Murder by Illusion

by Giles Ekins

  ‘Well I have to admit, it is quite dramatic, the lighting I mean but that will be down to the director,’ he answered disparagingly, reluctant to admit he was impressed by Charlie’s theatricality.

  ‘Rubbish, Charlie was always good with the lighting effects.’ Doreen did not in fact know if Charlie was good with lighting but she was not going to let Dennis rubbish him like that.

  Charlie announces the re-enactment of Marie-Josephine’s execution. Henry signs his name of Selene’s brow and she kneels down and is locked into the guillotine. Charlie releases the blade. Selene slumps forward, apparently headless.

  ‘Holy shit, did he just cut off her head?’ Dennis gasps, white faced.

  And Doreen remembers Emma’s complaint, ‘it were ‘orrible, him chopping that woman’s head off like that’ and she wasn’t too far wrong. ‘No, no, he can’t have done, it’s an illusion. The lighting or something, has to be.’

  ‘Give us a kiss, Henry’ and all the lights go out and screams echo round the studio. ‘Fuck me, how’s he done that, the head was off. The head was off, I fucking saw it,’ Dennis shouts, pointing at the screen. And then there stands Selene, arms outstretched, her eyes closed as though in ecstasy.

  Doreen, shaken to the core, ejects the tape and turns the player off. They sit there in stunned silence.

  ‘Fuuuuck, you can see what all the fuss is about, can’t you?’ Dennis says at last.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  London, Michael O’Daly’s apartment, the day after the broadcast

  ‘I think I might just have to tell young Poppy that she’s wasting her time mooning after that use-less tosser of a bum-boy, set her straight on what gender and which orifice Mr. Vorpalsnake actually prefers.’

  CHARLIE DID NOT OFTEN WATCH TELEVISION and when he did it was usually sport, especially cricket, he loved cricket, and always went to a Test match at Lords or the Oval if he happened to be in London or at any other Test ground if he were in that part of the country. He had been delighted when Durham achieved First Class County cricket status and whenever he went to visit his mother in Durham (perhaps not as often as a dutiful son should).he would go to watch Durham play at the Chester-le-Street ground . If he happened to visit her during the football season he would go to St James Park in Newcastle to support the ‘Toon,’ Newcastle United. Charlie had been a Magpies fan for as long as he could remember, his father had always taken him to home games and so he might watch ‘Match of the Day on BBC if the Newcastle game was featured, but otherwise was not much bothered about watching football otherwise unless it was an England international. And rugby, he would watch England playing in the World Cup or the Six Nations.

  And nature documentaries, he could watch those all day, especially the David Attenborough series; such as ‘The Life of Birds,’ ‘Life in the Freezer,’ The Living Planet’ and ‘The Trials of Life,’ he had had them all on video and he bought them again when they issued on DVD.

  Other than that, he rarely watched much television, the news, ‘Mastermind’ perhaps, occasionally a western such as ‘Once Upon a Time in The West’ ‘Dances With Wolves’ or a classic John Ford western such as ‘The Searchers,’ with John Wayne, one of his all-time favourites, but not often.

  He preferred to read. Or drink. Or read and drink. He would read anything and everything, Dickens was a favourite he had a full set, leatherette bound, gold tooling, probably still with Doreen in the flat, Steinbeck and Earnest Hemingway were also favourites but he also enjoyed Stephen King, Dick Francis, crime, thrillers and science fiction. He bought his books, paperbacks, second hand from charity bookshops and donated them once he had read them, wondering how much of the money he spent buying books in charity shops spent actually reached the starving children of Africa, not a lot he suspected, 10% maybe? If that.

  But he did watch ‘Wonderful World of Magic,’ mainly to see if any magician could come up with a trick or illusion that he had not seen or could not work out how it was done. There had never been an illusion he did not know how it could done.

  Until now.

  Charles Chilton and Selene with the ‘Devil’s Guillotine.’ How the fuck was that done because it had not gone as they had planned and rehearsed.

  The studio recording had gone down just fine. Despite what Charlie had said to wind up that little tosser Geriko Vorpalsnake, they did run a detailed second rehearsal, right up to the moment when Selene is locked into the lunettes of the guillotine.

