Dennis sat slouched on his couch that Sunday afternoon. He needed something—anything—to kill time. The breakup with his girlfriend was still fresh, and the silence in his apartment only amplified the ache.
He reached for the newspaper lying on the coffee table, flipping quickly to the entertainment section in search of a distraction. A bold headline caught his eye: '[Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince] set to cast its spell next week.' Tempting, but Dennis didn't feel like stepping out, not even for magic.
He sighed. Why couldn't [Superbad] be out on DVD already? He would've gladly watched that hilarious mess of a film again. It always managed to lift his mood. Just as he was about to toss the paper aside and resign himself to a day of sulking, a headline caught his attention:
'What to expect from [The Night Of] finale tonight?'
His eyes skimmed the article.
The show that left everyone hooked from the very first episode is about to end. So many questions still unanswered—especially the big one: Who killed Melanie? Is Ben Coulter as innocent as he claims, or is there something darker lurking beneath the surface?
One thing's certain—the finale is poised to break records. The series debuted on HBO with a staggering 12 million viewers and has consistently held an audience of at least 10 million during its live U.S. telecasts. Last week's penultimate episode drew an all-time high of 13 million. Industry insiders expect the finale to top that.
Critics have hailed the show as the biggest mini-series of the year, praised for its gripping direction, razor-sharp writing, and unforgettable performances, led by none other than Troy Armitage.
That name stopped Dennis cold. Troy Armitage?
How had he missed this?
He scanned the article again just to be sure. Troy was, without a doubt, his favorite actor. Sure, [Disturbia] had been a letdown, but Troy more than redeemed himself with [Superbad], which Dennis considered the funniest movie ever made. This show sounded like a departure from Troy's usual roles, but Dennis liked thrillers when they were done right. And if critics were raving and Troy was starring? That sealed it.
He grabbed the remote, thumbed the power button, and navigated straight to HBO On Demand. There it was, waiting for him at the top of the homepage: [The Night Of].
The screen faded to black, and then the first episode began.
A slow, moody piano score played over grainy nighttime shots of London. The camera cut to Ben Coulter, the story's protagonist—a quiet, soft-spoken college student living at home with his loving parents. His father, a cab driver working long hours to pay off the vehicle he owned on installments, brought a gentle but tired presence to the household. His mother, warm and attentive, kept the home running while her son juggled textbooks and teenage uncertainty.
Ben was the kind of kid who flew under the radar. He had a quiet presence, shy and soft-spoken, yet brilliant. A whiz at academics, he often helped classmates with their assignments for some extra cash.
One evening, a classmate he'd tutored invited him to a party. At first, Ben hesitated. Parties weren't his scene. But something pushed him to say yes. His own car wouldn't start that night. After a brief internal debate, he took his father's cab instead, without permission.
The city lights blurred past as he drove, his hands a little too tight on the steering wheel. On the way, several people tried to hail the cab, mistaking him for a driver on duty. He ignored them, gaze fixed forward, trying to avoid attention. A few blocks later, he realized why they kept flagging him down: the rooftop cab light was still on. He fumbled with the dashboard, unsure how to turn it off.
As he answered a call from his friend, a young woman suddenly opened the back door and slid into the seat without hesitation.
Dennis chuckled grimly. "I already know this is gonna go bad," he muttered to no one, eyes glued to the screen.
What unfolded next felt like a dream. The girl, free-spirited and mysterious, convinced Ben to skip the party and hang out with her instead. From wandering through empty city streets to playing games with knives in her living room, the night moved like a hallucination. There was laughter. Drugs. Booze. The chemistry between them sizzled as the world around them blurred.
The sex scene that followed was surreal and sensual, but fragmented. No nudity, yet the hazy cinematography and disoriented camera angles said everything. The screen pulsed between soft focus and sharp close-ups: her hand grazing his chest, the bottle tipping over, their laughter echoing faintly through the room. It was beautiful and unsettling.
Then, the tone shifted.
The screen faded in from black to reveal Troy Armitage—playing Ben—waking up on the couch downstairs. Disoriented, wearing only his boxers, he rubbed his eyes and bolted upright. Panic gripped him as he scrambled upstairs to get dressed.
As he made for the door, something stopped him cold. The girl lay lifeless in a pool of blood. Her throat had been slit.
Ben froze. The air left the room.
He moved with frantic energy, locking the front door behind him as he fled the house, only to remember he'd left his jacket inside. Without thinking, he broke back in through a side window, adrenaline overriding logic. He grabbed the jacket, wiped down a few surfaces, and before leaving again, he hesitated, then picked up the knife they'd played with earlier.
A neighbor across the street had seen the forced reentry and made the call to the police.
Dennis leaned forward on the couch, his jaw tight. "This is going downhill so fast."
Ben jumped into the cab and sped off, nerves frayed and vision tunneling. At an intersection, he failed to spot a parked car and clipped it hard. The screen jarred with a loud metallic crunch, and everything went dark.
