Dean rested one hand on the wheel when a radio announcement caught his attention. "Holy shit! Sam! Bai! Listen! They're shooting Hell Hazers 2 in Hollywood! Starring Tara Benchley! We're passing through anyway, so why don't we take a look?"
Sam leaned back in the passenger seat, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edge of an old photograph Madison had left behind. Its corners were already worn fuzzy. He stared at the palm tree shadows flying past outside. "We're only passing through. We still have somewhere else to go. Don't delay the trip." Madison's death weighed on his heart like a heavy slab of lead, nearly suffocating him. Right now, he only wanted to stay away from busy places.
In the back seat, Bai Haorui was playing with a Five Emperor Coin, spinning it rapidly between his fingers. At Dean's words, he slowly raised his eyes. "'Travel without restraint.' Getting somewhere and sightseeing over food aren't mutually exclusive. It's been ages since we had anything decent to eat." He tucked away the peachwood sword beside him, then took out a cord strung with three Five Emperor Coins and wound it around his wrist. "Let's go take a look. It's not like anything on this trip has ever gone 'according to plan.'"
Dean's eyes lit up like ignited gasoline. He immediately jerked the wheel, the Impala's tires screeching against the road as he swung onto the turnoff toward Hollywood. "Just half a day! And a quick look at Tara! I'm begging you. Ever since that business with Madison, your face has been scrunched up like a walnut!" He floored the accelerator, and the engine roared toward the golden skyline in the distance. "The hunter dream team's one-day Hollywood tour starts now!"
Sam sighed helplessly and carefully tucked the photograph into his breast pocket. He knew Dean wanted to help him unwind. And it was true that days of hunting demons and grieving had left him barely able to breathe.
After parking, the three headed straight for the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Like a wild donkey that had slipped its reins, Dean stood on Marilyn Monroe's star making exaggerated faces, forcibly dragging Sam and Bai Haorui over for a group photo.
Bai Haorui wore a gray tracksuit, while Dean and Sam were both in old-fashioned jeans and plaid shirts. They looked out of place among the crowd in trendy hoodies, but all three really were handsome. They had barely stopped when several tourists mistook them for actors and approached for photos. "Hey, handsome, can we get a picture?" A girl came over with her phone raised. Bai Haorui arched a brow at the quintessential American babe with the perfect figure before him and slipped an arm around her, his voice smiling. "Of course. It's an honor to have my picture taken with a beauty like you."
Holding back a laugh nearby, Sam took out his phone and photographed the red pointed roof of the TCL China Theatre. The concrete in front of the theater was densely covered in celebrity handprints and footprints, and a ring of visitors taking check-in photos surrounded Johnny Depp's pirate hat imprint. He crouched for a closer look and suddenly noticed that the lines in one handprint looked strange, as though something had corroded them. Its edges had a faint bluish-black tinge.
"Come on, let's go!" After exchanging phone numbers with another young woman, Dean dragged the two toward Philippe The Original on the street corner. "I looked it up! Their French dip sandwiches are a Hollywood institution! If we don't eat here, we might as well not have come!"
The aroma of roast beef filled the restaurant. The three found a table by the window and sat down. Dean ordered a "jumbo" meal, with a double layer of roast beef tucked inside crusty French bread and a cup of piping-hot beef broth alongside it. He picked up his sandwich, soaked it in the broth, and gave a satisfied sigh the moment he bit down. Sauce trickled from the corners of his mouth, leaving his face greasy. "Oh, yeah! Now this is food! A hundred times better than that crappy roadside fast food!"
Although Bai Haorui appeared to move slowly, he actually ate just as fast as Dean.
Sam chewed his sandwich, his gaze settling on an old photograph hanging on the restaurant wall. In the yellowed picture, a Hollywood film crew from the thirties crowded together, smiling, with Stage 9 at Warner Bros. Studios behind them. In one corner of the photograph, a woman in costume had her head bowed, an indelible sorrow and resentment in her features.
"Warner Bros. Studios is right up ahead." Sam wiped his mouth and pointed out the window. "I heard they're shooting Hell Hazers 2 in there. Dean, do you want to climb the wall and take a look...?"
