“And this corresponded to the actual crime scene?”Dr.White asked.
“Yes.Details she couldn't have known through conventional means.”
Dr.White sighed softly.“This is concerning, but I don’t find it entirely surprising.Piper's sensitivity has always been acute.Please keep me informed of any developments, and try to make time to see her today if possible.These episodes can be extremely distressing, especially when validated by real events.”
“I will,” Jenna promised.“Thank you, Doctor.And I don’t need to tell you …”
“Yes, I know.I won’t tell anybody the details of the murder.”
“Thanks.”
The call ended, and the Mountain View Theater appeared around the next bend, an imposing structure of stone and glass nestled against the backdrop of rolling hills that gave the venue its name.Jenna pulled into the parking lot, noting several other parked vehicles.
As they approached the front entrance, the theater loomed over them, its stone facade weathered to a soft gray, massive timber beams jutting from beneath a sweeping glass atrium that reflected the autumn sky like a still mountain lake.Jenna pulled open the heavy glass door, stepping into the lobby with its soaring ceilings, walls adorned with framed vintage playbills and photographs of past productions.
Then they heard it—a sound that cut through the hushed atmosphere.A woman's voice, raw with emotion, rising and falling in great heaving sobs that echoed from somewhere deep within the building.
Jake muttered a question, “Someone rehearsing a part?”
Jenna shook her head slightly.This wasn't the controlled crying of an actress in rehearsal.This was real pain, unfiltered and primal—the kind that tore from a person's chest without permission.
“This way,” she replied, following the sound toward the main auditorium doors.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jenna paused at the back of the auditorium and Jake came to a stop beside her.On stage, seven people stood in various postures of discomfort while an eighth—a woman with long dark hair—had sunk to her knees, her shoulders heaving with each sob.
“We should stay back,” Jake whispered, his voice barely audible.
Jenna moved deeper into the darkness at the rear of the auditorium.From this vantage point, they could observe without immediately announcing their presence.The theater seats—empty and silent—stretched before them in neat rows, their burgundy upholstery faded from years of use.
A man seated in the front row was watching the scene on stage intently.Gregory Ashton, Jenna presumed, the theater's managing director.A woman with a rigidly upright posture was seated beside him.
“Tell her again,” Gregory called out to a young man on the stage who was leaning over the crying woman.“Tell her exactly what you think of her.”
The young man hesitated, shifting from one foot to another.“I...I think we've gone far enough with this exercise.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”Gregory's voice cut through the auditorium.“You're here to learn how to access raw emotion, not to hide from it.Again.Tell her what you really think.”
The young man's face tightened, but he turned to the woman on her knees.“You're pathetic,” he said, his voice flat.“You're talentless.Everyone just tolerates you because they pity you.”
The woman's crying intensified, again becoming the keening wail that Jenna had heard from the lobby.
Exercise?she wondered.This seemed less like an acting exercise and more like emotional torture, with the thin line between performance and real pain completely erased.
The other students had formed a loose semicircle, their expressions ranging from fascination to horror.One girl had wrapped her arms around herself as if for protection.Another was staring at the floor, unable to watch.A third kept glancing at Gregory, seemingly seeking some sign that this exercise should end.
“Now tell her about her marriage,” Gregory directed, leaning further forward.“Tell her why her husband left her.”
Something in the air shifted—a collective intake of breath from the group on stage.The tension ratcheted up another notch.
“I can't,” the young man said, his voice breaking.“This isn't right.”
“You can and you will,” Gregory insisted.“Acting is truth.If you can't speak truth, you have no place on my stage.”
The young man tried again.“He left because—”
“Stop it!”Another male student stepped forward, breaking the semicircle.Tall and lanky, with dark hair that fell across his forehead, he moved to stand between the young man and the crying woman.“This has gone too far, Mr.Ashton.This isn't an acting exercise anymore; it's cruelty.”
