Chapter 3 Deleted Scene #1

Currently, I've been struggling with drafting Chapter 3 and have come to terms with the fact that I will likely have to scrap most everything within Chapter 3's script thus far. That said, I'll still share the scenes that could've been for the time being while I try to figure out a better direction to go with Chapter 3 as a whole. Here is the first deleted scene (some of it you have seen before, but with more tacked onto the scene and adding more tension to two characters in particular.)

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Chapter 3

HIM

“Turn your head this way, Mr. Gaudin.”

Adam obeys without a word, angling his head slightly to the left as gentle fingertips lift is chin just so.

There's the pop of a cap and something cool touches Adam's cheek.

The makeup artist currently standing behind him applies concealer to cover up the bags underneath Adam's eyes with a purple blending sponge, smiling at him encouragingly through the vanity mirror. 

Adam doesn't return the smile.

He hasn't for the last week.

His expression remains neutral, impassive even, and the artist wavers. 

Usually, he'd play his part to a T.

The modest singer and songwriter, Adam Guadin who always speaks to others with gentle charisma—no matter their status—radiating warmth and light wherever he goes.

Perfect.

Infallible.

A joy to work with.

But now?

Now he can feel his carefully curated facade crumbling because of the countless nights he's lost sleep, tossing and turning in bed, ruminating over when Elijah will give him a fucking update. 

He's so close to snapping, any wrong move liable to send him over the edge, a ticking time bomb in the truest sense. 

Because when it comes to you? He can never maintain his cool. 

He wants to pick up the chair and throw it against the wall in his frustration, impatiently waiting for the moment his phone buzzes.

Makeup Artist: Alright, could you please close your eyes for me and lean back just a bit?

He follows the artist's instructions, trying to quell his anger, but thoughts of you rise to the surface.

Not you with all of your snark and cunning on the highway, or your ferocity and resistance as you tried to stand toe-to-toe with him in a knife fight, or even the way you managed to seduce and thrill him when you pulled him down for that kiss.

No.

Instead he's forced to remember you in your weakest state, your body lying limp in his arms while he applied pressure to your wound.

Don't you dare die on me, little devil. 

Don't you fucking dare. 

He said through clenched teeth, hissing the words in your ear with venom as he tended to your injuries over his own while Saffron drove.

It bothers him more than he cares to admit, seeing you in that condition, but he convinces himself it's just because he needs you to complete his goal. 

He doesn't care whether you live or die otherwise. 

You dying would just make things annoying and inconvenient for him. 

He'd go back to square one. 

That's all. 

Is that really true? Or are you just lying to yourself?

The thought barrels past his defenses and he violently slams it down. 

He doesn't know where it came from and he doesn't fucking care, he refuses to let it take residency in his mind. 

He'd feel nothing if you died.

Not one damned ounce of remorse. 

Makeup Artist: …audin?

Adam: I'm sorry, what was that?

He wasn't listening and the artist smiles at him apologetically. 

Makeup Artist: There's something I needed to grab from my other makeup bag. I'll just be a moment. Hang tight, okay?

Adam says nothing as they leave the room, his arms folded over his chest as he observes himself in the mirror, scowling at the fact that he almost rivals Cain with how tired he looks. 

Drawn.

Tired.

Pathetic. 

Just another thing that ticks him off about this whole situation. 

He's had sleepless nights before, either from staying up late working or stalking his prey.

But he's never dealt with something like this before—this innate restlessness that's somehow managed to bury itself deep into the marrow of his bones.

He feels like he can't even sit still, wanting to pace back and forth like he's in the waiting room of a hospital.

It takes all of his willpower to stay in his seat. 

When his phone buzzes, Adam sucks in a sharp breath and then goes to check his messages.

Elijah.

Fucking finally.

He clicks on the message, his eyes scanning over the words, his nails biting into the skin of his arm so hard he almost bleeds. 

I'm sorry, Adam, but I've already told you…

All we can do is wait. 

We've done all we can on our end. The rest is up to them. 

Adam's hands curl around his phone, his blood rising in pressure.

He feels like he's being admonished by a parent.

And when his eyes hit the parting words on Elijah's message he finally boils over.

Adam: Asshole!

There's a shriek as Adam's fist connects with the vanity mirror.

He's breathing hard, his entire body trembling as he imagines grabbing Elijah by the throat and twisting his neck until it gives a satisfying snap. 

He wants to kill that doctor. 

Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to just leave and go and do exactly that.

They did everything they could? Bullshit. 

If that were true, you'd be awake by now rather than lying unconscious in a hospital bed for an entire week with no signs of waking.

They've done nothing. 

Adam withdraws his hand, shards of glass sticking out of his skin, his expression hard as he meets the gaze of his makeup artist.

They stand a few feet away in a state of shock. 

Their blue eyes are wide with terror, clutching a smaller black makeup bag to their chest.

Makeup artist: M-M–Mr. Gaudin?

Makeup artist: Are…are you okay?

Adam ignores them, slowly inspecting his bloody knuckles, red rivulets dripping down the length of his arm.

Okay?

Is he okay?

He resists the urge to let out a sardonic laugh, his expression becoming more pinched as he looks down at his phone where Elijah's text remains open.

The words that finally made him snap glaring up at him. 

I would suggest…

Maybe you prepare for the worst and come to terms with the fact that they might never wake up. 

