You have been a worthy adversary, I’ll give you that. And a fan favourite – I’ve seen what they all post online. If anyone’s going to take me down, that all want it to be you. Of course, there’s the fan fiction, putting us together in all kinds of sexy situations – some of them so perverted not even my character could come up with them! So of course, it’s all heading to the final showdown. Just you and me on the rooftop. And only one of us is going to come down using the elevator!
But I didn’t murder my way through four seasons just for you to do me in and put an end to all my dreams of renewal for a fifth. What the fans, the execs, the critics, what they all fail to realise that without me there is no show. I’m the one who makes the series so compelling. Millions all around the world have watched me lie, cheat and murder my way to the top. I’ve never been more popular. Sure, the season finale will draw in the crowds, but there’s been a rewrite.
I’m not going down. You are.
Your last-minute heroics will fail. I will rise again and you will plummet to your doom.
And the episode will go down as the most notorious in television history.
What you don’t know about me is I’m a method actor. Oh, yeah, always have been. How do you think I got the role in the first place? Sure, I did a great audition but so did others. Unfortunately, an outbreak of gastroenteritis during the call-backs whittled down the field until I was the last man standing.
And when they tried to replace me – you know, at the end of season three when I was in a car accident, a fireball! They wanted me to come back with a new face. Sadly, their choice of replacement met with a real car accident and was…unable to fulfil his contract.
Of course, there were rumours of ‘off-camera shenanigans’ but that just added to the mystique of the show. They couldn’t ask for better publicity.
And so I reprised the role I had created and the ratings were better than ever. More victims! More double-crosses!
But now they want to cancel the show. They want to cancel me. Well, I’m not finished yet. I’m not going down without a fight. It’s not in my…character.
Look at you, preening in the make-up chair. The world at your feet.
At least, you’ll be remembered this way, in your prime. Unless someone releases photos of your mangled corpse, splattered across the sidewalk, then that’s what everyone will think about if your name crops up. Such a tragic loss! So youthful! What a waste of beauty!
Well, let’s get to it. I’ll see you on set. The drugs in your latte will kick in. You’ll be disoriented but, ever professional, you’ll want to continue. And it will be so easy for me, in our climactic rooftop tussle, to tip you over the edge…
This is MY show. It’s all about ME, and nobody’s going to cancel me.
William Stafford (the Novelist, not the Poet) 