by Louise Beech
‘The powers,’ whispered Ryan, his face alive for the first time all evening. ‘Jess told me Morgan Miller said you need three to get the powers. You just ask. That reinforces what we knew about Danny, Harry and Amelia. We want those powers. That’s why we really did this. And I think it’s time.’
‘We?’ Chloe shook her head. ‘You mean you.’
‘But what powers do you want?’ asked Jess.
‘You know.’ He looked at her. ‘Money. Wealth, beyond my wildest dreams. Then I can be the biggest actor the world has ever known.’ He paused, breathing hard, and looked at Jess. ‘You know what you want.’
She glared at him. ‘I want more than just you,’ she said angrily.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You have no idea.’
Chloe looked at Jess, her face radiant with life in the fiery light.
‘But that’s my business.’ Jess folded her arms.
Looking put out, Ryan said, ‘I guess we don’t have to share what we want. We can ask for it without saying what it is and maybe the spirits will just know.’
‘I just want to speak to Morgan,’ said Chloe. ‘She came to us.’
‘If we really believe it,’ whispered Jess.
‘I do. And there must be a reason. Look, we might able to find out what really happened the night she died.’
‘It doesn’t matter if we want different things from this now,’ said Ryan. ‘We all have an aim.’
‘But the powers,’ whispered Jess. ‘Daniel Locke died. And we can’t forget that Harry’s in an asylum.’
‘Amelia is OK,’ said Ryan.
‘But she didn’t—’
‘Let’s just do it,’ snapped Ryan.
‘If we get that horrible man again, I’m leaving,’ said Jess.
‘We’ll ignore him,’ said Chloe.
They placed their fingers on the upturned glass. Whatever that newspaper article had said, Chloe was sure all three of them believed what they were doing. Was that the driving force? That they believed?
‘Is there anyone with us?’ asked Ryan.
Chloe realised she hadn’t bothered with the notepad and pen – but she didn’t need them. They were all adept now at reading the words as the letters created them; like a second language. And surely she would never forget something as intense as this. How could it not stick in her head forever – the playful flames, the smell of Jess’s perfume, the warmth of the late summer night?
‘If there’s anyone here, let us know,’ said Ryan.
And she arrived. Chloe knew it. The glass didn’t move but she felt a gentle vibration in her buttocks as Morgan Miller walked across the stage behind them. The curtains moved too, the motion sending the candles into a frenzy.
‘She’s here,’ Chloe whispered.
‘But … the glass…’ Jess was staring at it, still immobile.
Then it moved.
I AM DUST
‘Hello Morgan,’ said Chloe and Jess, smiling at their natural unison.
‘We need to know more about the powers,’ said Ryan.
‘Ryan.’ Chloe sighed. ‘Give it a rest. Can we not just talk to her?’
‘What made you do a Ouija board?’ he asked gruffly.
HANDS JOINED WE FLY
NEITHER FIRST NEITHER LAST
WE GO AS ONE
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘It’s from Dust,’ said Jess. ‘When Chevalier finally joins Esme on the other side to be with her forever.’
‘What does that have to do with my question?’
‘Remember she said she used the Ouija board with her boyfriend, to prove her love for him.’ Chloe took over. ‘Maybe she’s referring to that? Morgan, who was the other person you were with? Can you tell us their name?’
FIND MY EARRING
‘Your earring?’ Chloe fingered the theatre charm in her pocket. She needed to get Jess alone later. To talk to her. Tell her they could forget the kiss, be friends, that she could accept just friendship if it meant not ruining things and losing her. Give her the gift. ‘Can’t you just tell us the name of that third person?’ she asked aloud.
IT WAS MY MOTHERS
‘The earring?’ asked Chloe. In a flash, she saw it; a delicate, silvery stud with a single, dangling, tear-shaped pearl. She saw Morgan’s slender hands touching it. Saw the other ear without one.
ONE IS NO GOOD WITHOUT THE OTHER
‘When did you lose it?’ asked Chloe.
WHEN I DIED
‘When you were killed, you mean,’ Ryan said.
Chloe tutted at him. ‘What happened, Morgan?’
IT FELL OUT
‘In your dressing room?’ asked Chloe. ‘That night?’
TOOK IT
‘Who did?’
KILLER
‘Tell us their name? Who was it?’
CANT
‘Why?’ asked Chloe, desperate.
Nothing.
‘She’s just playing with us,’ sighed Ryan. ‘You know what women are like. Tease you with stuff and then don’t tell you. Morgan, was it someone you knew and you’re being loyal to them or something?’
NOT WHO I KNEW WELL
Chloe frowned. She needed to hear the exact way the words were being said to interpret them properly, and Ryan kept putting her off with his brusqueness. It was all about that subtle nuance. ‘But you said they did the Ouija board with you so you must have met them more than once?’
FIVE TIMES
‘Five times?’
FOUR TIMES ON OUIJA BOARD
‘And?’
ONCE THAT LAST NIGHT
‘What happened that last night?’ asked Jess.
JEALOUSY
‘Jealousy?’ repeated Chloe. ‘Someone was jealous of you?’