  ‘That’s it, that’s as far as we take it.’ Charlie declared, releasing Selene and helping her to her feet. Geriko protested again, trying to score a point, but Gordon Robertson, the director, understood the necessity to keep the denouement of the illusion a secret up until the last minute, he had worked with magicians and illusionists and understood how closely they guarded the secrets of their profession.

  During the preliminary run through, Charlie and Gordon, with input from Keith, worked out the lighting regime, the spot placements and the camera positions as Charlie walked them through the action and Keith set up his lap-top for the control of the sound effects, essentially the timing of the dread-bells tolls. Gordon knew by instinct exactly the theatrical effect Charlie was trying to achieve, it was a symbiotic relationship that worked well and Charlie was very satisfied.

  Throughout the run through and the rehearsals, Gordon would turn to Geriko and instruct him, ‘Geriko, take a note of this cue, OK?’ Or ‘Check the timing on this ’or Take note of the spot placing for that, and advise the Bill the gaffer, OK?’ and ‘Note the time counts here,’ and every time Geriko looked as though he’d wallowed a hedgehog and Charlie inwardly chortled at his discomfiture. Serves you right you pretentious prick.

  ‘Poppy, Take a note,’ he would echo peremptorily, to demonstrate his petty authority and she, poor thing, looks eternally grateful, almost orgasmic because he actually spoken to her.

  ‘Look at him, so fucking shallow you could walk across him and not get your feet wet’ Charlie thinks, ‘ I think I might just have to tell young Poppy that she’s wasting her time mooning after that use-less tosser of a bum-boy, set her straight on what gender and which orifice Mr. Vorpalsnake actually prefers,’ He looks at Poppy again, ‘Not too shabby at all Miss Poppy from Liverpool, a bit plump maybe but pretty enough with it., probably scrub up nicely,’ wondering whether to ask her out for a drink afterwards and try his luck, female companionship, Selene aside, had been distinctly lacking in his life of late, very much on short commons in the bedroom department. In fact the last time he had had a woman had been that terrifying encounter with Lilith van Dante, months ago, after that he had just been too busy, working 12 or 14 hours a day perfecting his act, not just for the TV show but for the nationwide tour afterwards.

  And at that he turns his mind back to the matter at hand; they had reached as far as Charlie was prepared to take the run through. Gordon checks his timing sheets and running script and nods. ‘OK, Charlie, Just give me the running time from this point on,’ as Vorpalstone looked as though he was about to stamp his feet and hold his breath.

  Charlie thought for a minute or so, ‘the head drops, sorry darling, Selene’s head drops down into the basket, I walk around and pick it up, how long, 10 seconds? He mentally walks the actions through in his mind, checking the time on sweep hand on the Rolex watch he bought from a Nigerian street trader in Tottenham and which possibly might not be genuine considering he only paid twenty quid for it, but it kept good time and what else do you want from a watch, to be tucked up in bed and kissed goodnight?

  ‘Hold up the head. Ask the volunteer, how long. Another fifteen seconds, say 20, lights out, what’s that, 30 seconds? Put her head back in the box, and exit, automatically closing the curtains. Another 10, maybe 15 seconds, 45 seconds in total. And then the unknown, how long does Selene take to sew her head back on, or however else she does it, superglue? 10 seconds? 20 seconds. 30 seconds, who knows? He did ask her once when they were rehearsing in the workshop. ‘Er, how long…does it take…y
ou know…the …head?’ but all she said was ‘as long as it takes.’ Which was not exceedingly helpful.

  ‘About a minute, Gordon shouldn’t be longer than that, you go with that, Selene?’ trying to put her on the spot and she nods in concurrence, ‘Aye, say a minute, Gordon a minute max.’ Gordon makes a note and instructs Geriko to take note for the timings and then they wrapped for the day.

  They taped the next day and all went exactly as planned until the moment Selene appeared to be praying, something not scripted.’

