“Pierre, you are in charge of finding out what professionals we will need for the filming. Contact schools, maybe we can rent some equipment and find students in need of a project. We’re extra low on cash so we can’t afford better than that.”

I thought this would be easier for him, since he was the most likely to have the necessary contacts for that part. He nodded, walked out the door and promised to send us feedback as soon as he found something.

“Abby, you will have to find a way to raise a little money if you want to see this project become real. Maybe a crowdfunding campaign? Some organisations that might be interested, perhaps? Maybe look for talk groups or even churches if you’re a believer. I won’t take any responsibility on that regard, though. This is completely up to you and your own abilities. Think you can do it?”

As soon as I mentioned the crowdfunding idea, she jumped on her feet and started waltzing around my bedroom. I concluded that she liked the idea. So I sent her on her way, told her we would all have a conference call the next day, and finally grabbed my keys and what little energy I had left to go buy some food and coffee..

I was exhausted. My original plan had been to take a break from everything and sleep for three days straight after the end of the translation, but that was hardly an option now. I had let them drag me into this and had no other choice but to give up on sleep for a while longer.

I started by contacting an old friend of mine with whom I had lost touch, and spent more than an hour on the phone catching up on what had happened in our lives while I was shut in. When we finally ran out of news, I asked for her help in designing the costumes. I sent her the character sheets I had made during the writing, a few examples of costumes I imagined would work, and she agreed to take a look. I wouldn’t get any better than this, so I thanked her and bid my time. I could only hope she would be able to complete at least one or two before our meeting with the other patients.

I didn’t know how much a sewing machine cost, but I knew that there was no way I could afford one. I couldn’t borrow one either, so I let it at that for the moment and moved on to the next, much harder part. Organising. Scheduling. Planning. These words had defined my job for a long time and I was no stranger to it, but there was a big problem here : I didn’t have anything to work with.

How do you organise a project when you know nothing about how it works, what’s supposed to be done and by whom? I didn’t even know how many people were going to be involved in it!

“Relax, M. Take a deep breath. You got this. First, coffee. Next, pen and paper. Clean the table, make room, put on some random music and get to work. You can do it. Just… Don’t fall asleep.”

I woke up on the sound of someone knocking at my door. I was sprawled over the table, pen in hand, paper all over the place. My hair was a mess and there probably was ink all over my face, judging by the look of my visitor when I opened the door.

“Erm… M? Is this a bad time? I can come back later if you would prefer.”

Nobody knew my address except for a few friends and my therapist. Not even my editor knew where I lived. How had this weirdo found out? Hang on a minute, on a closer look, he reminds me of someone...

“Who are you, and what in the name of food are you doing here?”

I was being rude, but I had just been woken up in a very uncomfortable situation, with ink stains all over my face and my hair looking like I had just been electrified. I was in no mood for politeness with a stranger that reminded me of… who? I couldn’t quite remember, but I knew this guy had a familiar face.

“Can I come in? I have important things to tell you, and it’s cold in the hallway. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Oh no. No no no no no. This scene is all too familiar. I don’t want any flashbacks now, and I won’t take any risks. That guy is staying in the hallway until I know who he is and what he wants.

I could sense my anxiety slowly rising, and had nothing close to hand to calm it down. I couldn’t run for a smoke or he would take that at an invitation to come in. Damned. The lack of coffee, food and sleep added up to the anxiety, and the sweet feeling of invincibility that comes with an adrenaline rush tried to take control of my mind. My eyes dilated, and there was no way I could stop my favorite sadistic smile from showing. I knew I looked crazy. I didn’t care. That was my best, my only defense.

I could barely hold my inner self shackled. That guy had better be quick.

“Calm down miss, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk! You obviously don’t remember me, but I used to be friends with your mother when you were little. I got your address through her. She told me about your book and the movie you wanted to make of it, so I thought I could perhaps offer my help...”

Right. It clicked now. I knew why my reaction was so strong towards that man. I didn’t want his help. I didn’t want anything to do with him. That bastard had made my mama cry, and even if I was too young to understand, I always had the feeling that it was more than just heartbreak.

I reached for something vaguely resembling a weapon, in this case a ballpoint pen. Then, as politely as possible, my wicked smile still plastered on my face, told him to hit the road if he wanted all his body parts to remain attached to the main one. I probably shouldn’t have reacted so violently, or at least I could have asked him why he contacted my mother again. But I was in no condition to think at all and acted only on instincts.

No matter his intentions, he shouldn’t have come here uninvited. He didn’t even say his name. If it was the man from my childhood, he deserved to be thrown out of every door and window he tried to come through. Nobody makes my mama cry.

If it wasn’t him, he was still a trespasser who had no reason to knock on my door. I put the pen down. Now. Coffee. Back to work. We have things to do.