08 Illusion

by Frank Peretti

  By 1:30 Mandy had slipped on the white, angelic costume and then, with Keisha’s help, folded and secured its flowing edges inside a black leather bodysuit.

  Keisha closed up the last breakaway seam of the bodysuit and asked, “All right, how’s that?”

  Mandy did some stretches, went through a few dance moves, waved her arms about. “It’s working.”

  “Looks good from here.” Then she lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “I allowed for a few extra pounds.” She winked.

  Mandy slipped a silvery tunic over the bodysuit and looked in the mirror, seeing once again Keisha’s signature touch.

  “Just like old times,” Keisha said. “You look as marvelous as ever you did.”

  Mandy turned to face her. This was good-bye. “I wish I could have remembered you.”

  Keisha placed a hand on each side of her face. “I do earnestly hope to see you again.”

  At 1:40, Dane, Mandy, Emile, Max, Andy, and Carl met under the stage for a word of prayer. Mandy figured it was a prayer meeting one would only see in show business: she dressed in silver and black like a fantasy hero; Dane and Emile looking tense, still wearing radio headsets; enormous Max dressed like an executioner, Mandy’s shackles draped around his neck; Andy and Carl dressed like slithery henchmen from the dark side, Carl carrying Mandy’s handcuffs. Dane and Mandy were the only Christian believers. Emile was agnostic, Andy was into Scientology, Max was searching and thinking his family ought to find a church somewhere, Carl didn’t give religion much thought at all.

  But they all prayed together because they were a team, and she could feel it: this was her moment, they’d all worked very hard to make it happen, and their hearts were with her.

  Dane said the Amen and then let them know, “Gentlemen, it’s been a privilege.”

  “Right on,” “Same here,” “Back at you,” “Let’s do it again sometime” … they dismissed to their stations.

  “And lady,” Dane said.

  She gazed into eyes she needed time, precious time, to fully understand. A moment, an eternity, passed, and there were no words. He finally looked to make sure they were alone and said quietly, “It’s a go. God be with you.” He turned his eyes away and without another word, walked out, leaving her alone in the semidark amid the panels and rigging and girders, alone to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back.

  She sank onto a makeshift bench, her thoughts and feelings tending in one direction: Lord, why me? Then she smiled at herself, playing back a memory: Dane, the sorrow-worn widower, and she, the half-doped “hoper,” in his living room, and she giving him a lecture about not giving up but living the rest of the life God had for him. Boy, was that big old shoe ever on the other foot now.

  Except that—and how was this for weird humor?—the rest of the life God had for her might be no more than the next hour.

  Andy and Carl brought in her hula hoop and let her know her doves were on their way to the third level of the parking garage. She thanked them and they left her alone again.

  Alone. Ohh, she could feel it as if it were the story of her life, feel it so strongly it had to have been planned. By whom? She sighed. Same old answer: God—which brought a nice release: where was the point in giving up? If there was going to be a big old defeat, let it come from God, not her. It was better to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back … or die trying.

  All right. That was settled.

  She put the loneliness to work. What I wouldn’t give to see the ranch again, even fork up some hay and manure; have a mocha at the breakfast table; dance a waltz—no, some swing!—and I’d love to get back to that kiss we never finished.

  From where she sat she took hold of the hula hoop across the room and made it float in midair, turn, spin. She closed her eyes and petted her doves in their cages in the parking garage.

  And for a moment she could see the aspens growing under the stage and a hint of the green pasture amid the girders in the dark.

  At 1:51, Moss and DuFresne, fully aware of the eyes watching everything from behind them, maintained a confident air. Moss indicated the readings. “She’s getting it back. We have a multiplicity of timelines … weak at this point, but coming up to strength.”

  DuFresne asked, “Can you cut those timelines off?”

  Moss nodded with confidence. “Just giving her some rope.”

  “Seamus, it looks good.”

  The video monitor showed a wide shot from the top of the bleachers, taking in the gathering crowd. The bleachers and a good half of the parking lot were full.