  . But who is she praying to? and thunderous hammers of anxiety pounded into his heart, am I being set up for something? But for what? To go down for manslaughter? To be held accountable to Satan for the death of one of his …whatever it is that she is?’ All these dire, fearful thoughts raced through his mind as he locks Selene into the guillotine and then drops the blade. He lifts out the head, far, far, heavier than he had anticipated; almost dropping it from his trembling hands, his heart beating so fiercely he thought it must explode. ‘Henry, is this your signature?’

  ‘Yyyyessss. Yes.’

  ‘Give us a kiss Henry!’

  The lights in the studio go out and screams echo around the studio walls. He takes Henry by the arm and leads him away, automatically closing the curtains about Selene as he does so.

  A spotlight stabs through the darkness to the back of the studio and there stands Selene, arms outstretched, her eyes closed as though in ecstasy. The audience erupts in shouts and claps and cheers.

  Fantastic. Amazing, Gordon is nearly wetting himself with excitement as he hurries out from the production control room, even Vorpalsnake looked impressed and Poppy was hopping up and down in excitement, her bosom bouncing as though on springs as she ran over to give Charlie a big embrace, ‘That is the most amazing thing I have ever seen’ and Charlie give her a big squeeze back and then had to pull away as his sudden flaring erection threatened to punch a hole through his trousers. The rest of the crew, the boom operator, cameramen, gaffer, grips, the control room team, runners and production assistants all came over to congratulate him and shake hands, ‘amazing Charlie, fantastic, the best I’ve ever seen, fantastic man, great, the accolades coming thick and fast and Charlie laps it up, trying to ignore the worms of disquiet writhing in his stomach, the icy chills in his veins.

  For Selene has remained at back of the studio, arms outstretched, her eyes closed as though in ecstasy, an ice-queen, remote, breathing heavily and her chest heaving.

  And that is Charlie’s dilemma. In all their rehearsals, Selene had re-appeared through the curtains. At no time had they ever discussed the possibility of Selene appearing to the rear behind the audience. It was not physically possible – except by using a double as many other illusions did, but Henry’s signature was still there on Selene’s forehead. A double could not have had that. It was not physically possible.

  So how had she got to the back of the stage, had she flown there, but she would have been seen had she down so It was no more than 7 seconds from the curtain closing to her resurrection at the back of the stage, a very long 7 seconds to be sure…but? How? The question bugged and nagged Charlie, even more than the question as to how she manages to un-decapitate herself, if there is such a word, knowing the he is never going to find the answer to that one .nor does he want to.

  And the spotlight, there was nothing in the lighting plan calling for a spotlight to shine to the back of the audience apart from the spot which picked Charlie and Selene at the beginning of the act. Who shone the spot? it could only have been Keith in collusion with Selene, but Keith denied it,’ No Charlie, it weren’t me, absolutely no way, it come as a shock to me an’ all, seeing Selene up there with that spot on her.’

  Afterwards he had questioned Selene why she had moved away from the script, ‘Oh that, it was just a spur of the moment idea, I thought it would be more dramatic.’

  ‘Aye? Well it certainly was that and no mistake but in future darling, don’t go doing things without I know, else it upsets my waters and we don’t want that, now do we?’

  ‘Of course not, as I told you before I will never forget who is the boss. Never.’ But somehow that did not reassure him in the slightest. Not at all. Quite the opposite in fact.

  And watching it all again on the ‘Wonderful World of Magic’ only brought his unease to the surface again. But, he tries to reassure himself, what is the point in in Tchort spending all this money if he intended to do him wrong? Thousands of pounds already spent and thousand s more to spend. And then it strikes him, money is irrelevant to Tchort, he is the Devil and to him money is simply a tool. A means of temptation, to lure and trap his soul and there was no way back from the trap. Or am I just being paranoid again?

  All very disturbing, disconcerting, there were undercurrents at work here and Charlie was very discomforted ‘what the fuck is going on?’