When he came to, flashing lights blurred into view. A police officer stood outside the cab, flashlight beaming through the window. "Sir, step out of the vehicle."
Ben complied, dazed and shivering. The officer was calm but firm. There had been a reported break-in nearby, and they needed to check it out. Standard procedure, she said.
Dennis already knew where this was going. He tensed.
The patrol car pulled up to the same brownstone Ben had just fled from.
"The neighbor saw someone breaking in," the officer explained. "We just need to confirm some details."
Ben didn't say much. Just one question:
"Is she dead?"
The officer turned slowly toward him.
Dennis's mouth dropped open. "Man just fucked himself," he said out loud, shaking his head in disbelief. "They are totally gonna get him."
One of the police officers who had entered the crime scene earlier stumbled back outside, pale and visibly shaken. He barely made it to the curb before doubling over and vomiting into the gutter. The scene inside had been brutal—far worse than he'd expected. His superior told him to head back to the station and get checked out.
Ben was brought in shortly after. At the station, standard procedure kicked in: they frisked him before placing him in holding. As the officer patted down his jacket, her hand froze. From the inner pocket, she pulled out a kitchen knife the same size as the murder weapon.
Ben didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
The expression on Troy's face said everything. Eyes wide, breath held, face drained of all color. Guilt, panic, and disbelief—raw and unfiltered. It was some of the best acting Dennis had ever seen.
"You're still watching this show?" a voice broke through the room. Dennis looked up, startled, to see his roommate Ian wandering into the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the TV and smirked. "It's been weeks since it aired."
"Just got around to watching it now," Dennis replied, eyes still on the screen. "Don't you dare spoil it for me."
"I won't. Now scoot over," Ian said, dropping onto the couch beside him. "I want to watch it again."
Dennis shifted, and the two friends settled in—drawn together by the gravitational pull of [The Night Of]. On screen, Troy Armitage was giving a masterclass in transformation. The confident, charismatic actor had disappeared, replaced by a meek, trembling college boy whose world was unraveling.
By the end of the episode, Ben had been assigned a lawyer and brought before a judge. The courtroom was quiet and sterile, yet tense with implication. Despite the defense's plea, the judge refused to grant bail due to the gruesome nature of the crime. The gavel fell. Ben was sent to prison.
"Okay, now I have to see the second episode," Dennis said, already reaching for the remote. "I want to know what happens next."
"I know," Ian said with a smug grin. "Troy will—"
"Zip it," Dennis snapped, hitting play before Ian could spoil anything.
Hours passed in a blur. They watched episode after episode, each one more gripping than the last. The suspense was relentless, the storytelling razor-sharp—but what Dennis loved most was Troy Armitage's performance.
In the beginning, Ben was all nerves and hesitation—shoulders hunched, voice barely audible. He flinched when spoken to. In prison, that same demeanor made him a target. He tried to keep to himself. But when his cellmates torched his few belongings, something inside him snapped.
The fury was volcanic.
Dennis leaned forward when in the next episode Ben lunged at the man responsible, fists and kicks flying. Blood spattered the walls of the prison common area as guards rushed in. For a moment, Dennis believed—really believed—that this boy might have killed the girl after all.
That fight marked the turning point.
The trial's date was set a few months later, so Ben started working on himself. His body changed—he started lifting weights obsessively, every muscle built like armor. His new physique was wide, powerful, and hard. With it came confidence. He no longer slouched. He didn't avoid eye contact anymore. He stared people down, cold and unblinking. There was hatred in his gaze now. He even began aligning with one of the prison gangs, climbing the internal hierarchy with startling speed.
Dennis watched in quiet awe.
A small part of him wished he had that kind of confidence. That kind of presence. He glanced down at his own body—his belly pushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, a silent reminder of comfort food and bad habits. Maybe that was part of why his girlfriend had left him.
The only thing Dennis didn't like about Ben's evolution was the drug use. He understood it from a narrative standpoint—it showed how prison changed people—but it still made him uncomfortable. He hated seeing Troy's character sink to that level, even if it made the story more real.
Still, he couldn't look away.
By the time the fifth episode of [The Night Of] ended, it was already late in the evening, and just minutes away from the highly anticipated series finale.
Dennis and Ian ordered a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, deciding there was no way they were going to cook, let alone step outside, when one of the most gripping finales in television history was about to air. The living room was dim except for the flickering glow of the screen. The anticipation in the room was thick, and they weren't alone in feeling it.
Across the United States and the United Kingdom, tens of millions of viewers sat glued to their TVs, remote controls forgotten, phones silenced. Watch parties were in full swing. Everyone wanted to know: how would it end?
And what an opening it was.