"Why climb a wall?" Dean's eyes lit up. He pulled a forged ID from his wallet and waved it. "I've got this! We'll say we're production assistants, sneak in for a look, then leave!" He grabbed the two and charged toward the studio. Bai Haorui still held half a sandwich and stumbled a couple of steps as he was dragged along, unable to resist complaining. "What's the rush? Tara's not going anywhere. Never thought you'd be into chasing celebrities."
With his silver tongue and an impeccably forged temporary pass, Dean actually managed to sneak Sam and Bai Haorui into Stage 9. As soon as they entered, they saw Tara Benchley beside a green screen, dressed in a demon hunter's leather jacket and posing with a silver gun raised to aim. Sunlight fell across her face, making her even more dazzling than on the posters.
Sandwich crumbs fell from Dean's hand to the floor. His eyes went wide as saucers as he muttered, "My God, she's even prettier in person! I watched that scene in Hell Hazers 1 where she tears a vampire apart with her bare hands eight times! I'd even trade ten centimeters of Bai's for one day with her as my girlfriend!" The words had barely left his mouth when Bai Haorui kicked him from behind, sending him stumbling forward until Sam caught him.
A stagehand, Frank Jaffey, approached with a cigarette between his lips. He looked the three up and down, his mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "New here? You'd better watch yourselves. This stage is seriously haunted. Several crew members died here in the thirties, and lately people keep seeing white figures floating around."
Tara happened to walk over for a makeup touch-up. Hearing him, she smiled and patted Frank's shoulder, her voice clear. "Frank, scaring the newcomers again? That's ancient history. Just publicity." She nodded to the three and turned into the makeup room, leaving Dean standing there looking utterly besotted.
Bai Haorui had only intended to watch the fun, but at the words "white figures," he instinctively took out the Five Emperor Coins on his wrist. He walked over to some nearby scaffolding and pressed a coin against the cold metal tubing-the coin instantly grew hot, and its markings gave off a faint red glow.
He leaned toward Sam and lowered his voice. "Something's wrong here." His gaze swept across the prop rack in the corner and settled on a dusty blue trucker cap. "Look at that hat. Resentful energy's wound tight around it. 'Objects carry the energy of souls.' That thing's been in contact with something belonging to a dead person."
Sam followed his gaze but could not see anything different about it.
During a break, Tara stayed alone in the forest set to practice her lines. She held her script and read softly. A cold wind swept through, and the scaffolding overhead creaked. A blue trucker cap fell from above, landing at her feet with a smack.
Startled, Tara looked up-and saw Frank tightly tangled in cables on the scaffolding, his body suspended in midair, his face smeared with "blood," and his eyes wide open. A white ghost flashed past behind him, its long hair loose and its skirt trailing on the floor, carrying a bone-piercing chill.
"Aah!" Tara let out a piercing scream that carried through the entire soundstage.
But the director rushed over with a cameraman, shouting excitedly, "Perfect! That's exactly it! Keep the camera on her! Capture that fear!"
Dean and Sam hurried over at the sound. Dean pushed through the crowd and charged in, spotting the giveaway immediately. He crouched and touched the "blood" on the cable. Thick red paint clung to his fingertips. He sniffed it and scoffed. "That wound looks way too fake! The blood's water-soluble. Real blood turns dark when it dries. This stuff wipes right off!"
Bai Haorui crouched beside him, brushed his fingertips over Frank's trouser cuff, then touched the trucker cap. He stood, his sharp gaze sweeping every corner of the set. "Paint mixed with a little animal blood. Enough to fool a layman. But that white figure was real-I saw its yin energy clinging to the cap." He sneered. "These people are using ghosts as a gimmick. They're asking to get burned."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously? A fake haunting for publicity?"
Sam stared at the blue trucker cap, a vague unease stirring inside him.
Tara was still trembling. Veins stood out on the hand gripping her script, and her eyes were full of fear as she looked at the director. "That wasn't acting! There really was something there! I saw it!"
The director waved impatiently. "All right, all right, that's a wrap! We'll continue tomorrow!" He turned to his assistant. "'Paranormal activity on the set of Hell Hazers 2!' An exclusive scoop!"
After watching the farce, the three had planned to leave the studio and continue sightseeing and eating. Dean was thinking about buying Hell Hazers merchandise figures, Sam wanted a black coffee from Stan's Donuts to clear his head, and Bai Haorui was considering finding a seafood restaurant to try the fabled seafood tacos.