  ‘What the holy fuck is going on?’ and lines from ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by the Rolling Stones, his favourite group of all time, seep into his tormented mind (his musical taste was fairly expansive but for Charlie, everything begins and ends with the ‘Rolling Stones.’ He had at one time owned most of their records and one of the best days of his life was seeing the Stones live at his beloved St James Park in Newcastle during their ‘Urban Jungle’ tour in 1990. A friend in the business managed to get him a backstage pass and he a got to meet his idols. What a great day that was.

  But always, the last two lines from ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ echo through his mind like an evil spirit.

  But what’s puzzling you,

  Is the nature of my game?

  The nature of my game!

  TWENTY-FIVE

  London, Doreen’s apartment, Monday

  ‘So what’s she like then? Jessica?’ and if you say she looks like Snow White I’ll throttle you with that stupid company tie.’

  BOTH DOREEN AND CLARRIE buy the papers that Monday morning.

  Doreen gets the ’Daily Express,’ the ‘Daily Mail’ ‘the ‘Daily Mirror’ and the ‘Daily Telegraph,’ whilst Clarrie bought the ‘Daily Mail,’ the ‘Guardian’ and the ‘Times’.

  The Express and the Mail were shocked, scandalized, outraged, incensed, disgusted, and appalled that the BBC should broadcast such a show, the Mail being particularly vociferous in its condemnation of a ‘sick and tasteless stunt pandering to the depraved and debauched, displaying a total lack of moral rectitude, no wonder the country is in such a parlous state, that there is lawlessness on the street, that public drunkenness is rife, that welfare fraud is escalating to unsustainable levels, that the pound is weak and that European Court of Human Rights is manifestly corrupt when such degrading filth as this debased spectacle is peddled into the home as ‘entertainment’ so that children become numb and insensitive and spend their days watching on-line porn or video nasties. Bring back flogging, hanging and gibbetting and deport everybody living in the Home Counties who don’t vote Tory.

  Or words to that effect.

  The ‘Daily Mirror’ followed a similar line although not so robustly as the ‘Daily Mail’ and quoted a Labour MP as stating that the show ’was obviously a Tory plot to discredit the LabourParty, that Guillotine’s should be nationalised and all ‘Daily Mail’ readers taxed at 98% to pay for it.

  Or words to that effect.

  The ‘Daily Telegraph,’ was more circumspect in its review, pointing out that the BBC did broadcast a warning that some might find the programme disturbing and that it was broadcast after the 9pm ‘watershed’ It also praised the quality of the performance but added that whilst undeniably entertaining and theatrically stunning, they it did find it disconcerting and potentially distressing for those of a nervous disposition.

  ‘The Guardian’ thought the performance to be ‘Thatcherite’ in its disregard for the obscurantism and circumlocution of extent cromoglycate, deviant to the point of falciparum, displaying an interpellate grotesquerie reminiscent of Erisypelas in draconian Malaquetta, a quotibetian of M
üllerianist-mimicry and sulpicianic misogyny. The only recourse, according to the’ Guardian’ was for everybody to vote for the Liberal Democrats, for the transfer of the executive authority of Parliament and law-making to the European Parliament in Brussels and for Britain to become a province of Belgium.

  Or words to that effect.

  By contrast, ‘The Times’ praised the performance for its brilliant theatricality, it’s sense of drama and tension coalescing in a stunning finale beyond imagination and congratulated the BBC for displaying the courage to broadcast such a memorable enactment in the face of bigoted and misguided criticism. So there.

  Charlie did not read the reviews. On Sunday night he was violently attacked by two bottles of scotch and despite valiant resistance eventually succumbed against overwhelming odds and spent Monday comatose on the settee in Michaelmas’s apartment…

  The nationwide tour was due to start in three days, the first venue, the Cliffs Pavilion at Southend on Sea.

  ‘Er, Doreen,’ Dennis starts nervously as they sat down to dinner that same evening (steak and kidney pie, mashed potatoes, fresh peas and lashings of gravy followed by treacle pudding and custard, Doreen was trying build him up) ‘I’ve something to tell you.’

  ‘Yes?’ Don’t tell me, you have taken that job with Snow White!’ Charlie’s cruel jibe had stuck in her memory ever since that morning, and it kept rising to the surface of her mind at inappropriate moments.