  Just then, the television showed a live feed from the local station.

  “Hey, turn it up!” said one of the Watchers.

  DuFresne turned up the sound.

  “… on this sunny afternoon at the Orpheus Hotel Casino, live show business at its best, the Grand Illusion outdoor escape by up-and-coming magician and escape artist Mandy Whitacre. Hello everyone, this is Steve Kirschner …”

  “And I’m Mark Rhodes.”

  “And this is a special, live edition of Vegas Today, your instant source for the latest entertainment news from the Entertainment Capital of the World.”

  * * *

  Folks in the front reception area of Clark County Medical Center were paying half attention to the television in the corner while reading old magazines, texting on cell phones, and waiting.

  Arnie Harrington, incognito in a jogging outfit, set aside a two-week-old Time magazine and paid full attention as the screen switched between a high angle of the bleachers and stage, a close-up of the stage, and a traveling handheld taking in any key point of interest.

  Whatever happened, he’d know.

  At 2:00 P.M., Emile, in the control booth with headset in place, cued the music. A fanfare sounded, the trees onstage began to sway, the volcano rumbled and belched white smoke. The crowd cheered and whistled, here to have a good time and already into it.

  For Mandy, being under the stage was like being inside a huge, cartoonish clock striking noon. Valves were hissing, hydraulics gushing, levers jerking, pulleys spinning, all just above her head. She cowered a bit, pulling her tunic around her. Seeing Emile’s marvelous brainchild from the bleachers was one thing; seeing it from inside was entirely something else and no less frightening.

  Max, Carl, and Andy took it in stride. In the middle of all that busyness they hurried under the stage to their posts, Max and Carl onto the hydraulic lift, and Andy to the control panel to wait for the strains of creepy music, their cue. When the music played, Max and Carl gave a little wave, Andy hit the Up button, and up they went. The audience began to boo.

  Dane eased over to the edge of the crowd at stage right and watched as Max and Carl, decked out and masked in black leather, popped out of the swaying forest and gave the booing crowd disdainful wave-offs like “bad guy” world wrestlers. They swaggered over to the pod, went through the motions of rigging it to the cable, then signaled the crane operator—once again, one had to overlook the incongruity of a monstrous, modern construction crane in a medieval setting. At least the crane itself was hidden behind a leafy, woodsy screen with only the huge boom to ignore.

  The crane operator, nonchalantly sipping a cup of coffee, eased the lever back and the pod lurched skyward, shrinking, gently swinging on the end of the cable, tantalizing the audience with things to come. After a dizzying, neck-straining ascent it reached its highest point, 150 feet above the ground and directly above the volcano, a thin cable stretching down from inside the pod to the stage, another harbinger of future thrills.

  Max and Carl swaggered into the trees to remain out of sight until needed.

  Mandy arranged her tunic about her and took her place on the hydraulic lift immediately below the mouth of the volcano. From here she could look up and see the sky, clear and blue, the home of birds, of angels. Maybe hers, too.

  “You okay?” Andy asked.

  That brought her back to business. She crouched slightly to allow the effec
ts that would happen above her and steeled herself. “Let’s give ’em a show.”

  Andy threw some levers, actuated some valves.

  To the delight of the crowd, the music turned bold and magical and, to the delight of every eye, a huge bubble slowly rose out of the volcano and perched with a soapy quiver in the volcano’s mouth. It filled with smoke, making it look like a huge white marble, and then, with a puff of fireworks, it popped, the smoke cleared away, and there was Mandy Whitacre on a circular, silver platform, holding a glimmering silver hoop to frame her body and face.

  Applause!

  She’d never seen this big an audience in one place in the daylight, in front of her on the bleachers, to either side of her on the ground. For an instant she could identify with a trained whale at one of those big sea aquariums, holding a hoop, surrounded by laughing, applauding people in sunhats and sunglasses, sitting row upon row in the sun.

