Deleted Scenes

I'm an old-fashioned girl, and I still buy DVDs, mostly because I want access to deleted scenes. I just love seeing what might have been and getting that extra bit of insight into the story or characters. It's just an interesting peak behind the curtain of creativity. With that in mind, I wanted to share with you some f the deleted scenes I wrote for Company: a Novel of a Ghost and an Imaginary Friend. 
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Warning: Spoilers


These deleted scenes contain massive spoilers. Please don’t read them until after you’ve read Company. Plot twists will be ruined.
 
These scenes come far into my revision process, in 2019-2020. That said, they are still quite rough, especially scenes that take place from Jenny's point of view. With Jenny's scenes, I wrote them in order to understand her character, but I knew that the scenes would never make it into the novel. Hence, some of the scenes are in first person, some are in third person, some are in past tense, some are in present tense; it didn't matter to me how I wrote them, since no one but me was supposed to see them.

Before each deleted scene, I’m going to give you a little context on when the scene takes place in the story, why I cut it out, and if it played a purpose in my writing later on. I hope you enjoy.

"Charlotte Confronts Jenny"
​Chapter 11


​This is the “break-up” scene between Jenny and Charlotte. Jenny has been trying to contact Charlotte through her dreams, and Charlotte has had enough and yells at Jenny. I wanted to write that argument down, even if I knew I would never use it, in order to get an idea of how Jenny would react afterwards.
​
I don’t give a lot of context for the dream, because that was not what I was focusing on. However, I imagined that Charlotte had gotten into a state of lucid dreaming, which happens to me quite a bit. In lucid dreaming, you know you’re in a dream and can start to control it. Charlotte, essentially, hit this state, knew that Jenny was invading her dreams, and called her out on it.

Jenny
 
“Get out of my head!” Charlotte screamed. “I hate you! You were never supposed to exist--not like this. You were supposed to serve your purpose and move on, but you didn’t. You stayed, like a canker sore, you stuck on me like a leech I can’t pull off. Like a sticky, dirty band-aid? I don’t want this--I don’t want any of this! I just want to forget and move on and for this to be over. Just go away. Please go away, and stop ruining my life.”

Jenny quaked. “But what about Curtis…?”

“I don’t care! I don’t care about some ghost. He can just go away, too. Even if he’s real, he’s not my problem! Get out! I don’t want you and your stupid problems! Go away and don’t ever come back.”

Because it was the dream world, everything felt more real and devastating. The emotion was tearing and painful, without even the salve of numbness. Jenny cried.  Charlotte did not.

And then it was dark.

Just like before.

She heard a muffled voice. “…Jenny…”

The sound woke her up. If Charlotte’s words had caused her to “faint,” Curtis’s words were like a sharp sniff of smelling salt. Jenny revived--but so did the pain. She curled up in the darkness, not wanting to wake.

“Jenny!”

The voice was urgent now. Him calling of her name was like throwing up the blinds and blaring the alarms--a spiritual tug that pulled her out of bed and threw her into the harsh world. Jenny opened her eyes and found herself on the balcony.
​
“What?” she said.

"The Caretaker--Extended Version"
Chapter 20


After Jenny’s shrine is razed by teens, I wanted to know what happened to Jenny’s stuff, so I wrote the scene with the caretaker coming and cleaning up. I switched perspectives between Jenny and Curtis, because I wanted to know both of their reactions to the traumatizing event. As I was writing it, I knew it was getting too long, that if I left all this in, it would mess up the pacing. But I was curious, and so I followed the scene to its completion.

It was good that I did, because at the very end of the scene, Curtis promises Jenny that he is not going to let anything happen to her, that he will not cross over until he knows she’s safe. That was the first time he specifically promised not to leave her, and it felt important to me. It was so important that I decided to incorporate the promise into the previous chapter. In chapter 19, when Curtis is trying to persuade Jenny not to engage with the teens, she brings up some of the issues I explored here; he, in turn, promises not to abandon her. 

Jenny
 
When it is all over, when all the beautiful things are taken, there’s just broken picture frames and the doll with a missing eye. In this state, I can see just how creepy and ugly it truly is. I know it’s ugly, but it is mine.

I feel like I’ve been reduced to nothing. For the first time, I can well and truly be forgotten. Charlotte is not coming back. It hits me, just then, and I know I have nothing. The few things I had are gone or broken I couldn’t protect them, and I can’t fix them.

I am too exhausted, though, to process this. So I curl up in the doll and go to sleep.
 
