Reality's Dread

The heat was oppressive as the small boat made its way down the Congo River. On either side was a verdant wall of plants, the branches forming a sensory barrier to what lay beyond while the twisted roots clawed at the murky surface of the water. The shadows that fell did little to cool those who passed through the stagnant, humid air. The sounds of the jungle came in shrieks and whistles of unknown origin. This was the heart of darkest Africa, written about in harrowing tales meant to fill the reader with all the dread of experiencing a primitive, alien world. Titillating stories about the benefits of colonialism. Manifestos of civilized supremacy. Despite that, one could not venture into a place this wild and not feel a certain primordial dread at all that lay undiscovered and undisturbed in the dark unknown.

Justin Talloway certainly felt it. Beyond the heat and the clouds of biting insects, there was something more to this stretch of jungle. They had left the main river, traversing down a forgotten and unnamed estuary. He was beginning to think that this whole endeavor might have been a mistake. The air contained a dark sentience, malevolent and beckoning. Only the unsteady sounds of the boat’s engine gave him any sense of peace. It was a reminder that civilization was real; an anchor to the world they had left behind. What comfort that gave him was quickly being overtaken the further they moved away from the safety of the civilized world.

Fear had been what drove him here. Once, the name Justin Talloway was known worldwide, as an international action star. His films, collectively called the Matt Hunter Series, were pulpy adventures that had critics once hailing Talloway as the next Harrison Ford. He had believed the critics then. He lived his life with carefree excess. He had multi-million dollar homes on both coasts, not that he was home much. He traveled the world, enjoying weeks long stays at the finest hotels, dating supermodels while he cherry picked projects from the best scripts and the best directors. It was fun while it lasted, which wasn’t that long. Because while Talloway himself possessed a natural charisma that could open any door and flutter hearts, Hollywood quickly learned the truth: he couldn’t act worth a damn. As Matt Hunter, Talloway could swagger through scene after scene, fighting evil and always get the girl. But given anything that required nuance found him stiff, stunted, and unable to convey even an inkling of emotion.

Things might have worked out okay for him but the audience for his films started demanding more from their characters. The same stories of swooning women, foreign villains, and the taking of forgotten relics that had thrilled audiences once were now seen as misogynistic, racist, and culturally insensitive. People today wanted more from their heroes and it was something that Talloway couldn’t deliver. When the fourth Matt Hunter movie was a box office dud the offers dried up and it was generally considered that Justin Talloway was a has been. First to go were the cars and other expensive toys he had acquired over the years. Then he was forced to sell his home in Los Angeles and his New York penthouse. Talloway saw his life careening toward rock bottom with no idea how to stop it.

Then his agent called, something that had not happened in over a year, with an offer, “It’s a good deal Justin. We’re talking prime-time on cable. But more importantly they want you and are willing to pay to get you.”

“I don’t know. Reality TV? It seems like that’s a desperation move. Are we really ready to throw in the towel on the big stuff,” Talloway answered.

His agent started with a sigh, “There is no more big stuff. Your career is done. Nobody wants you, and believe me I’ve tried. This thing, its National Geographic, it's a good offer, and more importantly its classy. You should see some of the shit that’s been coming in for you. Right now there’s an offer on my desk for a werewolf movie with no money that shoots for 5 weeks in the ass end of Slovakia for less than one percent of what we used to get from the studios. This offer is a godsend. Take the fucking deal.”

And so Talloway had. The offer was for a show, exploring rumors of ancient and forgotten lore from around the world, with him as its host. This trip to the Congo was to be a two-hour premiere that, if the ratings were solid, would lead to a full series order. Todd Emerson, who was the young producer of the show, was a huge Matt Hunter fan. It had been his idea to bring Talloway on. While it certainly was not the path that he had wanted his career to take, Talloway eventually warmed to the idea of doing a show like this. His agent was right, the show had class, which had been in rather short supply in his life for a long time. At nearly forty, maybe it was time to start thinking smarter.

As he stood reminiscing at the bow of the churning boat, Emerson joined him and stared out at the jungle around them. His hand unconsciously slapped at a biting insect on his forearm. Talloway liked Emerson, with his boyish looks and unabashed enthusiasm for the project and for Talloway himself. The two had taken an instant liking to one another and even after only a few weeks were becoming good friends.

“It must be a little surreal,” he said glancing at Talloway.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you pretended to do this for a long time. Now you’re really doing it, chasing after a legend,” Emerson grinned. Talloway hadn’t thought of it that way. It made him smile.

“I guess you're right. Let’s just hope that we aren’t attacked by any lost tribes of cannibals,” he said, winking at Emerson who laughed.

“Matt Hunter and the Eye of the Amazon. That one is my favorite,” he slapped Talloway on the shoulder and disappeared back into the boat. He could hear the Congolese crew shouting to one another behind him. They must be getting close to their destination. Talloway wiped some of the sweat from his forehead and sighed. Time to go to work.