Invisible Threads--Chapter 22

Writer's Note: Please read the previous chapters and prologue of Invisible Threads before reading this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Gary and Cherie's return to the hotel from their night of 'partying' had consisted of his carrying her with one arm around her waist and the other trying to hold her arm across his shoulders as she moved her feet in something of a swimming motion. Her diminutive stature made his leverage terrible as he could not keep her arm around his shoulder without her feet dangling above the ground.

She demanded that they stop for a moment at a bench where she promptly passed out. Getting her to wake up enough to begin moving again was another trial. But he somehow managed. She passed out again in the elevator and became dead weight for him to carry. By the time they got to the hotel room, she was stone cold out of it and he was exhausted.

The next morning, Gary woke up to the sound of Cherie's gentle snoring. The soft snores when she slept on her side were endearing. The huge chainsaw snores when she rolled on her back were less so.

He was still sleepy but his mind was churning through the new questions now posed by the anomaly. It had contacted him. It's movements through the crowded room showed deliberation in avoiding direct contact with people or furniture. It navigated the space the way a human would. Most intriguing was that it seemed to move with a sentient purpose.

At the risk of assigning motive rather than observing action, he mulled the idea that the anomaly was trying to show him that he was being spied on. If he were to run with that theory, then it would mean that not only was the anomaly sentient, but it was aware of and cared about the results of a game show, which on the surface seemed absurd.

His immediate problem was determining whether the new information increased the pressure to tell Cherie about the anomaly now. He looked at her back. She was sleeping on her right side and facing the window. She rolled over on her back, let out half of a chainsaw snore, and woke herself with a start.

"Why did you wake me up?"

"I didn't. You just woke up." No reason to start the day off with an argument over her snoring.

"I'm hungry."

"Are you sure that you're feeling up to it?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You drank a lot last night. I would be feeling pretty bad."

"Well, I'm not you. And I'm hungry."

Everyone has that pinpoint in time when they feel old for the very first time. This was Gary's.

Gary continued to wrestle with the question of telling Cherie about the anomaly through breakfast. Cherie talked and talked, and didn't seem to notice his not unusual silence.

"You're brooding." Or maybe she did.

He considered disputing the statement but by any reasonable definition of the word, he was brooding.

He thought of a way out. "You remember that guy who we caught going through the costumes after the show yesterday?"

She nodded and spoke with her mouth full, "Jim Harriman." The Superstar IT people had never closed her account and she had looked him up on the program's intra-web.

"I'm pretty sure that he was following us last night."

She put down her fork and stared at him. "What do you mean by pretty sure?"

"I saw him at one of the casinos and when I looked at him, he looked surprised and hurried out of the building."

"That motherfucker!"

Most people assume that Las Vegas has billed itself as an adult destination and no one takes their children there on vacation. While accurate in large part, this statement was belied in this instance by the family of four at the next table. The two children were old enough to understand the words they had just heard and definitely old enough to repeat those words at a later and more embarrassing time.

Cherie turned toward them and saw two pair of saucer eyes from the children and two matching glares from the parents.

"Sorry." And that was when Gary found out that Cherie could blush.

She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper: "So that... so-and-so was actually following us?"

"I'm pretty sure. Yes."

"Okay, here's what we do. The next time you see that guy, teleport him to the Moon."

"He would die."

She finished chewing a bite and swallowed. "And?"

This was obviously a tongue-in-cheek conversation. Gary waited.

Cherie gave her plate one last glance and dropped her napkin on it. "You apparently want to have a serious discussion about this. There's not really anything to discuss. He's a small-time magician who sees a trick that is obviously next level. He wants to steal it. That's the business."

"But can't we stop him?"

"Being a douche isn't illegal. And anyway, there isn't really anything we can do and the jerk can't actually steal anything. So, let him waste his time."

That conversation should assuage her for now, but eventually he would have to tell her about the anomaly. Whenever he did it, the timing would be wrong. There really isn't a good time to tell someone about a mysterious and possibly dangerous invisible thing that only he could see.

She startled him when her face lit up. "Now, we need to discuss the important stuff. What are we going to do with our day off?"

"Do I get a vote?"

"If your vote is to sit in the hotel room all day, then no."

Since that had been his idea, he remained silent.

"But have no fear, I have found the perfect thing for you. Are you ready to take a voyage on the Starship Enterprise to go where no man has gone before?"

Gary could not put into words how little that appealed to him. "Sounds good."

"Then let's head upstairs and get our Trekkie on."

He hated the word 'Trekkie'.

