Kill Flash [antikvár]

Fade InTwo DAYS AFTER the murdcr, a videotape arrived with his mail.Gill Kranish, thinking it was one of the dozens of audition tapes his production company received daily, popped it into the VCR in his office. The screen filled with a blurred closeup of a face: a nose that gaped with pores like craters, the liquid blue of an iris, a widening pupil as black as a bean. Then the image cleared. The only sound came from Kranish, who made a noise like hissing steam.He recognized the place, the person. It was inside the motor home on the set two days ago and the man was J.B. Domer. He was gagged, arms stretched out over his head and tied to the legs of the couch, ankles bound to the other end of the couch so he looked as if he were on a medieval rack, being slowly pulled apart. His head was raised a few inches from the couch. His terrified eyes were following whoever held the camera. The soundlessness, the absolute silence from the screen, seemed to quiver in the air around Kranish's head. An acid taste rolled over his tongue. He wanted to shut off the machine, knew that he should, but he couldn't move. He stared at the screen.The image tilted, the room widened as the person with the camera stepped back away from Domer. He tried to scream, tendons stood out in his neck, he struggled to yank his hands and arms free.Kranish blinked. His muscles tightened. His head be-1