The Greatest Showman #914 - Disappeared

Andy sensed the weight of the eyes on him and lowered his phone. He raised his gaze and met Roy's eyes across from him.

Roy's expression was a mixture of helplessness and a half-smile, his face reflecting both absurdity and fatigue. Andy mirrored the expression, shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands, silently conveying his own sense of helplessness. Both men shared the same emotion—uncertainty.

Renly had disappeared.

This wasn't an excuse or a story—they simply didn't know where he was. Andy, Roy, and even Nathan had no updates. The situation was more bizarre than they could have imagined. Renly had turned off his phone, and without that lifeline, there was no way to track him.

And so, Renly had vanished—from his apartment, from Pioneer Village, from Mount Sinai Hospital—completely gone. In the bustling chaos of New York City, he had blended into the crowd and disappeared without a trace.

No message. No note. No warning.

Andy and Roy were left grasping at straws. They had no idea what was happening: Why had Renly left? Where had he gone? Would he return? And if he did, when? If he didn't, what were they supposed to do?

The questions swirled in their minds, but no answers came.

The phone call they'd just received had been from Gavin Hunter, a reporter at US Weekly. Not for a gossip interview, but out of genuine concern for Renly's well-being. Andy felt helpless. He, too, was asking the same questions, looking for the same answers.

"Do you think Renly really left?" Roy finally asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

Andy took a deep breath, thinking carefully before responding. "I don't think he's gone for good. He's an actor, and that's not something he can just walk away from. This is his dream, his calling. I believe he hasn't left for good. It's just..." Andy's voice softened, a quiet sigh escaping his lips, "...it's just going to take a little time."

The corners of Andy's mouth curved into a small, bittersweet smile, his gaze distant. "He reminds me of Daniel Day-Lewis. A madman, but a true artist."

The comparison was both fitting and tragic. Daniel Day-Lewis had earned a reputation for his obsessive dedication to his craft. In 1989, for his role in My Left Foot, he had confined himself to using only his left foot during the entire filming process, even going as far as to reprimand his agent for suggesting he eat with his hands. In 2007, for There Will Be Blood, he isolated himself in a small wooden cabin, living in the mindset of his character for months on end, spiraling into madness. It had taken him over a year to break free of the role after filming ended.

It wasn't just Day-Lewis's method acting that made him unique—it was his unwavering commitment to his art, something that earned him three Academy Awards for Best Actor. Despite his low output, his films became legendary. And in many ways, Renly was starting to echo that same kind of intense, obsessive drive.

The only difference? Renly was only twenty-two. He was incredibly young, his potential seemingly limitless, and that made Andy even more intrigued by the direction Renly could take. What could this young man accomplish?

But, as Andy knew, there was a certain amount of bias in his admiration. He was Renly's agent, after all.

Roy didn't challenge Andy's thoughts, instead offering a small smile. "Are you sure it'll be okay?"

The plan had been for Renly to attend several major Academy PR events in the next few days. But now that he had disappeared, there was no telling when, or even if, he'd return. The disruption was significant.

Andy returned the smile, shaking his head. "It'll be fine. In fact, we've exceeded our expectations over the past week. The results have been better than I could have hoped for. To be honest, I'm a little regretful now. I almost wish Renly would just take a break and rest for a while."

Awards season, the PR campaigns, the Oscars—it was a constant whirlwind of events. But, as with everything, there are moments when life and death remind you of what truly matters. If they missed this chance, there would be no going back.

In the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty, Renly had remained calm. He hadn't wavered, even when the world seemed to spin faster around him. His silence, however, only made others more anxious.

Roy offered a faint smile. "Yeah, he definitely needs rest."

The words hung in the air, fading into a brief moment of silence. Then, the shrill ringing of Andy's phone cut through it. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed. "At least we still have some work to do."

Another reporter. The kind that never lets go.

Roy quickly regained his composure, brushing aside his earlier distraction. "Alright, let's get back to it. I'll call Lydia Brooks."

And so, they resumed their work, even as the world outside continued to turn unpredictably.

In the midst of all the confusion, Andy and Roy had failed to ask the most important question: Where was Renly? If they had, the answer might have been clearer. And if they had asked the Crosses, things might have gone differently.

Meanwhile, at the Cross household:

"Derek, did you send the text?" Ellie asked, her voice carrying from the kitchen as she washed dishes. She paused, frowning as she awaited an answer. When Derek didn't respond immediately, she turned, her worry evident. "Maybe I should send it. Or better yet, meet Renly in person. I owe him an apology."

Since Heather's passing, Ellie had channeled her grief into anger at Renly. It was easier to blame him than to face her own guilt. They had cut ties, held a silent funeral, and allowed the anger to fester. The absence of Renly at the funeral had only deepened the rift.

But now, Ellie wasn't sure anymore. She regretted how she'd treated him. The apology she owed him felt like a mountain too steep to climb, but she had to try.

"The message has been sent," Derek replied, his voice a little tired but soft. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Ellie, Renly understands. He knows you didn't mean it."

Ellie shook her head, tears welling up once more. "He didn't blame me, but that doesn't mean I'm not to blame. Heather's funeral... God, what did I do? Renly must have thought I refused to attend."

Derek moved to comfort her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "We made a mistake, Ellie. You're right—we owe Renly an apology. But he knows you care. I'm sure of it."

Derek paused for a moment, his voice breaking slightly. "I was always jealous of Renly, you know? He and Heather had a connection that I couldn't share. They understood each other in ways I never could."

He cleared his throat, pushing past the emotion. "But we recognize our mistake now. We can't make it again. What do you think about Renly's foundation idea? I think it's the right way forward."

The "Heather Cross Foundation" was something Renly had proposed—an organization to support underprivileged teenagers battling ALS, in Heather's memory. Ellie nodded, wiping her eyes.

"Of course," she said, her voice trembling. "It's not about Renly. It's about helping kids like Heather. Giving them a chance."

Derek smiled softly, relieved. Together, they could still make a difference.

"Dear Renly,

I'm sorry. For everything. I know you were Heather's closest friend, and I know she always held a special place for you. Ellie and I made the wrong choice, and I regret it deeply. I hope we'll have a chance to speak face-to-face one day so I can offer my sincere apology.

Heather is gone, but you never got to say goodbye. Below is the address where she rests now.

Sincerely,

Derek Cross."