They’re not monsters. They’re just lost, searching for answers in all the wrong places.
The building is impressive up close, all soaring glass and polished stone. There are already long lines forming at the main doors where security is checking tickets.
I bypass them and head to a side entrance markedStaff Only,where a large security guard is stationed.
“I’m here as one of Reed’s social media team,” I explain in my deepest Ash voice, showing him my phone with the confirmation email Reed sent after our catch-up.
He speaks into his radio, gets confirmation, and waves me through. “Straight ahead, through those doors.”
The auditorium is absolutely enormous and can easily seat thousands of people. The lights are dimmed except for the stage area, where people are rushing around frantically. Technicians adjusting massive lighting rigs, sound crew doing mic checks, and there’s someone with a headset and clipboard barking instructions.
I head down the center aisle toward the stage, and that’s when I spot Reed standing near the front in a pristine white suit with a black silk shirt underneath, looking like he thinks he’s some kind of messiah.
I almost gag but force a smile instead and approach.
“Ash! There you are!” He spots me immediately, his expression a mix of frazzled stress and manic energy. He’stalking fast, gesturing wildly. “We’re almost ready. This is going to be incredible. Huge. Life-changing for everyone here.”
“I’m excited to be part of it,” I lie smoothly.
“Here.” He shoves a phone into my hands, a basic smartphone with a simple black case. “I got you a phone to use for all the photography today. It’s already set up with access to our shared cloud folder.” He’s talking so fast I can barely keep up. “Remember, no video. That’s absolutely not permitted at my events. But we want lots of photos, high quality. Capture the energy, the emotion, the transformation happening in real time.”
“Got it, photos only?—”
“You shoot and then share to the folder, and my team backstage will have instant access. They’ll be posting throughout the event. I figured it’s easier if they handle the actual posting and you focus on getting the best possible photos. Can you handle that?”
“Oh, but I’m really good at social media and content creation, not just photos, and I thought?—”
“That’s all I need you to focus on!” His voice rises sharply, cutting me off. “Can you do that, Ash? Or did I make a mistake bringing you on?”
I force myself to nod. “Of course. I’ll be ready.” Though, I’m annoyed, as I really wanted access to his social media to take it apart.
“Good. You’re learning.” He pats my shoulder hard enough that it actually hurts. “See? You’re already improving. Taking direction like a real man.”
I grind my teeth so hard I’m worried I’ll crack a molar, but I smile instead. Even more motivated now to get as much damning footage as possible.
I accept the phone, noting that it has no password and minimal apps installed. That’s fine. I also have my own phone in my pocket for what I actually need.
“So exciting,” I say, looking around. “There are already people lining up outside. Hundreds of them.”
“Of course there are.” Reed’s chest puffs out with pride. “These men are desperate for guidance. Society has made them weak and lost, confused about their place in the world. They need someone to show them the truth. You’ll see today how much you’ll gain from my talk.”
He claps me hard on the shoulder again, then gestures for me to follow him. “Backstage is for staff time-out. We have refreshments, and you’re free to partake of them. Stay hydrated, stay focused.”
I follow him behind the stage to a hallway lined with doors. There’s a huge catering table spread with pastries, fruit, coffee, juice, and bottled water.
The hallway extends in both directions with numbered doors that I assume are dressing rooms for performers and entertainers who book this venue.
“We want exciting photos from behind the scenes too,” Reed continues, still talking rapidly. “And audience shots, people cheering, engaged, emotional. If you catch someone crying from the breakthrough they’re having, that would be amazing. Whatever you need to do to make it happen.”
He’s walking fast, and I’m hurrying behind him.
“Plus, lots of shots when I’m onstage. I have another professional photographer specifically for publicity shots of me, but yours are all for social content I’ll be using for months. Understand?”
“Yeah, I got it?—”
“And, Ash?” He stops abruptly at a door marked “1001” and pushes it open to reveal what looks like a combination dressingroom and office. Mirrors lined with lights, a leather couch, a desk with a laptop.
He turns to glance at me, his eyes cold. “Your job today is to just not be seen. Take all the photos, capture everything, but I don’t want you in my face. I don’t want to know you’re there. Invisible. Got it?”
