October 26
They started at seven in the morning the next day and didn't quite finish, though they came close, only to resume the following day again at the same hour. The weather was oppressive, and the frosts of the past months were beginning to make themselves felt, in contrast to the unbearable heat of the West Coast. The cold was different—more manageable, in Billy's view—and his desire to keep moving forward never wavered. Notifications reached him at five every morning; he took his time responding to each one with as much care and focus as he could muster.
Now, there was a growing anticipation around the funding coming from Stanford University. He typically invested at least two to three million in student-led projects, and the anchor date was set to drift toward January a timeline he accepted without hesitation. There was no alternative but to generate returns from companies that quietly made money, even if it meant pouring in what seemed like insane sums for such young minds. Billy supported anything that sparked his interest; now he wanted to move into renewable energy, and he planned to speak with the dean to push efforts in that direction. He would give them money—plenty of it—to sustain further research that interested him: psychology, politics, philosophy, art, engineering. He simply kept pouring more into a university that seemed to have no ceiling.
In return, they consistently brought him opportunities—business ventures, usage rights, patents, trained personnel, and connections across every professional field. A vast network intertwined with the University of California, Berkeley, Princeton University, Columbia University, and institutions across New York. Quietly, all of them wanted a share of Billy, one of their most prolific benefactors, widely known for giving money to keep education from collapsing.
-—Good morning. —Christina Ricci said, hurrying to catch up with him. She was the kind of person who ran early in the morning just to greet him and ask about his day.
-—These are educational investments. —Billy replied, gesturing to the documents. They used to send lengthy manuals, but he had cut that down to a single rule: return it and ask for a five-page summary, or they wouldn't receive a cent. His time was gold, so now they sent concise two-page briefs, tightly written.
-So what exactly is it that you do? —Christina asked, her wide eyes carrying the innocence she still held onto. She spoke of how much strength she needed; her recent shoots had been exhausting, with directors who often pushed beyond limits.
-I read through the offers carefully. Like this company that wants to build medical equipment. I mark it, and send someone to review all their research. And if I'm interested, I can commission a full study on its viability before deciding whether to fund it. —Billy explained.
-It sounds like you do a lot for young people in this country. —Christina said, walking beside him as she skimmed through the papers.
She murmured something like agreement—perhaps just a quiet yes. She needed time to fully grasp it all, though she also needed to wake up properly. Maybe then she would keep reading. In truth, for some time now, she had been conducting her own kind of study. Detached, she thought today might be the day she returned to the book she was writing. Billy seemed like a clock—she noticed he only picked up the pen every three days, never allowing it to overwhelm him.
-Then I suppose it will become a fortune. —Christina said. For smaller matters, she was someone Billy had already envisioned—she would be Mara Jade in Star Wars, and also a young elf in The Lord of the Rings.
…
The roles were very intense. Billy noticed the transformation in his character was minimal, almost subtle—like two bottles of wine apart. He wondered whether to fear the difference or the complexity that emerged when a person fully embraced what remained. Billy gave Ichabod a stronger presence, a breath, a palpable fear, a trace of cowardice that surfaced whenever he tried to fulfill what was expected of him.
Christina's acting had that quality where you could watch it over and over. She had a way of holding people in place. Yet he had also seen how naturally she could step into darker roles, cruel, sharp-edged characters, the kind meant for rogues.
-—You need to step in and do your part. —Scott Rudin said, overseeing the staging. In recent days, he had taken to observing more closely. Even so, he admitted that without Jim Gianopulos, Billy might lose his mind—the production was demanding, meticulous, every role had to be precise.
-Scene 132, take 3.—
EXTERIOR. FOREST — NIGHT
Katrina rises, dazed. Lady Van Tassel watches her.
KATRINA
You… you're alive.
LADY VAN TASSEL
Am I really? Or are you and young Masbath dead alongside me?
Katrina looks toward young Masbath, and beyond him, the dying fire.
YOUNG MASBATH
She commands the Horseman.
LADY VAN TASSEL
And quite well, wouldn't you agree?
Almost finished.
THUNDER again. The wind begins to rise.
LADY VAN TASSEL
(through the wind)
Ride tonight.
KATRINA
My father saw you die.
LADY VAN TASSEL
He saw me fall… saw the Horseman closing in as he fled. Things I wanted him to see. But as long as I control the Horseman, he cannot harm me.
Baltus didn't stay long enough to learn the truth. He fled like a coward, blind to my fate.
YOUNG MASBATH
Then whose body was it…?
LADY VAN TASSEL
The lovely servant Sarah's. I killed her and kept her hidden until I needed her. And when I return to the house tomorrow, my version of the truth will prevail.
(feigning gentleness)
There I was that fateful day, following Baltus into the woods. I didn't know what he was planning… where he was going. I feared for his safety.
Katrina carefully shifts her supporting hand, feels a rock, and grips it.
LADY VAN TASSEL
Imagine my surprise when I found him entangled with a mere servant. A girl who, it seemed, had become his secret love.
KATRINA
No one will believe your lies, you witch.
LADY VAN TASSEL
This witch will see your mouth silenced forever soon enough. But… I won't be the one to kill you. Not I…
She lifts the Horseman's skull with her gloved hand.
LADY VAN TASSEL
He will have that honor.
-Cut.—
-Well, that was a remarkable take, my dear muse. —Tim Burton said to Miranda Richardson. She exchanged glances with the director, and he with her; they always played that quiet, intimidating game, while Billy traded sketches with Christina, who followed along with sharp intelligence, carried by the simple joy of the moment.