All the best,

Dr. Elijah Boone. 

Adam seethes and he whirls back towards the mirror again, about ready to punch the glass with his other fist when he hears the creek of a dressing room door opening. 

The heel of a man's shoe clicks on the floor as the interloper steps inside. 

Saffron's disapproving gaze meets Adam's through the cracked mirror, masking it when he notices the makeup artist between them.

Makeup artist: Umm…

Saffron looks down at them with a polite smile.

Saffron: Can you excuse us for a moment?

They hesitate as their eyes dart from him to Adam and back again before nodding.

Makeup artist: Y-yes. Of course. Take care, Mr. Albrecht…M-Mr. Gaudin.

When the door clicks shut behind them, the room is left in heavy silence, palpable with tension of things left unsaid.

Adam: What?

He demands, turning to face his manager. 

Adam: If you have something to say, then say it. Otherwise? Leave. 

Saffron doesn't answer right away as he approaches Adam with slow, deliberate steps that convey he'll do no such thing.

He maintains a look of professionalism as he reaches Adam and bends at the waist to pick up Adam's discarded phone up off the floor, inspecting Elijah's message.

Adam swipes the device out of his hands before stuffing it into his back pocket with a snarl. 

Adam: What do you think you're doing? 

Saffron says nothing.

Shit. 

How much of it did he manage to read?

Adam sent out a number of texts before he received Elijah's most recent one, asking about your status, but getting no definitive answer until now. 

Did Saffron see those too?

Then again, he might already know considering he and Elijah are old “acquaintances.” 

He should've tread more carefully.

It doesn't matter if Adam insists that he needs you alive to achieve his goal. 

If Saffron sees you as a threat or a distraction to Adam, he'll either go above Adam and call on Him for assistance or make the decision of killing you in Adam's stead.

Adam knows him well enough by now to figure out what stunt he'd pull.

He almost did it back at the trailer after all. 

Saffron: My apologies. 

Saffron says, lifting his head so that his gaze meets Adam's.

He's wearing an expression that Adam's never seen before. 

Saffron: I figured if you were willing to leave it on the floor then you didn't mind anyone else seeing the contents of that message. 

Saffron: Perhaps you'd rather the makeup artist accidentally stumble upon it? You didn't seem to care very much when she witnessed your tantrum. So why not that as well?

Adam bristles and he steps up to Saffron, jabbing a finger at his chest.

Adam: I'd suggest you dislodge that stick out of your ass before I do something that we both know I won't fucking regret. 

Saffron: And I suggest—

He brushes Adam's finger away like he's swatting at a pesky fly.

Saffron: You get your act together.

Adam opens his mouth to retort, but Saffron pushes on, steam rolling Adam. 

Saffron: How well do you think it’ll bode for you when rumors spread, hmm? 

Saffron: That makeup artist—how do you know they're not going to go and inform the rest of the crew about your entire outburst? That, because of one drop in the bucket, we won't have a ripple effect on our hands? That our names won't become smeared?

Saffron: Because if you can't get a grip on your emotions gossip will spread. And then we'll be scrutinized, far more than ever and our every move will be watched and we'll no longer be able to do our part. 

Saffron: And what do you think happens then, hmm?

He steps up to Adam, fury actually flashing through his composed facade. 

A chip in his gentleman's armor. 

Saffron: I don't care if they're imperative to reaching your goal when it means that you are destroying everything we've worked so hard to build. I won't stand for it. I refuse. 

Saffron: And…

Saffron leans closer, resting a hand on Adam's shoulder as he murmurs into the other man's ear. 

Saffron: I'm certain He won't like hearing about this either.

Saffron: So I suggest you play your part and you play your part well. 

Withdrawing himself, Saffron gives Adam a bone chilling smile.

Saffron: Understand?

Oh, Adam understands. 

He understands perfectly well. 

Saffron is using Him as a vague threat in order to keep Adam obedient.

They both know He is the only one Adam won't defy.

He's also the entire reason Adam doesn't kill carelessly, sticking to those who are sent to him through text, rather than acting on his basic instinct—acting on bloodlust. 

It's why, when you become useless to him…

Adam will kill you.

At the end of the day, he will complete the task asked of him.

It's inevitable. 

Saffron: I've let you go on for this long because I know you said you needed them alive in order to fulfill your promise, but even my patience has its limits.

Saffron: So please behave.

Saffron: That's all I ask as your manager. 

Adam curls his lips into a sneer, hating the condescension in his tone, at the way he's looking at Adam like he's a child incapable of pulling himself together without proper discipline.

He's fooling no one with that act.

Adam: As my manager. Right. 

He spits, shoulder checking Saffron as he storms past and heads for the door, his hand pausing as it wraps around the knob.

He's not acting like his manager. 

He's acting like his father. 

And that—more than anything—sets him off.

Fine. 

He wants to use Him as a weapon in order to berate Adam and tighten the proverbial collar clipped around his neck?

Then Adam will do everything that's asked of him and more. 

But when this is all said and done?

There's no fucking way he's giving him you.

Dead or alive. 

Saffron will have to pry you from his cold dead hands if that's the case. 

And with the finality of that thought in mind, Adam slams the door shut behind him, leaving Saffron standing alone in the center of the purple haired singers dressing room.