  The music cue. Time for her routine. Okay, here we go, let’s do it!

  She went into dance moves, twirling the hoop above her head, making it spin like a coin atop her fingertips, then—Come on, grab hold!—setting it spinning like a wheel, wobbling a few degrees off axis for the cool look of it, suspended above her. The folks were with her, loving it.

  She stepped out of the volcano and onto the stage, the hoop moving out before her until it hung in the air, wobble-spinning perpendicular to the bleachers, its silver coating flashing in the sun.

  Now for the birdies!

  She found, could feel Carson, Maybelle, Lily, and Bonkers as they launched from their handlers on the third level of the parking garage. Such troupers, day after day, aiming to please and all for a cuddle and some treats! Celery leaves all around when this is over, guys and gals!

  She went to them on the waves of time and space, flew with them, guided them, and by now they understood her gentle proddings. They flew abreast in a wide formation over the audience, then fell into single file as they circled down and flew loop after loop through the hoop. Loop the Hoop!

  The folks loved it.

  On command, the doves broke out of the loop and flew a horizontal circle high above the stage while Mandy let the hoop flop sideways and wobble down to her waiting hands. As she held the hoop in outstretched arms to frame her body and face, the doves came down to rest, two on each arm, a charming portrait inside the hoop.

  Ta-da! The crowd was hers.

  Too bad it couldn’t last. The “bad guys”—now Andy made three—came back onstage, emerging from the woods. The audience booed again. With a sorrowful face—only half acting—she sent the doves back to their handlers and dropped the hoop so that she stood within its circle. She tossed off her tunic and tried to appear ready. The music dropped to an ominous low drone signaling Oh-oh, be careful, look out, this is dangerous …

  Tell me all about it.

  Getting into the restraints wasn’t the scary part. Max clamped on the leg irons with the same care he always used; Carl cuffed her hands with every regard for her comfort and safety. Andy brought the cable and hook over with the same caution and attention. They’d been through stunts like this many times before.

  It was the pod, that tiny little box way up there. As she lay on the stage and Andy fixed the hook to her shackles and body harness, she could see straight up into that cavity no bigger than she was and not see the end of the darkness inside.

  She’d never gotten used to that thing, never felt right about it, and concrete blocks out in the desert were fine, she could handle them, but this … it brought back every trapped feeling she’d ever had.

  Her legs were bound. She couldn’t move her hands. This time it scared her.

  Use it!

  “Ready?” Andy whispered.

  The truth? No, she thought but couldn’t say. No, wait, I can’t find it, I can’t, I can’t think …

  She was hanging upside down. The crowd, every face upside down, was dropping away below her. The blood was pounding into her head. She was gasping, clenching her fists, trying not to.

  It’s a go, he said. It’s a go.

  I’m not going to get out of there! I’m not ready! Oh, God, don’t let them …

  There was no way Dane could put aside the fear, not with her so small up there, arms and legs bound, hooked and dangling like a helpless fish. All he could do was stay put and stay steady, keep his mind on the details, make sure things happened when they should.

  Fifty more feet to go, and then …

  It was so far to fall.

  She looked up past her feet. The pod was a predator with jaws wide open. A breeze played over her. She felt herself gently swinging, getting sick. The crowd was buzzing, stirring up. She could see straight down the volcano. It was huffing, smoking. Pilot flames burned inside the rim.

  From a block away, Preston and his crewmen could see Mandy rising toward the pod, a flea on a thread with no appeal to turn back, slow down, find another way. History, her life, Dane’s, theirs, the Grand Illusion, were relentlessly moving forward. All they could do was keep up.

  Preston and three men were ready at their stations on the platform atop the semi, Preston holding one end of the net, a crewman holding the other end, and two crewmen evenly spaced along the length, supporting the middle. Two crewmen remained on the ground, waiting for Preston’s signal.