They had just reached the studio entrance when they saw a group running toward the prop room in a panic, screams rising one after another. "Someone's dead! Brad's dead!" someone shouted, their voice filled with terror.
Dean stopped abruptly, the joking smile instantly vanishing from his face as his hunter's instincts shot through his limbs like electricity. Sam immediately tensed and grabbed Dean before he could rush over, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Careful. Don't rush in."
Bai Haorui tightened his grip on the Five Emperor Coins around his wrist. "The yin energy just surged," he said quietly. "What have they done now?"
The three pushed through the chaotic crowd and entered the prop room. A heavy stench of blood hit them. Brad, the sound recordist, lay on the floor with a wound on his neck deep enough to expose bone. Purplish-black bruising spread to his collarbone, and his eyes were wide open, filled with fear. A few scraps of worn costume fabric lay scattered beside his hand, in a style from the thirties.
Bai Haorui crouched and pressed a Five Emperor Coin against Brad's neck. The coin instantly turned a deep black, its markings almost swallowed by black energy. "A real ghost killed him." His voice was as heavy as ice. "There's intense resentment. It died filled with hatred."
Executive producer Jay pushed through the crowd. At the sight of Brad's body, his face showed no grief at all. Instead, he shouted at the reporters gathering around, "It was just an accident! Filming will continue as scheduled! Everyone, stay calm!"
Tara squeezed in too. The instant she saw the body, her face went deathly pale. She staggered back two steps and grabbed Dean's arm. Her fingertips were icy, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "This wasn't an accident! Frank was telling the truth! This stage is haunted! That white figure earlier was a real ghost!"
Dean looked at Tara's trembling hand, then at the body on the floor, anger surging inside him. He remembered something John had said-human greed was more frightening than any monster. In Hollywood, those words were practically gospel.
That night, the three checked into a nearby motel. Dean sprawled on the bed, complaining that their perfectly good outing had been ruined while savoring the fragrance on Tara's fingertips when she had grabbed him. Sam sat at the desk, frantically searching for the history of Stage 9 on his computer. The screen was densely packed with text, all about studio accidents in the thirties. Bai Haorui sat cross-legged on the floor with yellow paper and cinnabar, drawing Spirit-Calming Talismans stroke by stroke. The cinnabar on the talisman paper glowed faintly red.
At three in the morning, a piercing scream suddenly came from outside the window.
All three sprang up almost simultaneously. Dean snatched up his shotgun, Sam grabbed a bag of salt and iron rounds, and Bai Haorui pocketed a stack of talismans before they threw open the door and rushed out.
The lights on the set were as ghastly pale as ghost fire. Jay's screams came from the direction of the cabin set. When the three rushed over, they saw an invisible force dragging him, his feet off the ground as his body struggled and twisted in midair. The force gave a violent fling, sending Jay straight toward a rapidly spinning stage fan like a kite with its string cut.
Splat-
Blood splashed across a set panel, forming a bizarre handprint with five distinct fingers and bluish-black edges. Bai Haorui stared at it, his pupils contracting sharply-it was exactly the same as the handprint left by the woman he had seen in the restaurant photograph, the thirties actress Martha Cohen, when she killed herself.
Dean's expression turned thunderous. He raised and cocked his shotgun, switching completely from fan mode to demon-hunting mode. "Fuck! Can't we even relax for once?"
Sam scrolled rapidly through his phone, speaking urgently. "Martha Cohen, Hollywood actress in the thirties. A director deceived her romantically, and she hanged herself in Stage 9. There was also an electrician, Billy Beard. A fan crushed his head on the set that same year."
"Then it looks like there's more than one ghost." He picked up the Five Emperor Coins and formed the Ziwu hand seal, sensing for a moment before telling the brothers quietly, "There are two. Their resentful energies are tangled together, as if someone's controlling them. Taoism teaches that 'when a soul lacks autonomy, an outside force must be at work.' Someone's pulling the strings."
Following the information Sam had found, the three drove to Martha Cohen's grave. The photograph on the headstone had faded. The woman smiled gently, but an indelible sorrow and resentment lay hidden in her eyes. Dean followed the traditional demon-hunting procedure: salt, then fire. Orange-red flames licked at the bones as he recited a Spirit Deliverance Spell. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Let obsession disperse, let the soul find peace."