Curtis
 
These things cannot be replaced. We cannot even turn the frame over and see the pictures. Having hands would help with that, but I’m helpless, and that powerlessness frustrates me so much. I can’t even comfort Jenny. I can’t protect her.

Jenny disappears inside the doll.

“Jenny,” I whisper, “can you hear me?”

But she says nothing. I’m not even sure if she’s awake or asleep. I want to sleep, but I can’t have both of us sleep at the same time; we may not wake up. I’m more used to going without sleep. So I stand vigil over the doll.

Halloween passes. The night is like any other. I stand by the doll, as best I can. I put my hand over it and pretend it’s actually Jenny I’m protecting. The doll is solid, and I try to see if Jenny is inside, but I can’t feel her presence. I can imagine what she’s going through. I know what it’s like to lose things.

I’ve lost a lot. Almost everything, including my memories. I’ve only barely managed to hold onto my identity for this long. I want so badly to help Jenny, but what can I do?
It would be easier to think if I could muster the energy, but my thoughts are blurry and I feel as if I’m flickering in and out of consciousness. Memories keep coming in my head, all fuzzy. I remember my parent’s arguing and my dad leaving and my mom crying. I was standing there, age twelve, watching my family fall apart, and I was helpless. Just as I am now.

At the time, I remember going into the photo albums and taking out all the pictures of us together as a family. As if I were trying to preserve the family, or, if not the family, the memories. I hoarded the pictures in my room. I had this idea that if I kept the pictures, I’d always have the memories of my family happy together, and because I had the memories, it would, in some ways, be like we were still together, that the family was still whole.

It turns out that’s not how it works. Time changes the memories. After a while, they sour into bitterness. Memories don’t keep people together, they push people apart, as they become different things to different people.

I wonder if my family ever found the photos, hidden in the junk of the room. I wonder what it would have meant to them, now that I’m dead. Do those memories, which were so sour, seem sweeter again. Or is it just pain? As for those days in those photos, can anyone still remember them? Are memories ever enough?

I am still in this state of flickering thoughts, when I hear the sound of a car. And for a moment, I wonder if this is another trick of my mind. But then I wonder if, somehow, the teens are back—although I don’t know why they’d be here again. I pull myself up and fly through the house.

It’s the caretaker.

Typically, the caretaker is a welcomed presence, but not today. I go as fast as I can toward the doll.

“Jenny,” I say. “Jenny, wake up.”

It takes a while for her to emerge from the doll. And when she appears, she is silent and haggard-looking.

“What?” she says listlessly.

“The caretaker is here.”

“Oh,” she says dully. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“You can’t stay in there. He could throw away the doll.”

But she already disappears.

“Jenny!”

The caretaker comes up.

I am feeling frantic. I have very little energy, but fear is starting to overtake me and its causing me to panic, but also, strangely, giving me strength.

“Jenny, get up, damn it!” I yell, but she ignores me.

The caretaker walks up.

He looks at the pile of debris on the balcony. “What the--?”

He turns the pictures over.

I have an idea. It’s still close to Halloween and maybe that will make a difference. Maybe he’ll be able to hear me, like that girl did. But I don’t have much energy. I have one shot. I remember that the caretaker used to work for the family. He used to see Charlotte. Maybe that’s enough. He picks up the frames and he looks at the picture of Charlotte and I see recognition in his eye. He reaches for the doll.

I fly at him. “It’s Charlotte’s doll,” I tell him.

I hope he hears me, for the effort has exhausted me. I collapse and black out for a moment. When I come to, I see he has taken the frames and doll in his hand.

“Please don’t throw them away,” I say.

I see him go inside the house. He stacks the frames on one of the counters in the kitchen.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief (so to speak) at this small act of charity. I can’t do much more, because I’m too tired. I move to the doll and lean over it. I lay on the counter and I don’t sleep, but I don’t do anything either, I just wait. 
 
Jenny
 
After the incident, I have no energy. I know that if I don’t sleep, I’ll fall apart. I sleep and for a while, I think I get swept up in Charlotte’s dreams again. I’m not trying to, but it happens. I get caught in the current, and I’m tumbling around in a river of rapids, and I feel I’m being forgotten, and this time, it’s for good.

I had been safe in the doll. It had been my home, and I had always harbored some hope that if Charlotte saw it, I’d be fine, she’d remember. But without the doll, not only is that hope gone, but I am probably going to lose everything that made me me.
So I tumble around in Charlotte’s dreams--or are they mine?--wondering who I was without her and what I was going to be without her. I’m in a glass box and I see Charlotte and I’m pounding on the glass, shouting for her to help me, but she can’t hear me. I scream and scream until the glass breaks and then suddenly I’m back in the forest, and I’m flying.

