Best Lead Actor

The accolades on the bookshelf in my office amuse me.

Best Leading Actor, one is labelled, collecting dust. That was the one I received in 2005 for my, according to critics, “stellar, spectacular, captivating” performance in the comedy movie The Town of Beelzebub. I took my award with a grand bow, thanking the family, friends, loved ones, all the jazz that you’re supposed to say. I was called “The Mythic Ranger” for weeks afterward, and the moniker still sticks in my google entry under the AKA results. Becoming the hero is my thing, has been since ’85. Satirical movies, though? Not so much.

Being known as the “hero” is fun. People assume that you’re a goodhearted, caring, loving suburban husband and father of three children, with a dog and a cat. Maybe not to those specifics. But they certainly assume that you have their best interests in mind, or that you’ll be willing to do anything for them, and not that you’d sabotage the coffee so that the director would get sick and have to delay filming, thus still receiving the money that you were supposed to make that day without working. This somehow always results in tabloids with varying titles, all of which can be summed up as “Daring Actor James Caddell Remains a Shining Beacon Despite Failures of People Around Him,” even though I’m the direct cause of said failures.

To make this explanation easy: I’m a movie star. I also take delight in others’ pain. There’s something about the thrill of seeing someone shed tears, the cries of frustration, the infighting when one is accused of something I did. Nothing can fill the hole for me as much as discord can. Chaos is my bittersweet art form. The best part? No one accuses me. I’m the picture perfect, sweet, caring man who’s been hero after hero. Why would I be the villain?

~~

Katie could not refrain from letting out a gasp upon reading her father’s first journal entry. I also take delight in others’ pain. That line may have very well been the one that hit the hardest. Her father, the world-famous actor James Caddell, known for playing heroes, was delighted to see people suffer. The suffering that everyone said he stood tall in the face of was, in fact, created by him. It seemed appalling, and then untrue, something that might have been straight out of one of the very movies Kate’s father had acted in.

It hadn’t been her intention to discover the journal, nor to stumble upon this revealing entry. Katie had simply wandered into her father’s office, looking for a book on one of the ten tall bookshelves that lined the walls. Scouring the dust-filled cases, she came to a book with a soft red velvet cover. Curious, Katie took the book off the shelf, opened the front cover, and read the inside label. My Most Delightful Misfortunes was written out in black calligraphy, under it, her father’s name. Katie had assumed this was a new book her father was writing, and curiosity getting the best of her, she decided to read the first page. Now here she was, mouth wide open, horrified at what she had discovered. And despite her shock, Katie began to wonder what was on the pages of the rest of the book. Hesitantly, she turned to the first page and began to read.

A bright and sunny day, average weather, average everything, the first line read. This line was not captivating to Katie, who was an avid reader that looked to more daring beginnings to bring herself into the written world. Ignoring her already festering boredom, she continued to read. The first page was a flowing description of her father’s surroundings at that moment: a long red carpet decked with tassels from end to end, flashes of various shutters that were enough to slightly blind James, and his wife, Katie’s mother, next to him, her jewelry decked with gold beads to match the shimmering dress framing her figure. She appreciated the vivid imagery after the first sentence, as it only drew Katie in even more to the story. Turning the page, the next sentence was like a flashing neon light, grabbing her attention the most out of anything else on the page. I’d be receiving my Oscar with a side of Murphy’s Law. Another line that brought her attention deeper into the story. Katie continued reading, beginning to imagine herself more and more in the story, until she was immersed in it…

With my wife’s arm linked into mine, we walked, cameras flashing, into the building.

The tall, gaping ceilings of the Dolby Theatre were all too familiar, as this was my third time being nominated for one. The other two I had won, and I could only hope that the third time would have me going home with an Oscar as well. The night would turn out amazingly for me, with me receiving the award, but would also end terribly for Martha Ingrid.

Katie paused. She remembered that night all too well, and how through a series of what seemed like sheer unluck, the famous actress Martha Ingrid had fallen, and her dress had ripped, subjecting her to a series of tabloid pictures with horrible titles Katie couldn’t bear to think about. Continuing to read, Katie was appalled at her father’s large role in Ingrid’s terrible fate. Messaging Martha’s personal assistant the wrong location made my plot even more successful. The spotlight moved from Martha to me, with my brilliance shining in the face of her blunder. The worst part about it all was that Martha had confided in James after what happened. She vented to him, and he knew very well he had been the cause of it.

Putting down the journal, Katie felt a sense of emptiness. This James Caddell was not the father she knew; this man was cruel, uncaring, and a saboteur. Paging through the rest of the journal only further distorted Katie’s image of her father, and by the end, James seemed as if he was only a stranger. The book described illegal activity as if it were something as mundane as watching TV. Katie’s father had hurt so many people that she quickly lost count of just how many instances there were. The end of the book had a page with only one sentence: Discord is my favorite hobby.

Katie could only stare at the cover of the velvet book as she thought about what to do. The book was brilliantly written, and yet, it was of things so horrible that it read like fiction. Katie realized that, despite wanting to desperately hang on to the wonderful idea of her father she had once had, she had to tell someone. Some of the things written in the book-such as tampering with someone’s drink- were crimes. Her father had drugged people. Injured people. Nearly killed people. She couldn’t let him get away with doing these things.

Taking her phone out, Katie began to scan each page of the book meticulously, until she had the full copy on her device. Luckily, James’ handwriting was easy to read. Making sure to place the velvet book carefully back on the shelf, Katie hastily went to her room, hoping that no one saw her enter and exit the office. With each and every single page in the palm of her hand, Katie pulled out her laptop and began copying the text into a document, then emailing it to the New York Times. She knew that they’d know it was James, as some things he talked about were things only he could know, and to make sure she sent a picture of one of the pages with his handwriting next to a note he had written to a fan that had gone viral.

Clicking send, Katie knew this was for the best. James Caddell was not, in fact, a hero.