In the firelight, the Five Emperor Coins on Bai Haorui's wrist trembled slightly, their red glow dimming. He frowned. "Something's wrong. The resentment hasn't fully dispersed. This isn't working."
Sure enough, when they returned to the set, the Five Emperor Coins grew hot again. The yin energy had not dispersed; it had grown even denser. Martha's white figure floated in midair, while Billy's ghost crouched on the ground. A thin strand of black energy wound around each of them, stretching like a chain into the depths of the set.
Just then, a scream came from behind the scenery. The three rushed over and found the lighting technician collapsed on the floor, clutching his arm. Several scratches deep enough to expose bone marked it, their edges bluish-black. "His head!" the lighting technician shouted, still terrified. "That ghost's head was crushed by a fan! He grabbed me!"
Sam immediately rushed to the director's monitor and reviewed the earlier master footage. The actors' Latin lines came through clearly. He quickly compared them with the material on his phone, his face growing grimmer. "These aren't fictional lines! They're summoning incantations from medieval witchcraft texts!"
Following the clues, the three found the adaptation's screenwriter, Martin Flagg, hiding under his desk and shaking all over. Dean slammed his shotgun onto the desk, and Martin immediately confessed through tears. "The original writer, Walter Dixon, wrote those lines! I only changed the plot a little and deleted all his 'useless' occult material!" Trembling, he produced a stack of yellowed original manuscript pages densely covered in runes.
Bai Haorui leafed through the manuscript, brushing his fingertips over the runes, his pupils contracting sharply. "This is a variant of the Soul-Control Spell," he said gravely. "It uses an amulet as a medium to link ghosts with the caster's will. This spell follows an unorthodox path. It's a crooked Obsession Spell."
Following the lead Martin provided, the three found Walter-at an abandoned warehouse near the studio. The iron doors were covered in rust and gave a piercing creak when pushed open. Inside were piles of screenplay drafts and photographs of the crew. Every photograph had "traitor" written on it in red pen: Brad, Jay, Martin... even the director.
Dust and the musty smell of old paper hung in the air. The Five Emperor Coins on Bai Haorui's wrist shook wildly, almost breaking free. "The amulet's energy is here," he said, his voice tinged with gravity. "A hundred times denser than on the set."
He followed the energy source forward. In a wooden crate in the corner lay a copper amulet covered in runes, with scraps of Martha's costume and Billy's electrician's cap beside it. Black energy swirled around the amulet, which gave off a faint, low hum.
Bai Haorui reached out to touch it, then abruptly drew back. "There's too much baleful energy in this amulet. Touch it and you'll suffer backlash." He took out a Soul-Subduing Talisman and stuck it onto the crate. Red light instantly flashed from the paper, forcing the black energy back a little. "I'll weaken the connection with a Soul-Subduing Talisman first. Be careful."
"You shouldn't have come!"
A hoarse voice suddenly came from the shadows. Walter Dixon slowly stepped out, wearing a tattered trench coat, his hair disheveled and his gaze crazed. He held a dagger that gleamed coldly. "They ruined my script! Ruined everything I had! So I'm going to destroy them too. This has nothing to do with you! You came here to die!"
He suddenly charged over and raised the amulet, reciting an incantation in Latin. The warehouse air instantly grew cold, the temperature plunging. Martha's and Billy's ghosts emerged from the walls, black energy coiling around them as they shrieked and lunged at the three.
"Watch out!" Dean shouted, raising his shotgun and pulling the trigger. A rock-salt round whistled out, slicing sharply through the air and striking Martha's ghost. She screamed, her white figure scattering into countless tiny points of light, only to re-form at a visible speed beneath the amulet's golden glow. "Damn it! That thing's a freaking cheat!" Dean cursed, twisting his wrist and pulling the trigger again and again. Rock-salt rounds rained toward the two ghosts, bursting into clouds of white mist against them.
Bai Haorui drew his peachwood sword, its blade densely engraved with Three-Five Evil-Slaying Talisman runes, and stepped forward to meet Billy's ghost. The sword cut through the air, trailing a sharp golden light as it chopped hard into the ghost's shoulder. With a dull thud, Billy screamed. Black energy churned in the dent in his head, and strands of baleful yin energy were torn apart by the sword's light. Instead of retreating, he advanced, sharp claws carrying a bone-piercing chill as they raked toward Bai Haorui's throat. Bai Haorui twisted aside, barely avoiding them. The claws skimmed his collar, their cutting wind stinging his neck.