WE BOTH ASKED FOR SAME
‘You both asked the Ouija board for the same thing?’ Ryan leaned forwards, interested again. ‘I never thought of that. What would happen if two people asked for exactly the same thing? After all, only one person can have a role in a show…’
I AM DUST I AM DUST I AM DUST
‘Someone wanted it too,’ whispered Chloe, realising. ‘So it must have been…’
‘A woman,’ finished Jess.
SHE HAS MY EARRING
‘Who was she?’ asked Chloe.
NOT DUST
‘Then who?’
A door slammed somewhere and all three of them pulled their fingers off the glass.
‘Shit.’ Ryan looked from Jess to Chloe, and back to Jess.
They waited for another sound; breath held.
‘Do you think that was a … human…’ whispered Jess. ‘Or…?’
Footsteps followed. Two sets. Slow. Were they torturously teasing or was it someone in an unfamiliar place, not sure which door they wanted?
‘Hide,’ hissed Ryan, standing up.
‘But… the stuff?’ Jess motioned to the glass, letters and candles.
‘No time.’ He headed for the curtain.
Chloe and Jess followed him, trying hard to tiptoe with speed across the wood. They cowered together behind the red velvet, listening hard. The theatre door opened with a creak. The lights clicked on.
It seemed an age before a male voice laughed and said, ‘Look at this fucking place.’ More footsteps then, possibly along the aisle, and then another male voice said, ‘Fuck me, I never even knew this was here. It’s perfect. We can hang in here any night we want.’ They must have reached the stage because one set of footsteps halted, quickly followed by the others. ‘What’s this stuff?’ asked the first voice. The sound of cautious steps on the wood. ‘What weird shit is it?’ asked the second voice. Rolling glass then and a smash as it must have fallen off the stage.
Chloe.
Who said that?
Chloe.
Then she knew. It was Morgan.
Don’t let them destroy your magic…
Chloe stepped out from behind the curtain before she could think, Jess’s hands trying to pull her back,
Ryan’s gasp hot on her neck. Her body moved as though not her own, and the words came out that way too.
‘What are you doing with our things?’ she asked the two men who were bending over their letters.
One had rotten teeth and he smiled a jagged, yellow smile. Chloe could hear all the terrible intentions fighting for space in his head. The other was small, less smiley, his thoughts less visible.
‘What do we have here, then?’ asked Yellow Teeth, moving closer.
It was then Chloe found out that she really was a witch.
39
The Dean Wilson Theatre
August 2019
It is another two weeks before Chloe and Ginger get a chance to talk privately again. With conflicting schedules, they pass one another in the cold corridors and hidden passages of the theatre, exchanging shy smiles, Chloe desperately trying to read Ginger’s face. Once, Ginger is wearing the Esme Black ghost costume and sweeps by, creamy skirts rustling, lace veil flowing, making Chloe feel like she might disappear, as though she were never here at all.
Each time they pass – fingers brushing fingers and film crew often in Ginger’s wake – Chloe longs to ask if she has read her script yet; longs to hear that Ginger loves her words and thinks she has talent. It’s a childish desire, one wrapped up in the need to know there’s a chance her love is requited. That night, in the dressing room, she told Ginger – Jess – that she loved her. She said the words out loud, and now they exist beyond her heart, dancing like dust in sunlight.
But Chloe has no idea how Ginger feels. No idea if their passion was just a moment of curiosity for her, or if it was the beginning of something more. Chloe can only close her eyes and relive their kiss in the dressing room. Only picture again and again Ginger saying, ‘You’re mesmerising.’ Only hope that when they meet again to chat, they can continue what they started; that it can become about them and not just the past they are trying to remember.
The night has arrived for this chance.
Tonight, they are meeting in the bar for a drink after Chloe’s shift and Ginger’s rehearsal. It’s two hours away; Chloe just has to get through the tedium of a show that – despite the frenzied press coverage of Dust and therefore the Dean Wilson Theatre – has sold abysmally and is half empty. No Greater Love is set during the First World War and attempts to address the complexities of same-sex love during a time when it was taboo. Unfortunately, the play is clichéd, sentimental and badly acted. Edwin Roberts sent an email to all staff last week, urging them to promote it among their friends and share it on social media. Despite Dust being sold out, he’s clearly concerned that this success isn’t having an impact on ticket sales for other shows. Dust is all that people want.
Chloe makes her way down the darkened auditorium steps to tell yet another patron to turn off her phone. The light from numerous mobile devices is a sign of one of two things – a show so spectacular that photos simply must be taken; or a show so dismal that the person is bored. As she returns to her spot in the shadows, Chloe realises with emotion that in just over a month this very stage will be home to Dust. She is sure the ushers will have to stop many a photo being taken then.
The radio crackles. Chloe stops beside her seat, heart beating. It’s been forever since she heard those ominous words – Never … be … under … one … roof… – but still she tenses every time there’s a message.
‘All ushers please flyer Dust at the end,’ says Cynthia, despite the ridiculousness of promoting a sold-out show. Chloe wonders why on earth they don’t flyer all the shows that aren’t selling.
