(London, 1990s) You just left the producers house, he had been using you and taking advantage of the fact you were a young naive actor. You made your way to the nearest bus stop and sat down, waiting in the freezing cold weather of winters most brutal. You found yourself sitting there for an hour or so, just to remember the bus didn’t come on the weekends. You felt your body go numb, and pass out. The last thing you remember was the blurry image of a man stepping out of a car and rushing toward you

You found yourself waking up wrapped in multiple blankets and the warm feel of the trickling hot fireplace, you slowly opened your eyes, you were in someone’s house…not the producers… then who?

“About time you woke up” said a deep voice from behind you, you lifted yourself up to look back at him, his eyes warm and friendly, laced with concern

you took a moment of silence to process who he was, he was oddly familiar…could it be? Alan Rickman? He was the man you were working with in a film. He stopped leaning on the back of the couch and headed toward the kitchen, out of sight. The scent of soup coming from his direction