***

Jim Harriman was pacing in his hotel room and muttering to himself.

"My surveillance was plan was solid. I picked the perfect location. There was nothing around me that would draw anyone's attention."

But not only had Richardson looked directly at him, he had done it purposefully. He had been specifically searching for something. But what? Did he realize that someone was watching him? Could the guy be that attuned to every nuance of what was happening around him? Would that then be the secret? Not a specific technique or trick - just an amazing talent to see, recognize, process, and organize amazing amounts of information about the world around him?

Harriman had spent his whole life becoming the best. If Richardson was at a whole new level, then that left Harriman as king of the Neanderthals looking at the first Cro-Magnon.

He spoke aloud again, "No. No level of situational awareness could move a card. It has to be a machine."

Harriman would not give up. The pretense at subterfuge was completely lost. This was a fight and the gloves were off.

He had planned to rest some today but changed his plans to go over and try to get into the theater to look for Richardson's machine or some evidence of where he had put it. Failing that, he would memorize every inch of the stage and front rows of the audience. This war would be fought on two fronts. First, talent versus talent. Second, Richardson's protection of the trick against Harriman's efforts to steal it and figure it out.

"I've put in the effort, the time, and the miles. I've earned my place. Richardson stumbled onto some machine. I'm the good guy here - defending the purity of the illusionist profession against those that would gimmick their way to the top. This is my world and I will defend it."

It was on.

***

Al would have enjoyed the day of no taping if Natalie hadn't been underfoot and riding her butt all day.

The EP interrupted her train of thought again, "The button thing is worked out. Right?"

Al nodded, "Yes. Lacy got it handled. The touchscreens work."

"Everything is set for the 'Goodbye Gang' culling tomorrow?" The culling was the tearjerker scenes where the contestants were told who was moving on and who was done.

Al closed her eyes and did not try very hard to hide her irritation, "Not yet. But they will be before we shut down for the night. Have you thought of attending the judges' debates about the contestants?"

"That contrived nonsense? That's just watching Bob and Danny mug at the camera and overacting about decisions that have already been made. If there is going to be a problem, it will be here. So, here is where I want to be."

"Suit yourself." Al made another effort to get back to work.

"We burned up a lot of cash on that button thing. We finish the culling tomorrow and then we have until Sunday to get all of the performances shot and in the can. What could stop us from getting that done?"

"Maybe an overzealous executive producer not letting her director get her work done?"

The EP ignored her. "Heaven help us if shooting goes into Monday. The unions will own us. And if we're not finished by Monday, we lose the venue. Then we miss our air date."

"I'm aware."

A knock at the door preceded the IATSE Master Electrician coming into the control booth. He was a whiny old bastard who seemed to come up with an amazing assortment of problems and few solutions.

"Ahem."

Al didn't look at him, "What is it, Hank?"

"The breaker on the sound board keeps popping. We tested another one and the board is fine so we need a new breaker."

The EP jumped in, "How much?"

"They run about forty dollars. And it will require some overtime."

Al stopped what she was doing, this was going to get good.

The EP stood and stepped up to the electrician. Her voice was even, soft, and cold as ice, "Hank. I know what is required to swap a breaker. It takes less time that it took for you to walk up here. You buy the damn breaker, get it installed, and don't charge me one minute of overtime. And quit wasting Al's time with your bullshit. Just get the job done. Do I need to explain what will happen if you don't?"

Hank left the room without saying a word.

Maybe there were some benefits to having the EP around.

***

Harriman was breaking a serious rule. Sneaking into the theater during prohibited hours was forbidden to prevent acts from stealing advantage through extra site prep. Getting caught would lead to immediate termination from the competition.

That was a risk. But remaining in the competition and being completely overshadowed by Richardson was worse. Being the second-best magician in what was traditionally a singing show would end his ability to ever break through.

As an illusionist, he knew that the best way to sneak was to act like he wasn't. He bought a tray with four coffees on it from one of the three nearby Starbucks and sauntered in the stage door. There was no guard at the door and the people who were bustling about paid him no attention. Carrying coffee meant junior intern, and junior intern meant "ignore" - unless the coffee was for you. He put the coffee down on the food service table and made his way to the stairs that led to the trap room under the stage.

The stairs were old and wooden with scuffed and pealing grey paint. The rectangular hole in the floor was protected by a rusty and bent metal guardrail. Nothing prevented access except for a chain hanging limply across the open side of the rail. The chain was not locked - only held in place by a clasp. His eyes followed the stairs down into the darkness below.