"Sam! Find an opening and get the amulet!" Bai Haorui shouted. His left hand swiftly pulled out a Breaking Illusion Talisman, pinching it between his fingers before flinging it at Billy. The paper landed precisely on the ghost's forehead. Red light flared, and Billy's ghost instantly stalled, its movements slowing a fraction.
Sam seized the chance, ducking low and pushing off the ground as he lunged for the amulet in Walter's hand. But Walter abruptly turned, his dagger flashing coldly as he stabbed at Sam's chest. Sam's pupils contracted. He forcibly twisted into a sideways roll, and the dagger sliced his arm, blood instantly soaking his sleeve. Using the momentum of his roll, he swept out a leg and kicked Walter hard in the abdomen. Walter cried out in pain and staggered backward. The amulet flew from his hand and clattered onto the concrete floor.
"Trying to take what's mine? Too late!" Walter laughed madly. Ignoring the agony in his abdomen, he lunged forward, kicked Sam aside, and snatched up the amulet, clenching it tightly. "I've already used the spell to summon every wronged soul on the set! Hollywood's blood will stain this land red!"
Bloody liquid began seeping from the warehouse walls. Rustling came from the cracks between the bricks as more ghosts emerged through the walls in all different forms. Some were missing limbs; others were charred black. They surged toward the three in a dense mass, the cold ghostly wind making their scalps prickle.
Dean soon ran out of rock-salt rounds. He cursed, tossed aside the shotgun, and drew the short blade at his waist with a reverse grip. Coated in coarse salt, the blade gleamed coldly in the dim light. He charged toward the ghosts, swinging it in a clean arc into one that lunged at him. A piercing sizzle rang out as salt met ghostly energy. The ghost screamed and dispersed into a wisp of black smoke. "Come on! You think I'm scared of you?" Dean's roar was deafening. His short blade flashed up and down, every strike accurately targeting a ghost's vital point. For a time, the warehouse was filled with their wails.
Bai Haorui swung his peachwood sword with whistling force. Soul-Subduing Talismans and Breaking Illusion Talismans flew from his sleeves one after another, red and gold light bursting through the warehouse and forcing the ghosts back half a foot. But there were simply too many. His strength gradually began to fail, cold sweat covered his forehead, and his breathing grew heavy. Some ghosts only manifested when attacking, making them impossible to guard against. "Walter! Give up! You can't control them!" he shouted hoarsely. "Your obsession will only destroy you!"
Walter ignored him and kept chanting madly. The black energy around the amulet grew thicker and thicker, already beginning to backlash. Black lines appeared on his wrist, spreading upward like vines and seeping beads of blood.
Clutching his bleeding arm, Sam stared at the amulet in Walter's hand and suddenly remembered what he had discovered earlier on the set. He took out his phone and opened the camera-on the screen, the densely packed ghosts had nowhere to hide. Their outlines were clearly visible, even more distinct than to the naked eye. "Dean! Bai! Look at your phones!" he shouted, moving quickly with his phone raised. "Three meters ahead on your left! Martha's behind you! She's about to ambush you!"
Dean spun around at his words, stabbing his short blade precisely into the white figure behind him. Martha screamed as the salt-coated blade struck her, her form instantly fading by more than half. Bai Haorui also took out his phone. Guided by its screen, he pinched a Spirit-Calming Talisman between his fingers and flung it with force at the fiercest charred ghost. The paper stuck to it, red light surging and forcibly pinning it to the wall, unable to move. The three stood back-to-back: Dean handled close-range slashing, Bai Haorui controlled the battlefield with talismans, and Sam guided them with his phone. Their seamless teamwork carved out a patch of open space amid the ghosts.
Forced into a corner by the three, Walter watched more and more ghosts break free of his control. They no longer obeyed his commands and began attacking everything around them. A few even lunged at him. The madness gradually faded from his face. "No... impossible..." he muttered, his gaze unfocused. "They should obey me... I'm their master..."
More ghosts closed in around Walter. Black energy coiled around him, its icy touch making him tremble all over. Looking at the approaching ghosts, their faces filled with the same venomous resentment as his own, Walter suddenly burst into wild laughter. He laughed until tears streamed down his face, the sound shrill and despairing. "Ruined... it's all ruined..." He raised the amulet and, using every ounce of strength, smashed it onto the floor.
