28-year-old Darryl Pine was the eldest of three children in a close-knit family of five. His father was a behavioral scientist, his mother, an accountant. Darryl's younger sister Tara was an aspiring model on her way up the ladder. And Molly, the baby girl, was a freshman at NYU.
Darryl enjoyed the closeness he shared with his parents and siblings. While growing up, theirs was the house all their friends flocked to after school and during holidays. But as time passed, Darryl felt the need to branch out on his own and put a little distance between them. He had grown too comfortable at home. So with his parents' blessing, he moved to Las Vegas and disappeared into the anonymity of the place. But he never forgot his upbringing.
For the first year or so Darryl simply enjoyed his independence. He gambled a bit the first week he moved to Vegas but quickly realized there was no money to be made that way. The odds were always in the casinos' favor. Next he explored every inch of the twenty-four hour town. The buildings, the architecture of the casinos (each one larger than the next), and the history of the place all held a kind of fascination for him.
It was right after one of his explorations that fate put him in the path of his first - and he hoped only - job, that of location scout for one of the three major motion picture studios.He had gotten the position because of his discerning photographer's eye. Darryl loved taking pictures. His father had given him a used Leica for his tenth birthday and since that time he was rarely seen without it. Photography occupied his sleeping and waking thoughts so much during high school that Darryl assumed it would be his eventual career. But once he got the position of location scout, he couldn't imagine doing anything else with his life. So for the last six years Darryl had been quite happily employed.
With each assignment he got to see places and things he otherwise would never even know existed. During his six years with the studio Darryl had traveled to well-known places like Rio and Hawaii as well as little locations so obscure that they were not even noted on most maps. And since it was his job to find and secure in advance all the suitable places for the studio's movies to be filmed, Darryl was often out of touch for weeks at a time...longer if the director was a perfectionist like most of them tended to be.
Oh, he checked in every few weeks or so when he could. But if he was exploring some tiny tropical locale or barely civilized area, it was no big deal for long spans of time to pass without his family hearing his voice. His parents never fully stopped worrying about him but as his father reassured Darryl, they would trust the man he had become to not take unnecessary chances or make unwise decisions.
Without much success Darryl tried to recall if a studio assignment was somehow connected to his current circumstances. There was an incessant drumming coming from the room next door. It sounded like the racket the guy at the subway station made on the overturned buckets he banged for spare change. Darryl promised himself that as soon as the bed stopped spinning and he was able to stand, he would go and confront the inconsiderate asshole.
After a while, Darryl realized that it was not drumming he heard. It was the sound of his own blood pulsing in his ears. Idly he wondered if he was having a stroke. The last thing he coherently recalled was… Damn! His mind was a blank. Darryl took a deep breath and tried to push down the rising sense of panic he felt. If he was having a stroke, there was no telling how long he would lie there before help arrived. As things stood, he faced two major obstacles with his current situation: there wasn't anyone who would be looking for him anytime soon, and two, he didn't know where the hell he was.
Darryl managed to partially force open eyes that were gummy with sleep. He blinked continually, trying to jump start a brain that seemed unable or unwilling to take in his surroundings. He did not know if it was morning or night; the heavy velvet drapes were pulled shut and from what little Darryl could see, he was in a hotel room of some sort. The decor was red everywhere he looked. The padded walls were red, matching the gaudy red carpet. The satin sheets and pillow beneath him were that same shade of red and Darryl knew with certainty that this was not the type of place he would ever stay.
The unlikely surroundings only added to his confusion. With a deep groan, Darryl managed to drag his head to the other side. When his stomach began to lurch and threatened to empty, Darryl closed his eyes and concentrated on peaceful, still thoughts that would calm his nausea.
After a few minutes, he felt well enough to try again. With supreme effort, he raised his throbbing head from the cool satin. And wished he hadn't bothered. He could not see anything past the substantial sheet-covered mound beside him in the bed. "Wha-?"
Darryl levered himself into an upright position. He did so in stages, pausing between each one to allow his body to adjust. His movements were slow and deliberate, yet his body ached with a level of soreness that Darryl hadn't experienced since his days on the high school wrestling team. Darryl could not decide which was more painful at the moment - the insistent ache between his eyes, or the twinge of soreness in his back and thighs. Groaning softly. he turned on the heart-shaped lamp on the bedside table.
He had no time to wonder about the room's garish decor. A slight movement from the mound beside him made Darryl reach out and slowly peel back the sheet. An expanse of brown skin at least twice his size lay snoring softly beside him. As Darryl stared in shock and confusion, the stranger rolled over. "Oh, fuck!" The panicked exclamation flew from Darryl's lips. "I'm in bed with Forest Whitaker!"
End Notes:
Darryl Pine - Daniel Gillies