The camera opened with slow, deliberate tracking shots of the courtroom. Frances Kapoor, Ben's sharp and fearless attorney, was on the offensive. She presented a compelling case that the police had ignored multiple alternate suspects in their rush to judgment. There was Melanie's stepfather—a man who had suspiciously married into money. Then there was the guy from the gas station, the one who had followed Melanie's cab after filling his tank, and even a known serial killer whose method of operation eerily mirrored the murder, right down to using knives found at the victim's home.
Yet none of them had been investigated properly.
Why? Because Ben Coulter was an easy target.
When Ben was called to testify, the atmosphere in the courtroom changed. The camera lingered on his face, capturing the quiet anxiety, the haunted look in his eyes. Troy Armitage played the scene with exquisite tension—every nervous glance, every stammered breath.
The prosecutor leaned in, eyes like daggers. She had already built a solid case against him, and had even guilted him that he could have saved Melanie if only he had called the emergency services instead of bolting.
"I ask you again, Ben Coulter: Did you kill Melanie?"
Ben hesitated. His voice was barely audible, but the words hit like a bomb.
"I... I don't know."
The courtroom fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the distant murmur of spectators shifting in their seats.
"He is cooked," Dennis muttered grimly. "He's gonna lose the case."
Ian gave a slow nod, unable to look away.
Ben's legal team looked visibly shaken. His solicitor tried a desperate gambit—claiming a kiss between Ben and Frances, which had happened during his incarceration, created a conflict of interest that warranted a mistrial. But instead of dismissing the trial, the judge merely reassigned the male solicitor as first chair. The final task now fell to him: deliver the closing argument.
What followed was an emotional tour de force.
In a scene lit with stark intensity, the solicitor stepped forward and delivered a closing speech that had the jury hanging on every word. He painted Ben not as a murderer, but as a confused, broken boy caught in a nightmare. The speech resonated—not just with the jury, but with every viewer watching from their living room.
When the jury returned minutes later, all eyes turned to the foreman.
"We're deadlocked."
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the room.
A mistrial.
The prosecutor stared at Ben for a long, silent moment. The camera lingered on her unreadable expression. Then she shook her head slightly.
"My office declines to prosecute further."
The courtroom exhaled as one.
Ben's face crumpled with emotion. He slumped into his chair, tears streaking down his cheeks. All his bravado from the prison was gone in that instant. He was finally free. He turned to embrace his lawyer, his face a mix of shock and fragile gratitude.
But Frances Kapoor was gone. She had slipped out of the courtroom quietly—her career now tarnished by whispers of an inappropriate relationship with her client. She didn't wait for thanks.
The final scenes played in near silence, only the ambient music and soft, echoing footsteps filling the air. Ben returned to his prison cell one last time to collect his belongings. His movements were slow and mechanical. He changed into his old clothes, now too tight across his broad shoulders.
He walked out of prison a free man.
But freedom didn't mean return.
The boy who had entered prison months ago was gone. The new Ben was hardened. He was bigger, covered in tattoos, and his posture was military-straight. He didn't walk out as an innocent man. He walked out as someone permanently changed.
People in Ben's community no longer made eye contact with him. His presence carried a quiet menace. His stare, once timid and uncertain, now sent shivers down spines. Whenever he looked at someone, they found an excuse to leave. Quickly.
Meanwhile, the real killer—the man who had taken Melanie's life—was finally being pursued by the police. This time, they were trying for real evidence. DNA. Surveillance footage. A confession.
But it came too late, at a price too heavy.
In the closing scene of [The Night Of], Ben sat alone on the same quiet stretch of beach where he had first taken drugs with Melanie. The waves rolled in, soft and indifferent. In his hand was a small packet. He didn't flinch. He didn't hesitate. He took the hit. As he stared out into the sea, the haunting memories of that night played behind his eyes.
The screen slowly faded to black as the end credits rolled.
Dennis turned off the TV and let himself sink into the couch, breath caught somewhere between awe and unease.
"That was so good," he said. "I'm not sure how I feel about him becoming an addict, but… the rest of it was incredible."
Ian nodded slowly. "Same. I think the drug part was meant to hit hard and drive home the point that prison doesn't just punish you. It changes you. Ben didn't belong there. He was innocent. But the system failed him and turned him into something he wasn't."
There was a beat of silence before Ian added, "It happens a lot. My uncle got locked up for theft."
Dennis turned toward him. "What happened?"
Ian gave a soft, bitter shrug. "He was only in for a year. Got out clean. But a year later… he OD'd. He never touched anything before prison."
Dennis fell quiet. "Damn."
And suddenly, he understood. The ending hadn't been a twist for shock value, it was a mirror of reality. A brutal, unflinching reflection of what happens far too often.
Without another word, Dennis stood up.
"I'm going to bed early tonight."
Ian raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
Dennis gave a determined nod. "I'm starting the gym tomorrow. Troy's training montage hit something in me."
Ian grinned. "Finally. It's about time." He stood up, stretching his arms behind his head. "I'll come with. Let's get jacked together."
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AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver