Invisible Threads--Chapter 26

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jim arrived for Call thirty minutes early which was considered on time. There were two police cars and another car parked in the No Parking zone next to the stage door. His previously brisk walk slowed to a crawl to discretely study the alley. There, on a pole directly across from the door was a camera pointed right at the stage door. How had he missed that yesterday?

He considered turning back. At least force them to make the arrest in the privacy of a hotel room without it being a public spectacle. But he wanted this over, so he walked through the door and found three short lines leading to three police officers. He stepped into one and waited his turn while willing his heartrate to slow.

When he got to the front of the line, the police officer managed to sound both efficient and bored, "Sir, may I see your stage pass please?"

It was hanging on a lanyard around his neck. "Certainly." He held it out.

"Do you have another form of ID?"

He pulled out his wallet, removed his driver's license and handed it over.

"Were you here yesterday?"

"No. Contestants weren't allowed. There was a bomb scare. Right?"

"You can go."

The policeman was already turning from him to the next person in line. There had been no reaction to his name, his face, or his picture.

As he walked toward the green room, Harriman noticed that people were gathered together in small clumps and talking in whispers. But no one looked at him or quickly looked away as he approached. Then he noticed that some people were crying. One woman who was crying was being comforted by another. He stopped.

"What's going on?"

The crying woman looked up. "Somebody attacked the Director."

The Director?

She continued, "She's dead."

"What?"

The other woman spoke: "Somebody killed the Director."

He left them and continued on toward the green room. He couldn't remember the director's name but knew what she looked like. And the woman he hit was not her. Too short. Too young. Wrong hair length. Wrong hair color. If someone had killed the director, then maybe his assault on the younger woman would be forgotten.

When he got to the green room, he waited patiently to talk to one of the tablet holders.

"Excuse me. Someone told me that the Director was attacked."

"Not the Director. Her assistant, Lacy Birkland."

"And she died?"

"Yes. This morning. We're going to honor her tomorrow during the opening set. But for now, she would have wanted the show to go on. So, that's what we need to be doing."

He felt the blood draining from his face and his hands beginning to shake. He turned away as the intern went on with his tasks.

The girl he hit had died. He was a murderer. The police were looking for a murderer... and he was it. His heart was racing again, his head began to swirl, and he could feel heat rising in his cheeks. He needed normalcy. Something mundane on which to focus.

Looking around the room, he spotted a make-up artist and almost ran toward them. "Excuse me? Can you help me do something about these circles under my eyes?"

The make-up specialist stepped back and looked into his face. She said, "I don't know. It's very unusual for a contestant on this show to have a sleepless night before judgment day and make that request. No reason that I might be prepared for exactly that. You just have a seat right here and I'll get you all fixed up."

Jim sat in the chair and started taking slow, deep breaths. He hoped the make-up artist couldn't hear his heart.

***

The Green Room was buzzing with activity when Cherie and Gary arrived 20 minutes before Call. The police check at the front door was unusual and Cherie's head was on a swivel as they passed through backstage. She stopped just inside the auditorium and placed her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Something's wrong."

Gary looked around the room. Groups of people were talking in little groups. It looked the same as the other times.

"Stay here." She said.

Cherie took her hand away and walked into the room leaving Gary standing alone. He continued to study the group dynamics around him, trying to understand what she had seen. It must be something about the body language or the level of conversation or tones of voices or facial expressions. His attempt to play a mental what's-different-about-this-picture game proved fruitless.

Cherie returned. "Lacy Birkland was killed on site yesterday."

Gary recognized the name but couldn't remember a face. He was having trouble processing. "Is that some sort of show business slang?"

"No. She was attacked and she died."

"Attacked?"

"Someone hit her on the head."

"And she died?"

"Yes."

He finally thought of an important question to add to the conversation: "You knew her, right?"

"Not all that well. She was nice to me."

Gary still couldn't place her. "Are they cancelling the show?"

She thought briefly about making a show must goes on speech but it seemed stupid. "No. The company lawyers pressured the cops. We're moving ahead."

"I see."

"Yeah. We all see." Her response seemed to have more depth than his statement.

She continued, "So, everything is business as usual."

They stood next to each other and waited. For what, Gary wasn't sure. Probably someone with a tablet to tell them what to do. Cherie, uncharacteristically, remained silent. While he had embraced silence most of his life, when Cherie was present, it was unsettling.

The silence allowed his mind to roam and his thoughts turned to the previous night, his revelations to Cherie about the anomaly, and how she had been acting toward him since. He wanted to ask her about it but someone had died. He remembered after his father's death, that everyone said something else first before starting any kind of normal conversation.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

She looked at him quizzically, "Sure. Fine."

That seemed to meet the requirements so he moved on to what he wanted to talk about. "When are you going to stop acting weird?" In his head, this had been a strong, masculine statement. It came out whiny.

"Not everything is about you." She looked away. This was an unfair statement said in spite. One of the few things she could not accuse him of was being overly dramatic.

But he acquiesced. "Sorry. You've been acting strange since last night."

"You're telling me that?"

"You're not acting like yourself."

"Would you be more comfortable if I saw demons that no one else could see and heard voices that no one else could hear?"

He didn't have an answer to that and didn't like the word demon. "Anomaly"

"Tomato, tomahto." She made a show of opening the notebook. "Why don't we go through the flow chart."

"I don't need to work on the flow chart. It would help me most if you could be normal."

"This is the new normal. Deal with it."

Taking those words at face value meant that everything he had learned about her moods through the previous weeks was lost. "Okay. But if you really want to help me win this, then you will be you."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"Thank you."

She finally turned and looked at him. "I'm going to be asked to leave in a minute anyway so I might as well go ahead and go unless you have anything else to say."

"No. Go ahead."

"Remember the emotions we practiced."

"I'll do my best."

"You've been doing great so far this trip. Now, stay on script and break a leg." She stood and left without looking back.

***

Harriman's heartbeat was now slowed and the heat on his cheeks cooled. He walked around the room and even smiled and chatted amiably with other contestants. He saw when Richardson and angry short girl entered. There seemed to be some tension between the two. Apparently, trouble in geek paradise.

He turned his abilities of discernment on himself and analyzed his own actions for things that might betray the torrent of thoughts thrashing through his mind. A brief glance into the mirror showed him standing tall and in control. A glance at the surface of the water inside the plastic bottle he held revealed a tiny quavering of his hand. He stilled it. He was in control of this.

The girl in the trap room was an obstacle standing between him and his dream. He had removed it. It had to be done. If anything, it showed his commitment. This thought resonated. He was committed. What could more fully demonstrate that commitment than the willingness to take a human life? And now he would embrace what he had done and what it meant. He was all in. There was no turning back. The girl had died at his hand and, if he did not succeed now, that would be for nothing.

A sense of freedom came over his mind as he reasoned. He now knew what the limits were to his willingness to give for the dream. There were none.

***

Gary found himself being forced across the room by a notepad-bearing intern toward Harriman. They were pushed together side-by-side facing some blank monitors.

Jim looked at the camera crew that had followed Gary over. "Do you mind if Gary and I have a moment before we start?"

The intern looked at his notepad. "Just a minute we're on a tight schedule."

Harriman turned on the full charm smile. "It'll be quick, I promise."

The crew backed away a few steps.

Jim kept standing right next to Gary and started. "You and I have gotten off on the wrong foot..."

"You're trying to steal from me."

"Guilty as charged," Harriman said, wrapping his arm around Gary's shoulders. Gary tensed at the unwanted contact while Harriman flashed a fake smile and whispered into his competitor's ear: "And your tricks are better than mine so I'm going to continue to try and steal them. I've dedicated my life to this shot and I'm going to do everything I can to cash in. It's probably my last chance at the big time. I lose here and I am doing Branson, Missouri and cruise lines for the rest of my career."

Gary did an awkward twist out from under the offending arm and established an acceptable distance between them. "Your stage presence is better than mine. I'm not trying to steal that."

Jim discarded the first three options for responses that crossed his mind. "Fair enough. You may be a better person than I am. But that doesn't change the fact that right here and right now, we have a common need. And that is for the cameras to see us as nice people that they can like."

"I dislike you."

"You're not on my Christmas card list, either. But we have to fake it."

Gary shuffled his feet and then looked over at the cameraperson waiting on them. Cherie had told him the same thing. "Agreed."

Jim looked over at the intern. "We're ready."

The intern returned. "You take a few minutes and watch the four other magic acts and figure out what you want to say about them. Then we're going to move over there and you're going to look at the 'X' on the wall and pretend that you're watching the monitor and talking about the acts. Got it?"

Gary asked the obvious question: "Why don't you just film us here while we are actually watching the monitor?"

Her answer was rote, "We'll get the back shots that include the monitor here but the lighting from the monitor puts weird shadows on your face. So, we do the front shots over there and then edit the shots together so it looks like we had two cameras instead of one. We'll cue up the four videos one at a time. Make sure and talk to each other and maybe gesture at the screen some. It doesn't matter what you say at this point, we won't do sound until the front shots. Ready?"

The monitor came on and the first video was of a close-up magic act.

Jim leaned even closer to him. "This guy's not very good. I don't see him moving on. His card palming is fine for a small live show but it won't stand the scrutiny of a television camera."

This wasn't right. Cherie had told Gary that the cardinal rule was to never say anything bad about another contestant. So, either Harriman didn't know that, or...

"You're setting me up. Trying to get me to say negative things about the act when we're being recorded so that I look bad."

Jim gave him a light cuff on the shoulder to make it look like two buddies sharing a joke. "You caught me again, Ace. Like I said, I am going to do everything I can to win."

"Okay." And then Gary looked back at the screen.

Gary didn't notice when the sudden opening of a door made Harrison jump slightly. Harrison took yet another deep, calming breath and focused on the task at hand.

Richardson's blasresponse was unsettling. It was almost as if his opponent didn't consider him a competitor. It was either an intense act of chill or supreme hubris. A third option was that Richardson was just a very strange guy.

The other three acts were nothing unusual and prompted no real discussion.

They were then led to the spot in front of the X on the wall next to which had been posted a listing of the four acts they had just watched. The intern explained, "These are the names of the acts you'll be discussing in order. Refer to them by first name as if you know them and are friends. Use their names a lot. Ready? Five, four..."

After the finger pointed at them, they both stared up at the X in silence. Gary remembered a line from Cherie's flow chart: "I don't know that much about illusion but Ryan's stage movement and presence are very good. He knows how to use the stage." This was word-for-word from the chart. Cherie would be pleased with him if she ever became herself again.

They traded standard lines for two minutes until the notebook-bearer said "Cut" and then led the cameraperson quickly away.

Harriman turned to Gary and extended a hand. "Good luck."

Gary looked down at the hand. "I believe it's break a leg."

Harriman left his hand out. "Naw. If I said that, I would mean it." The return of the wolfish smile.

Gary took the hand and shook it before turning and walking away.

Harriman found a seat and then sat alone with his thoughts churning. His confidence from just a few moments before was fading. He couldn't get into Richardson's head. Being able to think like the mark was essential. This guy's brain was not a normal place.

The four monitors came on showing the final set up going on in the judging room. A few seconds later, the door opened and a staff person yelled: "First two up are Marcus and Olivia. You have five minutes."

A female voice came from the back of the room, "Why the hell did they do that?!" The voice apparently belonged to Olivia. "Now, I get to sit here and sweat for 5 minutes! I'll look like a melted candle by the time I go in."

At that point, two make-up specialists came in. The first one called out: "I'm here for you, my princess!" Then he rushed over to Olivia to relieve her of her sweat.

Gary was also sitting alone. A fear was building in him that Cherie was not waiting for him and had just gone to her car and headed back to Tennessee. The idea of navigating this without her released the demons of his anxiety again. He returned to a mantra given to him by his doctors. Don't create a problem that does not yet exist.

He realized that he was the only one in the room not gathered around a monitor and worried that his apathy towards the other contestant's results might be considered an outlier. So, he rose and joined the nearest huddle to watch the results as they were passed down.

Another call from the door: "Gary and Jim: Five minutes." Cherie was wrong and he was going in with Harriman. That meant that one of them was not making it to the next round. Logically, it would be him. He began to prepare himself for this news.

The intern at the door smiled, "You ready?"

He turned to see Harriman standing next to him. Cherie had tried to prepare flow charts for spontaneous one-on-one conversations but there were too many variables. He went with the truth. "I've memorized different responses to the things the judges are most likely to say. Hopefully, at least one of them will apply."

Harriman smiled, "I wouldn't have said it that way but me too. You have a succinct way with words."

"I don't really like words."

"They're a tool. Like everything else."

Gary appreciated that thought. To him, words were frightening due to the damage they had done to him throughout his life. But if he removed the fear, then maybe they were just a tool. That is probably what Cherie is trying to teach him.

Harriman looked over to see Richardson staring into space. "It looks like the competition between you and I is going to be over anyway."

"Yes. One of us is done. It's likely me."

"I hope so. I've trained my whole life for this."

"I believe that my end goals may be different from yours."

Harriman attempted to put his hand on Gary's shoulder. This time Gary jerked away. If he was about to be sent home, then the play-acting didn't matter anymore.

The door opened again. "You two ready?"

They could say no? Was that an option?

"Follow me." Guess not.

The staffer led them down a short corridor and stopped in front of a pair of double doors masked by black curtains. She turned, "When I tell you to go in, you go straight ahead. There are two masking tape X's on the floor about ten feet apart in front of the judge's desk. Each of you stand on one of them. Look directly at the judges and don't say anything until they speak to you. They will lead and you respond or react to what you are told. Make sense?"

They entered side-by-side. Gary spotted the nearest 'X' and walked to it. Order number two was to look straight at the judges. He tried to make eye contact with the judges but instead got two eyes full of the bright lights. The judges were vague silhouettes within the ring of light.

"Sorry about the lights." The voice came from one of the female judges. "You both know why you are here. To find out if you are going forward in the competition or if this is the end of the line. These decisions have been extremely difficult as both of you are talented and definitely have belonged on the stage..."

To Gary, these were words for the sake of words. They bored him. He listened for key words or phrases such as his name or the one moving on is... and let his mind wander to mentally practicing for either outcome.

A male voice broke into his thoughts, "Okay guys. Its time. The one moving on is..."

The sentence stopped and just hung there. And hung there. And hung there. This was getting ridiculous. Did someone have a stopwatch on this?

"...both of you!"

The words confused him for a moment. He was supposed to hear either his name or Harriman's. Once he made sense of it, he tried to turn on the happy and surprised face and was still working with it when he noted a movement to his right. He turned to see Harriman approaching him. Harriman stuck out his hand. Cherie had specifically said hug. He kept with his training and moved past the extended hand and awkwardly hugged the unexpecting recipient. The end result looked like a short wrestling match with no winner.

Gary released him as quickly as he could and they turned back to the judges. He stepped sideways twice and returned to his mark. He remembered his line: "Thank you. I am honored."

The judges shifted their gaze to Harriman who was bouncing on his toes. He presented as too excited to speak which did not match the composed person with whom Gary had been speaking in the green room. Everybody was playing a part.

A second male voice came from the judge's desk: "Then get out of here before we change our minds."

Some of the staffers laughed politely to keep the poor joke from falling completely flat.

A door opened to the left of the judge's desk and Gary headed out. An anonymous pat on the back let him know that he had, once again, sweat through his t-shirt and his shirt. They were greeted just outside of the door by a camera team that was already filming. Gary looked for Cherie and didn't see her. His anxiety immediately shot through the roof.

"Where's Cherie?" He spoke just as a staffer started speaking.

The intern barely let her annoyance show, "She's probably still in the auditorium. Follow me to the Green Room. We're going to get a few shots there and then we'll put you and Cherie together for some shots of the two of you. Then, Jim, we'll film you calling your parents."

"But she's coming?" Gary interrupted again.

"I am sure she's on the way. Now let's go. We're on a tight schedule."

They headed to the green room for the preposterous victory lap ceremony.

***

Cherie was told to wait in a hallway about 20 feet down from a door. It was time to get into character. She just had to push the emotions aside for a couple of days. Her job was to keep Gary on course and she could not do it while boo-hooing about all of the stuff she didn't understand. She didn't understand how a cell phone worked but she stuck one against the side of her head. It's science. It's Gary. Both incomprehensible gibber-gabber. Scientists figure things out and theater professionals make them interesting. Right now, she had to focus on keeping her shit together.

The intern was still talking, "Remember to wait until they get set up in front of the door and then do your thing." He kept his hand on her shoulder as a restraint like the gate at the start of a horse race.

Gary wore a worried look as he turned the corner behind the cameraperson who got set up at the door as quickly as possible. The look of relief that crossed his face when he saw her made her almost break character but then she felt the hand leave her shoulder and it was showtime.

She ran forward and trusted that Gary would not forget to anticipate the jump this time. "Gary-y-y-y-y-y-y!" she screamed. Keeping the wide smile on her face, she saw him brace. The leap landed successfully, and he remembered to lift her up in the air and swing her around.

She leaned her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "You did really good. Two more performances and you could have what you want. Just keep doing what you're doing."

Her words were very professional. They were clean, precise, and positive. When she kissed him, it would appear to outsiders as warm and passionate.

The look of sadness in his eyes was seen only by her.

***

Al's job had never been more difficult. She was down an assistant who had been responsible for an amazing amount of work. Given that the work had been assigned by Al, she should not have been so surprised at the volume. But the rule with newbies was that you kept giving them more work until they cried uncle. Now, she was wanting to cry uncle but there was no one to cry to.

"Ms. Parker?"

She didn't recognize the voice which could only mean more police. Turning, she confirmed her assumption. It was a young man in a patrol uniform.

"Yes?"

"The detective would like a word with you, please."

"Is there any way that this can wait? I'm very busy now."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But they are trying to speak with everyone in order and your name came up."

Fighting it would only take up more of her time. "Lead on."

The conference that the police had commandeered contained two men in plain clothes. One she recognized as Detective Janus. The other was new. Neither rose when she came in.

Janus spoke, "Hello, Ms. Parker."

She nodded, "Detective."

"This is Lt. Bailey who is helping out today. We would like to ask you a few more questions."

She sat down. "Fire away. But please be cognizant that my time is extremely limited."

Janus smiled. "We will do our best to hurry."

Bailey took over from there. He didn't look up and wrote as he spoke into a large memo pad. "Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Ms. Birkland?"

"No. She was very well liked."

"Did she have any enemies? Anyone in the crew with whom she did not get along?"

"No. No one."

"Was she involved with anyone on the crew or had she been in the past?"

"She confided in me recently that she was not dating anyone."

"Did anyone seem especially interested in her?"

"Not that I saw. No." Her mind was yelling Lacy was from Minnesota, for God's sake. No one wants to hurt someone from Minnesota. It would be like kicking a puppy. But she kept the thought to herself.

Bailey looked over at Janus who wrapped things up, "I think we're done for now. Less than a minute. Pretty painless."

Al rose to her feet. "Nothing about this is painless."

She left and immediately was sucked back into the melee of the production. She made it through the day and they only overran by two hours. That was good since this was their easiest day left.

Al was going through her list of production notes for the third time when Natalie came into the control room and sat next to her. "What can I do to help?"

"You can find me a replacement for Lacy that's worth a damn."

"I tried. I made some phone calls this morning. They all said that they would give you a call and get more information. I told them that the first one who called you directly would never work again. They were bullshitting. There's no help coming."

"Thank you." At least the EP knew when she couldn't help.

"How late of a night do we have?"

"Late."

"Coffee-by-the-pot late or coffee-by-the-urn late?"

"By the urn plus order pizza late."

"Done." And she left.

The coffee was drunk. The pizzas were eaten. And the work got done. Al collapsed into her bed fully clothed at 3:20am. Two and half hours later, she was watching the reddening dawn in her hotel window through scratchy, dry eyeballs. She was exhausted but couldn't sleep, and emotional but couldn't cry.