I wake up thinking about Curtis. But I don’t come out of the doll just yet. It’s dark. I’m scared. When I left, I was in danger, but at that point, I didn’t care. I was too tired. But now I’m afraid that I’m no longer on the balcony, but in a trash bin somewhere. Maybe even in a dump. I don’t know how long I slept. I don’t know where I’ll be when I wake up.

I won’t have the doll. But I might still have Curtis. I’ll just have to find him. No matter how far he is, I’ll get to him.

I move out of the doll.

I find myself in the kitchen, and Curtis is right beside me, laying on the counter like a large house cat.

“Morning, Jenny,” he says. “I’m glad you’re up.”

“I’m still at the house?” I say with a sigh of relief.

“The caretaker moved the doll inside.”

“I thought he might have thrown it away,” I say. Pause. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just needed to sleep.”

He nods. “Are you all right?” he asks.

“No,” I say, after thinking about it. “I don’t know what will happen to me if I lose the doll and Charlotte and… you.”

“Jenny…”

“I won’t have anything. I’ll really be nothing, and this time, Charlotte won’t come back. No one will come back for me.”
​
“I won’t let that happen,” he tells me. “I promise. I won’t let you turn into nothing. I won’t cross over until I know that you’re safe.”

"Jenny’s Confession"
Chapter 24

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Out of all these deleted scenes, this is the earliest I wrote, way back in 2019. Jenny tells Curtis she loves him and he rejects her. This is her reaction to that rejection. Again, I wrote this scene just to get into her head, so I didn't bother with stuff like setting or action or description. It did surprise me that this rejection was actually, in a weird way, sort of empowering. It shows that Jenny is starting to change.

Jenny
 
Jenny didn’t mean to tell Curtis she loved him. It honestly just sort of slipped out. It was the moment when they were flying together and she could feel him holding her and it was so giddy and perfect, that she said it.

“I love you.”

And then it all came crashing down. Literally.

When Curtis told her he didn’t love her--not in those words exactly, but she heard the meaning behind the stuttering explanation--she immediately felt humiliated. Of course, he didn’t love her. How could he, when she wasn’t even a person? He probably thought this was a trick to tie him down to her--and maybe she did want that. But that wasn’t why she said it
.
But it wasn’t just that he didn’t love her that hurt her so much. She hadn’t expected him to, after all, she just felt the need to say it. It was that he basically said he’d never love her--that he couldn’t love her. It was the way he ripped away all hope of a future.

Or maybe it did matter that he didn’t love her, because she had wanted him to love her back. More than she knew. More than she could admit. She hadn’t known how much she wanted it, until it was ripped away. She wanted to know that someone could choose to love her, that it was possible. But not just someone--him.

But she’d also thought, he did love her, or could love her at least. How could she have read the situation so wrong? Everything seemed so right, so warm, so whole. And then it was gone and she was fragmented and alone.

That stung. But after that, she felt worried for her future. Or rather, for the first time, she really began to think about her future. She’d sort of put it out of her mind, because it was too hard to think about. What purpose did she have in life? To help others. And once that was accomplished, then what? Was she supposed to hide inside the doll and disappear?

That seemed to be what was bound to happen shortly after Charlotte first abandoned her. Even then, she hadn’t really wanted to “die,” to be sent off to a “home” where she wiled away her remaining time as she slowly faded away. She knew it would happen, that it was for the best, that she should go away. But still, she hoped for a reprieve.
But now she was not ambiguous. She felt pain, it was true, but it was her pain. She’d fallen in love, and it was her love, nothing to do with Charlotte. These feelings were her own.

That was sort of like living, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t alive. Or dead. She didn’t know what she was. But she was something. She felt that much. She could exist forever, and that was a frightening thought. Or she could disappear in an instant. She’d never been one for planning, because what was there to plan? She never had control of her own life. Her fate was always tied to others.

But Charlotte had rejected her and Curtis was leaving, and she was going to be alone. Maybe she could survive on her own. She went to town on her own. She fell in love on her own. Maybe she could find someone else to befriend. Maybe she didn’t need anyone at all.

She wanted to have more feelings of her own.
​
She wanted to be her own person.

"Curtis Binges on Movies"
Chapter 24


After Jenny tells Curtis she loves him, he awkwardly bungles it and knows he bungled it. I had this in my original rough draft, but as I was revising, I was trying to figure out various ways for him to react. In this case, he does something I'd do: zone out on movies and muse over the meaning of life. Ultimately, I got rid of this scene, because it didn't go anywhere and it slowed down the pace.

