Chapter 8
The morning was crisp and overcast—one of those gray Los Angeles days where everything looked like it had been softened in post. Blake Cross stood at the corner of Sunset and La Brea, a messenger bag slung across his shoulder, hoodie up, hands in his pockets. Inside the bag were two scripts. Both finished. Both registered.
The Surgeon and Paranormal Activity.
He exhaled, slow and focused, watching a bus rattle by.
The night before, he had spent just under an hour at the WGA building. Two submissions, fast-tracked. A hundred dollars each. Done. Sealed and timestamped. The registration numbers are already tucked into the cover pages. The system hadn't flagged Paranormal Activity because it had been submitted before the Hardcore update. That meant the movie memory for that one still existed.
He had finished it in a day.
As for The Surgeon...
Well, that had taken something else entirely.
And now both sat neatly printed, clipped, and placed inside the folder under his arm—pages of sweat, memory, obsession, and one hell of a gamble.
Blake stepped into the RCA building just after noon.
The receptionist smiled as he passed—he was starting to be recognized. Familiar. Not a stranger anymore. That alone was surreal.
He took the elevator to the 12th floor and walked past the frosted-glass doors into Martin's office.
"Uncle Martin," he greeted, voice even.
Martin glanced up from behind a stack of papers. "Blake." His face cracked into a grin. "You got something for me?"
Blake nodded and walked forward, opening his bag. He carefully placed two printed scripts on the desk—one atop the other. The first was labeled in bold:
(PARANORMAL ACTIVITY)
Written by Blake Cross
Under it—
(THE SURGEON)
Written by Blake Cross
Martin raised an eyebrow. "Two at once? You're spoiling me."
Blake gave a small smile. "Start with Paranormal Activity. It's a fast read."
Martin leaned back in his chair, cracked his knuckles, and opened the first script. "You pitch it to me?"
"Found footage," Blake said simply. "Cheap to shoot. Single location. Psychological tension. The fear builds in what you don't see, not what you do."
Martin blinked. "Sounds like a gimmick."
"It does. Until you read it."
Martin raised the script and started. Silence stretched. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the office for the next thirty minutes. Blake didn't move, didn't fidget. He'd memorized every beat.
Half an hour later, Martin set the script down.
He didn't speak right away.
Then he said, "If this is made the right way—it's going to blow the damn roof off the theatres."
Blake smirked. "I know."
"This kind of minimalism? No one's done it. Not like this. It's raw. Smart. Creepy in the right way."
He looked at the second script. "And this?"
Blake didn't answer. Just nodded slowly, almost somberly.
Martin picked up The Surgeon. The paper felt heavier somehow.
He didn't skim.
He read.
The pages turned slower. His brow furrowed. His expression shifted—eyes narrowing, softening. A line here made him chuckle, another drew a sharp breath. By page thirty, he was leaning forward. By page seventy, he was completely still. Not even blinking much.
Blake didn't speak. He just watched.
Until, finally, Martin turned the last page.
He set the script down with both hands. Silent for a long moment.
Then he looked at Blake.
And smiled.
"Stephen would've loved this," he said softly.
Blake's breath hitched. "You think so?"
Martin nodded. "You even had his look while I read. That same intense focus he used to get when he knew a script was right. The kind of story that keeps you up at night, wondering about it."
He exhaled. "Blake, this… this is a masterpiece."
Blake sat back, lips pressed tight.
Martin continued, voice quiet now, reverent. "You're not just good, Blake. You've got your father's blood. His instincts. But this—this is something else. It's not just talent. It's pain. Precision. And purpose."
He tapped the front page gently.
"Is it patented?"
Blake nodded. "Registered. Verified. No matches."
Martin smiled wider. "Good."
The room went still again. The air felt charged. Like something real had just happened—something that wouldn't be undone.
Blake spoke, just above a whisper. "He tanked once, didn't he?"
Martin blinked. "What?"
"My dad. You said he worked with Dave, right?"
Martin nodded slowly. "Yeah. About five years ago. Script was strong—but in the wrong market, at the wrong time. It flopped hard. They took it personally. Stephen especially."
Blake looked out the window, then back. "You think Dave would read The Surgeon?"
Martin grinned. "He's the only one I want to show it to."
It was late afternoon when Blake arrived at the quiet neighborhood just outside Studio City. The address Uncle Martin gave him led to a two-story modern house tucked behind tall hedges, nothing extravagant, but tasteful and private. A silver-gray vintage Mustang sat in the driveway.
Dave Flincher's home.
Blake rang the bell.
Footsteps approached, then the door opened. The man who stood there looked nothing like the intense, shadow-dwelling auteur Blake had imagined. He wore a soft gray hoodie, jeans, and slippers. His face was calm, almost amused.
"You must be Cross," Dave said. "Come on in."
Five years ago, Dave Flincher and Stephen Cross tried to change Hollywood.
Before that, they had made history. Stephen wrote the first two films Dave ever directed. One a gritty crime drama about a photographer caught in a serial killer's trail. The other, a cold psychological tale about truth and obsession. Both hits. Both icons of their time.
Dave became one of Hollywood's most sought-after directors.
Stephen became a legend among writers.
Then came Code: Zodiac.
A story about a journalist obsessed with a series of unsolved murders that spanned decades, spanning timelines and unraveling identities. It was dense, deliberate, and unforgiving.
Audiences hated it.
Too long. Too procedural. No payoff. They expected resolution. It gave them ambiguity.
Stephen took it hard.
His previous scripts were hits. Every single one. This was his first flop. And it was personal.
He never wrote again.
But time was kind to Code: Zodiac.
Today, it's revered as a misunderstood masterpiece. A cult classic. A character study buried in the skin of a thriller.
Dave's only regret?
Stephen wasn't around to see it.
They sat in the study, a low-lit room lined with records and script books. Blake handed over a printed copy of The Surgeon.
"You read it?" Blake asked.
Dave nodded. "Twice."
He tapped the cover with his index finger. "This script isn't just good. It's crafted. The structure is tight. The tension breathes. The character arcs... they hurt in the right places. That's rare."
Blake swallowed, unsure how to respond.
"I saw your father in these pages," Dave said softly. "But I also saw something else."
He looked at Blake now with interest—not as Stephen's son, but as a creator.
"Stephen was a genius with the pen, but he never wanted to direct. He didn't think visually. You? You do. The way you write transitions, the way you build atmosphere, it's not just words. It's a movement."
Blake was silent.
Dave leaned forward. "I don't hand out movies to people I meet once. And I'm not about to direct something just because I knew your father. That's not how this works. But I'll tell you what I will do."
He reached into his drawer and pulled out a thick packet. "I'm shooting a new film in two months. It needs Assistant Directors. You interested?"
Blake blinked. "You want me to be an AD?"
"You want to direct someday, don't you? You think writing a perfect script is enough? Try managing a crew. Dealing with lighting delays. Weather. Ego. Investors. Your father never got to learn that side."
Blake took the packet. His hands were steady.
"You say yes, you'll be on set from day one," Dave said. "And if you prove you can handle it—we'll talk again. Maybe about The Surgeon."
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. As Blake stepped back into the quiet of the city, he didn't feel uncertain anymore.
Stephen Cross may have left behind a name.
But Blake Cross was about to earn his own.
Author's Note:
Well, Here you go the Chapter 8, I hope you guys liked it, Comment down your thoughts,
See you in the next Chapter,
Peace!