Foxborough
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How far is one willing to go for success? For fame? Charles Foxborough, the washed-up writer of a fiction column in the New York City local newspaper, The Dark Times, longs for the days when his ideas would come naturally. Raymond Dark, the paper's owner, is on the brink of firing Charles, who goes on a spontaneous date with the new girl in the office. After dropping her off at her apartment, Charles witnesses a gruesome murder and, unable to sleep at night, writes a story based on it for the paper the following day. The story sparks the interest of James March, lead detective of the case of t...
How far is one willing to go for success? For fame? Charles Foxborough, the washed-up writer of a fiction column in the New York City local newspaper, The Dark Times, longs for the days when his ideas would come naturally. Raymond Dark, the paper's owner, is on the brink of firing Charles, who goes on a spontaneous date with the new girl in the office. After dropping her off at her apartment, Charles witnesses a gruesome murder and, unable to sleep at night, writes a story based on it for the paper the following day. The story sparks the interest of James March, lead detective of the case of the murdered NYPD detective, while Raymond begs Charles for more due to its popularity. However, when the killer confronts Charles and reveals to him the location of the next murder, he is left to make a dangerous decision that could change his fate forever.¿¿¿ There's a killer on the loose. He whisks through the night, shooting and stabbing, slaughtering and slashing, slaying and strangling-or so it reads in the paper. There's a killer on the loose, who exposes the blurry line that exists between fact and fiction. The line that contorts to the will of the reader through the lens of their wild fantasies. There's a killer on the loose, made of ink and newsprint, stamped onto the page in a column as wide as one's imagination. And at the end of every story is signed the same name. A man branded with an X on his palm...Charles Foxborough. "Who am I? You already know me. I'm the thoughts that lurk in the back of your head when the lights go out. The shadow in the alley that moves in the corner of your eye. You don't want me there, but you look anyway. Just in case. I'm the news. The good, bad news. The car chases, the shootouts. Your fantasy turns reality because of me. But when they ask, you say you don't know me. You pretend I don't exist. Like you aren't itching for more when the days go numb. See, Charles isn't like you. Charles understands. He knows what I've done. He's seen it. So, who am I? Charles knows, and now he's going to show you, whether you like it or not..." - X
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