Bang!
The amulet shattered, golden light spraying in every direction. The black energy instantly ran wild, rampaging like a beast freed from its cage. Released from the amulet's restraints, the ghosts vented all their accumulated resentment on Walter. Martha's white figure lunged first, her sharp nails slicing open his throat and sending blood gushing out; Billy's ghost followed close behind, raking his claws hard across Walter's chest and tearing a gash deep enough to expose bone. More wronged souls from the studio swarmed over him, tearing his body completely apart. His screams cut off abruptly, leaving only blood and scraps of cloth scattered across the floor.
Blood splashed onto the screenplay manuscripts, staining the densely packed runes red.
"Go!" Bai Haorui shouted, taking out four Spirit-Calming Talismans and placing one in each corner of the warehouse. The papers flashed red, forming an invisible barrier that temporarily soothed the uncontrolled resentment. Dean grabbed Sam's arm, and the three raced over the wreckage and out of the warehouse. Behind them, the ghosts gradually dispersed in the talismans' light, leaving only piercing echoes.
The set was already in utter chaos, yet the director stood at the front of the crowd, shouting excitedly, "Film it! Film all of it! This is the best material we could ask for! Even better than the script!"
Veins bulged on Dean's forehead in his fury. He was about to charge over and punch someone, but Sam held him back firmly. "Don't do anything rash. We should go," Sam said, his voice exhausted. "People in Hollywood will only see this as a show. A show for their entertainment."
A few days later, with all three more or less recovered, they prepared to leave Hollywood. Passing a movie theater, they saw a huge Hell Hazers 2 poster on the wall-Tara held a silver gun, firing at a ghost on her phone screen, looking valiant and formidable. Beside the poster, a large slogan read, "Smartphone ghost hunting: Hollywood's new legend!"
In a corner of the poster were a vaguely plausible talisman and three figures with blurred faces. The talisman bore some resemblance to the Spirit-Calming Talismans Bai Haorui drew, but it was crooked and a complete mishmash.
Dean nearly jumped up and down with rage at the poster, almost crushing the water bottle in his hand. "Those bastards! We risk our lives exorcising ghosts, and they turn it into a movie and pixelate our faces?! And that talisman-they can't even copy it right!" He pointed at Tara on the poster, then could not help grinning foolishly. "Still, Tara looks really hot in that outfit... Should've had her wear that yesterday."
Sam looked at the poster and shook his head helplessly. Hollywood had turned real horror, Walter's tragedy, and the resentment of those wronged souls into entertainment for people's amusement. Before capital, anything could be packaged as a commodity, including fear.
Hearing what Dean said, Bai Haorui looked at the plagiarized talisman and rolled his eyes, his tone teasing. "So you're the bastard who got all the fucking perks? They could at least pay us something for the inspiration."
Tara appeared in front of the poster, giving an interview to reporters with a professional smile on her face. She was completely at ease, as though none of what had happened before had ever occurred.
As the black Impala drove out of Hollywood, the sun was slowly setting, painting the skyline a warm orange. Dean's complaints echoed through the car. "I should've gotten Tara's autograph! And some glamour shots!! A perfectly good outing, and it had to turn into a demon hunt!"
Sam leaned back in the passenger seat, looking at the sunset outside. "Walter was a genius," he said softly. "It's a shame capital destroyed his talent."
In the back seat, Bai Haorui took out a Five Emperor Coin and spun it between his fingers, his voice calm but carrying a trace of heaviness. "Capital can destroy talent, and it can turn real horror into movies for amusement. The scariest things in this world aren't ghosts, but human hearts-Walter's obsession, Brad's greed, the director's indifference, the distortions of capital."
Dean suddenly fell silent. He looked at Sam in the rearview mirror, then at Bai Haorui, and a smile tugged at his mouth. He floored the accelerator, and AC/DC blasted again, making the windows buzz. "Who cares! We're hunters. We kill things that hurt people!" he shouted. "Next time we pass through Hollywood, I'm definitely getting Tara into her movie outfit and trying some different positions~"
The Impala's taillights gradually disappeared at the end of the highway. Hollywood's lights remained dazzling, like a farce whose curtain never fell. But no one knew how many untold tragedies, and how many wandering wronged souls, lay beneath those brilliant lights.