Chester is on the opposite side of the auditorium and does a ‘Fuck, I’m bored’ face at her. She laughs. Then remembers he will be gone in two weeks and deflates. Beth – her hair midnight blue this week – is quietly tidying the flyers up.
The ushers finally saw the model box for the Dust set last week. This is a scale mock-up of what the stage will look like and is created for every show. Even with computer graphics and high-end 3D design, nothing beats the physicality of this model; there’s no better way to test out the logistics of the space – to get a godlike perspective.
It was beautiful.
The show will have a rotating set, built on a revolving platform. This device means there are quicker changes between scenes, and it works perfectly when a show has only a couple of locations. In Dust there is just Dr Chevalier’s luxury house and his garden. The rooms are mainly white with flowing curtains at tall windows and vases of white roses on every table. The garden is brick walls covered in a creamy, climbing hydrangea, and trees alive with white blossom.
As the ushers crowded around, Chester touched a tiny tree, his eyes moist, perhaps realising fully then that he would not witness the iconic show returning. Beth said it was more ‘modern-looking’ than the original. Construction on the real set will begin when No Greater Love finishes next week, so the cast and crew have plenty of time to do the technical rehearsals, which is when the lighting, sound, and scenery and costume changes are tested for any problems.
Chloe can’t wait to see it for real.
Can’t wait to hear the music again.
The radio crackles. She holds her breath. ‘Five minutes until the end,’ says the techie.
The show finishes to light applause and mostly derogatory comments from patrons on their way out. The ushers pick up the rubbish afterwards.
When Beth and Chloe reach for the same coffee cup, Chloe speaks before she can think. ‘What was it you had from the original dressing room?’ She has kept this question to herself for so long, the curiosity is burning her.
‘Sorry?’ Beth frowns. Is she playing for time – trying to come up with some lie?
‘You told me you had something from the original Morgan Miller dressing room – remember? I just wondered what it was … if maybe…’
‘Maybe what?’
‘Well, with the investigation all over the papers again, what you have might be a clue.’
‘A clue? What are you implying?’
‘Nothing,’ insists Chloe a little too passionately.
‘It was tiny, just—’
‘What’s going on?’ Chester saunters over, always an ear for gossip.
‘Nothing.’ It is Beth who’s insistent now, before moving away to another pile of rubbish.
‘Nothing,’ repeats Chloe, not needing any more drama.
In the box office, Cynthia is still cool with Chester. He has tried to put things right by telling the Marlon Brando guy that he was exaggerating, but the damage is done. Cynthia rarely opens up, but Chloe found her crying in her office one night. When Chloe asked if she was OK, she admitted she was sad about the Chester dismissal but had had no choice when he’d violated staff privacy and gone against her orders, yet again.
‘Yes, I covered Dust for him back then,’ she said sadly. ‘But I felt bad that he never got to work it when he’d been so excited. I still can’t believe he’d think anything malicious.’ She paused and in that second Chloe wondered if there was a chance that Cynthia went to Morgan’s dressing room that night. Was it a feeling or just a wondering? Could she see it or was she merely imagining it?
‘I’m sorry we haven’t got around to your duty-manager training,’ Cynthia says now, when Chloe goes into her office to hand over keys. ‘All this recent drama and Dust so close and everything else … well, I’ve been overwhelmed. Can we postpone it until after Dust is done?’
If I’m still here.
The thought pops into Chloe’s head. Still here? Is a better job on the horizon? Could it be to do with her script? What if Ginger loves it so much, she helps her get it out into the world? Chloe smiles to herself, picturing it, the two of them in the starring roles.
‘That’s fine,’ she says to Cynthia. She hoped to impress Ginger by being more than an usher, but now maybe her script will do that.
‘We’ll discuss it in October.’ Cynthia turns back to her computer.
‘What were you two on about?’ asks Cheste
r in the box office.
Beth has gone, leaving no chance to resume their earlier chat.
‘Just my duty-manager training.’
‘You wanna go for a drink? I could do with one.’ Chester looks fed up and Chloe’s heart melts.
‘I would but…’
‘But what?’
‘I’m meeting Ginger.’
‘Get you! Where? Here? Oooh, I’ll come and third wheel!’
Chloe laughs and shakes her head.
‘Can you put a good word in for me with that Abel guy?’
‘I’ll see.’ Chloe pauses. ‘Are you OK? I mean, really?’
‘No,’ he admits, deflated. ‘I haven’t got another job yet. And I just can’t imagine not coming here anymore.’
Chloe wants to tell him that she has a feeling she won’t be here either soon, but keeps it to herself. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’
‘You know what I’d love?’
‘What?’
‘If I solved the Morgan Miller murder before I left.’
‘Oh Ches,’ laughs Chloe. ‘You’ll only end up in more bother.’
‘Doesn’t matter, does it? I’m going anyway. Might as well go out with a bang!’
When he has gone, Chloe reaches into her bag and takes out a small velvet box. She unwraps the soft, grey tissue inside it to reveal a tiny charm; a silver, smiling ghost. It’s for Ginger. To symbolise Dust and to add to her others. Chloe changes into a more attractive ensemble than her usher uniform – a creamy, ruffled blouse and grey trousers – tingling with excitement at the thought of seeing Ginger in five minutes.