Fun fact: I wrote this scene in early 2020, after my dad and I had just visited Big Bear, so I could observe winter in the mountains. You can see me playing with description here. Since the chapter takes place in December 2019, this scene was written weirdly close to when the story was actually supposed to take place, which is quite novel for me.

Curtis
 
Winter is all about ice. Ice always creeps in at night. In the dawn, the pond and especially the puddles are coated with it. I rarely see ice form, but I enjoy watching it crack. If I were human, I’d step on it, to hear it crack.

Nature is not pristine, but it is more pristine than the town, where people do step on ice, cracking it into shards that never quite melt. They also pile up snow in dirty mounds. On the plus side, all their trash keeps animals alive. I’ve seen more squirrels here than anywhere else and certainly more cats and dogs. I like to watch them, especially when Jenny is not talking to me, which seems to be the case, now that I’ve shot my mouth off.

She still takes me to town, but she doesn’t seem interested in staying nearby. She knows she’s not needed to keep me “alive” and wants some time to herself. Which is fine, I get it. We don’t need to be hanging off each other all the time. But with her gone, I’ve found I’ve lost my passion to explore town--or explore much of anything, really.

I watch movies. I like seeing them first thing on a Monday morning, when he theatre is empty. Less souls to bump into. Movies are still amusing, even if they’ve lost some of their luster since I’ve died. It sometimes feels like I’m studying for a test I already know won’t count for my grade. It’s sort of pointless. What are movies about but what it means to be human. I’m not human anymore, and even if I am, I’m not part of humanity. I’m alone.

Maybe I’m supposed to cross over, figure out the next stage in existence, but that’s not what I do. Instead I sit and watch the same movies again and again. It occurs to me that maybe I’m trying to figure out what it is I’m missing.

Really missing. What I failed at while I was human and failed so badly it sent me here, to this weird purgatory. I know there has to be something… else. Because if every dead person becomes a ghost, I should be bumping into them everyone. The evidence doesn’t bear that out. Apparently other people have managed to escape. Why not me?

The movies don’t tell me anything. They aren’t even showing a ghost movie. In fact, what I’m drawn to are the mushy, romantic ones. Stuff about people just doing their best to be together--not action, nothing important or cool or thought-provoking. Something I’d never have been caught dead going to while alive. But the stuff I liked then holds no interest. I just want to watch cheesy Christmas movies, numb my brain on them.

Maybe I really want to understand something I’ve forgotten, namely, what it is like to love someone. Not that these cheesy movies have much wisdom to offer. After a while, I tune out the dialogue and just watch the actors and actresses expressions, and as I do, I think of Jenny. I recognize some of these same expressions run across her face and I wonder if this is where she learned it, if she copied these actors over and over, and if this was how she learned to be human. I want to ask her if she watched these movies and what she got out of them, because I’m still trying to figure it out myself--how to be human.

I mean, was I wrong to tell her those things? What is the point of it? To love. To do anything really? You learn all these things to get along with people. And then you get ripped from them, and you’re no one. So what is the point?

Is that what I’m missing? Purpose?

And it goes deeper.

If there’s no point in living, is there any point to crossing over? If there is nothing better out there, why not stay and sit and watch movies and do nothing and feel nothing and try for nothing.

Yet this doesn’t suffice. I’m not happy.

So what? Who decided we should be happy? Maybe we ought to be miserable. Maybe that’s our natural state and getting out of it is a delusion. Maybe happiness is nothing more than chemicals to the brain forcing us to act in a certain way. No chemicals, no happiness, no need to chase after anything. I’m not alive--there’s no need to exist. I should disappear by sinking into the theatre seat and becoming one with the stale popcorn and be nothing more than a flickering light, a ripple on the projection screen.

But that’s not going to happen.

I’m bored of movies.

I’m bored of everything. It’s weird because there’s still so much to see and do, so much of stuff and life, everywhere, seething, writhing, and none of it matters. Watching a movie or watching ice thaw, it’s all just a way of passing time. It’s meaningless.

 "Jenny Confronts Charlotte"
Chapter 27​


This takes place right after Gilligan’s death, when Charlotte calls to Jenny and tugs her away. I wrote this scene knowing it was never going to make it into the final version, but I wanted to see what happened, again, just to help me know what was going on with Jenny and Charlotte. It was kind of satisfying to see Jenny confront Charlotte. It showed how much she had grown.


​Jenny
 
Jenny had been distressed when she saw Curtis freaking out over Gilligan. She did not agree with him, but she felt she had to support him. She was advising him on what to do when everything changed.

