Bill Denbrough awoke with a scream.
The noise was loud enough to wake up Audra, too, who had been sleeping without disturbance next to him on the bed. She turned on the lamp on the small table beside her. Dim light flooded the room, illuminating Bill's face, which was stark white and haggard. His eyes burned a feverishly vivid blue as he searched the room, looking for something unknown to her and, by the desperate look on his face, the majority of the sane world. Finally, reality seemed to catch up with him. He closed his eyes and slid against the headboard as if exhausted.
"Is everything alright?" Audra asked. Bill looked over at her, startled, aware for the first time that she was even there.
"Nothing. Just another nightmare." It sounded more like he was trying to assure himself than comfort her.
"Another nightmare," Audra repeated wearily. "I know you're not going to want to hear this, Bill, but I'll be glad when that movie is finally finished. I think it's been exhausting you."
"That must be it," Bill said, without much conviction.
"Well, you need to stop worrying yourself over it. With such a brilliant director, I'm sure it will be a blockbuster." She leaned forward and kissed him gently. Bill favored her with an "awe-shucks" grin, but traces of fear were still apparent in his eyes.
"It's nothing special."
"Don't be humble," Audra replied. "You put your heart and soul into that script. Don't think I didn't notice. You were so moody, and up at all hours of the night..."
Bill's smile faded considerably. Except you don't remember that, do you, Billy boy? No, he didn't. In fact, the six months he spent writing the script was a blank black gap, and the year-and-a-half of directing and filming was even worse. "I think I'll be glad when it's over, too."