There was a light switch on the wall that would illuminate a bare bulb sticking out of the wall about halfway down. He left it off and carefully made his way down the steps. At the bottom was a small landing and then a door.

He put on a pair of gloves and tried the door. The knob turned easily, and he stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. As with anything back stage that might make noise, the hinges were well-oiled and silent. A small amount of light came in through ventilation grills set in the front of the stage and through the cracks around the trap doors above. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness, but it was not enough light for a proper search. Turning on the lights was a gamble that he had to take. He found and flipped a switch next to the door.

The room was tall enough that he did not have to duck, probably about six and a half feet clear from floor to the bottom of the stage structure. There was an elevator in the middle of the room with a metal arch over it that would open the trap doors above as it rose to stage level.

Richardson's machine had to be small enough that he or his foul-mouthed girlfriend could carry it on them or it had to be in this room.

***

Al was on her headset going through her master checklist with the various team leads. The Master Electrician had taken the opportunity to whine about how the floor was unlevel in the audience area, which made working the lift more difficult. He promptly shut up when Al asked him if the slope of the floor had changed since the last time they had worked there. The IBEW electricians were slightly behind but said that they could make up the time if she would approve more overtime. She agreed as always. Sandy, the lead sound tech, was on top of things as usual.

Al spoke into her mouthpiece, "Lacy, are you on?"

"I'm here."

"How's the cue list coming?"

The cue list included every cue on the show and Lacy was responsible for ensuring that there was nothing planned that had not been tested and verified.

She paused before answering, "Um. It looks like Fisher wants to make an entrance tomorrow coming up from underneath the stage."

Al groaned. "Why the hell would she want to do that? She's like eight feet tall. There's no way she can come up out of there gracefully. Who approved that?"

"I don't know. It's handwritten on the list."

"Is it Fisher's handwriting?"

"I don't know what her handwriting looks like."

"Never mind. I can guarantee it is. God protect us from on-air talent. I'll fight it out with her but go ahead and check the elevator to make sure it works and see how much noise it makes."

"Is the control for it in the booth?"

Al shook her head even though she was talking over the radio, "Nope. We just have a cue button that makes a light go off under the stage. The controls are in the trap room under the stage and on the elevator itself. If her request stands, we'll need an operator down there with her."

"Can I ride it up?"

"Knock yourself out. Just make sure and yell clear above three times before coming up." The actual rule was that someone was supposed to be on stage acting as a spotter but Al didn't have anyone to spare.

"Cool." Al could picture her young assistant smiling.

Lacy signed off.

***

Harriman's allergies were beginning to react to the dust under the stage. His nose was clogging, and he was about five minutes away from having to breathe through his mouth. Five minutes wouldn't be enough. The room wasn't very big but there were shelves all around stacked with several decades worth of odds and ends. Having no idea what Richardson's equipment might look like didn't make things go any faster. Nor did the dim lighting. He was searching for something that looked new and wasn't covered in dust. Or a place where the dust had been recently disturbed. But he saw nothing meeting those descriptions. Grabbing his nose to stop a sneeze made his ears pop so hard that his eyes watered.

He was waiting for them to clear when he heard sounds outside on the stairs. He scanned the room for a place to hide. There were none. His best chance was to turn on the charm and play dumb. If he couldn't pull that off, he would be eliminated from the competition. He could do this. He just had to stay calm.

Before he could take a breath to steady his nerves, his calmness evaporated and he was awash in terror.

There was no reason for this level of fear. Yes, he faced elimination, but he had been in tricky situations before. Why was fear burning white hot in his chest? He was shaking with a desire to run but there was no escape. Adrenaline flooded his system. Whoever was coming down the stairs was going to destroy his life, his goals, and his dreams. Within the shroud of fear that encompassed him, he saw the faceless person descending toward him as a physical threat. His primal self-preservation instinct erupted and cried out for action.

There were a couple of short 2x4 boards leaning in a corner. He grabbed one and stood next to the wall as the door opened - his mind racing to create a plan. The ceiling was too low to swing overhand so he would have to swing it like a baseball bat. He was on the wrong side of the stairs so he would have to swing lefty. He used to be pretty good at switch hitting as a kid, maybe some of the muscle memory remained.

A voice of reason questioned the terror that enveloped him, but it was swept aside in the rushing torrent of emotion. Gripping the piece of wood, he was focused on one objective - kill, or be killed.

Lacy stood for a moment on the top step to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She noticed the light under the door and assumed that someone on one of the crews had forgotten to turn the lights off when they left. Getting to go into places like the trap room was one of the "perks" of the job. Getting to ride the stage elevator was another. This was a good day.