“Jenny,” she heard Charlotte call, as if from across time and space. For a split second, she felt vertigo, the world spinning around her, as she was ripped away from Curtis. Jenny blinked and found herself in a strange apartment, facing Charlotte.

Charlotte did not look like she had last time. Her hair was cut in a 1920s style bob, and it was back to its original chestnut brown, though this was probably a dye job, too. She wore skinny jeans over an over-sized shirt or perhaps a dress, belted. The dress was dark purple, plaid, and a little grungy. She had lots of bracelets on and fur-lined boots.

She looked like a stranger.

“Jenny,” Charlotte said, in a voice that was low; almost low enough for Jenny to miss the trembling note within it.

Her eyes were like sheets of glass, Jenny thought, or perhaps scratched sheets of plastic, the surface starting to look opaque. Charlotte looked at Jenny, not as a friend or a sister, but as a problem. Like some troublesome part of her she wanted to be rid of. This infuriated Jenny.

“What did you do?” Jenny cried.

“I want answers,” Charlotte said.

“You brought me here?” Jenny yelled. “Send me back! Send me back!”

Charlotte took a step back. Clearly, she did not expect to see Jenny as anything but grateful and supportive. And yet, she only seemed startled for a moment. Charlotte composed herself and the aura of control came back.

“The reason I called you--”

“I don’t care,” Jenny said. “I need to get back to Curtis.”

She pushed through the door.

“Jenny.”

The word pulled her back. It hurt. It had never hurt before, but now it was an agonizing ripping to the center of her being. Jenny tried to resist, but the pain was too great and she found herself staring at Charlotte again.

“This is important,” Charlotte said.

“Let me go!”

“There was a boy--”

“Curtis,” Jenny snapped, causing Charlotte to go pale. “He’s the ghost that haunts Thornfield Manor--the ghost you brought to the house. You pulled me away from him. We were in the middle of the woods. I need to find him. He could be lost. He can’t get back without me.”

A twitch ran through Charlotte.

“I need to go,” Jenny said.

She saw the window. If ever there was a time to fly, it was now. She ran through, felt the glass go through her, felt the sky cold and the breeze of the air, the stars dotting the sky, dark and dazzling as the diamond-shaped beads on the bracelet Charlotte wore.

“Jenny!”

She didn’t even know if she had been flying or not, before she was whipped back.

“Stop calling me back!” Jenny yelled and suddenly it all came out. “You abandoned me! You rejected me! You told me you never wanted to see me again! You can’t get rid of me and still have me at your beck and call. It doesn’t work that way. I am not yours anymore. So let me go!”

She saw the look on Charlotte’s face change. That weird plastic cover left them, and she seemed, for a second, the Charlotte she knew: the sister, not the stranger. But it didn’t matter. Curtis--who knew what was happening to him?

Jenny leapt out the window. But this time, she plummeted straight to the ground.

“No,” Jenny cried.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte said.

“Trying to fly,” Jenny said. “But I can’t. Because of you. You hold me down.”

It was true. Maybe Charlotte had never fully let her go. And Jenny had not let Charlotte go, either. She was anchored to Charlotte, and neither could let go. But the sad thing was that Jenny didn’t want that anymore.

She was tired of being Charlotte’s imaginary friend, of doing nothing but supporting her. She wanted to be her own person. She wanted to be with Curtis, who understood her, who treated her like a person, and not some terrible aberration and a sign of insanity. He needed her, and she couldn’t be with him. She wanted to scream.

How could, all this time, even subconsciously, she choose something so toxic, just because she knew it, because it was familiar. It hurt her, and it tore at her that she was so weak. She wanted to let go and to fly away--but it did not work that way.

Jenny.

Charlotte didn’t even have to say the word out loud, and still Jenny was in the room, pulled to her like a magnet. Entangled. Jenny took a shaky breath.

“Please, Charlotte, let me go.”

“I don’t know how,” Charlotte said. “There are things in my head that are so messed up. There was a boy who died at my house, and I can’t remember it. How could I have not remembered?”

“Curtis,” Jenny said. “Your mom shot him. He died; you saw him die. I’ve been with him these months, and I need to get back. But I can’t, because I can’t fly. Please, Charlotte, I’ve never asked you for anything, but I need to get back.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Where is he?”

“Somewhere between your house and Silverfox Lake.”

Charlotte grabbed her keys, her phone, and her wallet. “Come on then. I’ll drive us.”

The anger and resentment subsided a bit. Charlotte was helping her.

​“Thank you,” Jenny said.