After a moment, she could see well enough that she headed down. Reaching the bottom, she found the door ajar. It still struck her as slightly odd, so she stopped and peered in. No one was visible inside. She listened and almost felt like she heard something. The trap room was a spooky place.

Maybe she had intruded upon a lover's rendezvous. She stepped in and began to look around. The only lover here would be a lover of cobwebs.

Harriman was expecting a man and aiming for an uppercut under the chin, so his swing was a few inches high. There was no muscle memory or maybe he had never been such a good switch hitter. His swing was clumsy.

A woman in the modern world is always just a little ready for anything. But Lacy was not particularly ready for a 2x4 to come swinging at her face. The part of her mind that remained vigilant registered attack and leaned back and away from it while raising her hands in defense. Neither motion was quick enough to fully dodge the blow and it caromed off her forehead and a bright light filled her vision. She turned to run back up the stairs but was surprised to find that her knees weren't working and instead she slumped toward the floor.

She felt the floor hit her knees and then the sensation of falling as she tipped forward face down. Simultaneously, her bloodstream filled with adrenaline and the chemical acted to override the concussion that was fogging her brain. For just a few seconds, she was able to think clearly. Whoever had attacked her now had a clear advantage. All she could do was play dead and hope that they would panic and run. If they were determined to kill her, then she was defenseless and would die. If the objective was rape, then they were in for one hell of a fight. A wild, scratching, kicking, screaming fight. She tensed and waited.

Harriman watched the young woman crumple to the ground. His terror instantly subsided. It just disappeared. In its place came panic and confusion. He had hit this woman and she was hurt. He should tell someone immediately and get help. But then everyone would know that he had attacked her. And they would ask why, and he wouldn't know.

There would be accusations of attempted rape and he would go to prison and be a sex offender. The woman was bleeding. It was not making a big expanding pool like in the movies but was rather spreading out very slowly from her forehead in a spiderweb pattern. It had spread about two inches from her forehead, and he watched as it crept another quarter of an inch.

He ran.

He forced himself to slow down before making it to the top of the staircase. Running would draw attention. He had to be calm and walk out the way he came in - with complete confidence. After taking three deep breaths, he ascended the remainder of the stairs. Turning left, he walked to and out of the stage exit door. No one noticed him.

Lacy lay on the ground for a full minute after she had heard the departing footfalls. She rolled over on her back and looked at the up ceiling. It was structural concrete with shapes that she assumed were beams built in. She tried to sit up, but could not find the energy, so she rolled back over onto her stomach and slowly pushed herself up with her arms. This succeeded in getting her to her hands and knees and then she slowly settled back onto her haunches. Raising her head proved to be a mistake as her stomach immediately convulsed and pushed its contents into and out of her mouth. This put her back on her hands and knees until the vomiting subsided.

"Help!" She called out and then waited a moment, but no one above heard her weak cry above the din of stage preparation.

A second effort at getting to her feet ended in dry heaves. Standing was not an option.

She crawled over to the elevator and up onto the platform. The adrenaline was rapidly draining away which left the concussion in charge of her thought process. She knew that she had to press a button and after several moments of staring around, she found a small panel which contained buttons. It took all of her strength to pull herself up to her knees where she could see them. The panel was filled with gibberish lettering. Why would they label the buttons in a foreign language?

She sat back down and took several deep breaths. Her stomach was considering convulsing again. After waiting for it to settle down, she pulled herself back up to her knees to look at the buttons again. Maybe the labels weren't in a foreign language. Maybe that one said Power. And maybe that one said Emergency Stop - Pull Out to Operate. And maybe that toggle switch said UP and DOWN. She tugged at the emergency stop button - it was the largest - and tried to pull it out. It didn't come out. So, it must already be out. She was pleased with her logic.

Another respite was required as both her head and her stomach began swimming. On her second effort, she pressed the power button. Lights came on. Very good sign. She wanted to rest again but also wanted this to be over, so she hung onto the console as her stomach lurched and bucked and pushed the toggle to UP. The elevator began to move. She got her ride on the elevator.

The first rule of being part of a crew on a show was that you have done your job well if no one realizes you were ever there. Lacy shattered that rule into a thousand pieces. Not surprisingly, there was nothing in the show's Book about what to do if a bloodied woman suddenly comes up out of the stage. So, everybody did everything - chaotically and noisily.

Lacy didn't notice. She was too busy being unconscious.