  She tried once more to reach for her birds, to touch them—

  Her feet passed within the open petal doors, then her legs, her waist, her shoulders. Her shackled feet came up against the ceiling of the pod. She hesitated, let her head flop, and looked down. It was a sunny day. People were ant-size and alive down there, looking up at her through sunglasses, from under visors and sunhats. Kids were pointing. Big Max, now a tiny round spot of black, stood by the oversize hourglass, waiting to turn it over.

  The volcano, a gaping, smoking orifice, was waiting.

  It’s a go.

  She hung the shackles on their hook and tripped them open, then pressed a button with her toe to close the petal doors. They closed around her head and shoulders much tighter than she remembered, shutting out the world where the sun shined and life was happening. She was encased in the dark.

  On the stage, with a growl and an impressive display of muscle, Big Max hefted the hourglass and flipped it upside down. As the deep rumble of an impending eruption came over the sound system, he, Carl, and Andy feigned panic and ran from the stage only seconds before the propane jets opened wide and the volcano sent up a tower of flame, igniting the fake trees. It was as frightening as anyone could ask for. Everybody screamed.

  The sand in the hourglass was running: Mandy had one minute.

  It was hard to breathe.

  She could hear and feel the rumble below her, faintly discern the excited cries of the people. Less than one minute. Think, girl, think.

  Bend your elbows! The cuffs opened, fell aside.

  Reach. Reach. Control, now. Be there, touch them, guide them …

  Nothing.

  So dark, so tight, she couldn’t move, could only muster one thought: Oh, God, let me out of here!

  Her hands, shaking, went for the grips. She squeezed the lever on the right grip and felt the hoist cable click free.

  What if … what if I can just …

  She bent her knees against the escape hatch. Maybe. Maybe. Oh, please …

  The hatch was a wall. It didn’t budge.

  The realization hit her like a punch in the stomach. The packing bolt. Someone did exactly what Dane expected they would do and there was no turning back. She wasn’t ready to believe it. Her heart was racing, beating against her sternum. She cried, then screamed and kneed the hatch again. Again.

  Sealed tight.

  chapter

  * * *

  51

  It was now 14:16:23 local time.

  “Go, go, go!” said Preston.

  His crewmen on top of the semi stretched the netting tight and above their heads. With the netting stretched, thicker strands were visible,
running in courses across the net at sixteen-inch intervals, strands just the right size to be clutched by …

  The two crewmen on the ground flung the big trailer doors open. Inside each ventilated trailer was a living, bustling, cooing hive of white doves perched like beads on row upon row of abacuslike frames—not hundreds of doves, thousands, startled by the opening of the doors and the sunlight beaming into the trailer’s depths. Hundreds and hundreds took to wing and rushed out the trailer doors like a blizzard, white wings flashing. They rose into the air as one body, then scattered, swirled around in every direction, alighted on the roofs of the trailers, settled on the ground to look for grit or goodies, landed on the fence that bordered the lot, flew across the street to land on window ledges, streetlights, signs, the sidewalk. They stopped traffic, wowed the pedestrians, perched on anything and everything, flitted, preened, strutted, and bobbed …

  But that was all they did. As for the thousands still perched in the trailers, they didn’t seem to know what to do other than perch there.

  Preston and his men stared blank-faced at the doves and then looked at each other.

  In the lab, as DuFresne, Carlson, and the Men of Power watched, Loren Moss initiated the retrace with one keystroke. The whole room lurched enough to throw those standing off balance. They recovered, hands on chairs, the wall, a table, mindful to remain icy, ruthless, in charge.

  Moss whistled in thrilled amazement, eyes on the monitors.

  Mandy had only an instant to take back control of her situation, to shed the panic and see it through. She pressed her hands against the confining walls of the pod to steady herself. She breathed evenly, prayed …

  Come on, girl, be cool, think, finish the show—

  Ohh!

  Mandy felt the pod lurch as if hit by a gust of wind and at that moment awoke from being in the pod, in the dark, so hemmed in she could hardly move to being in the pod, in the dark, so hemmed in she could hardly move, but different, as if she’d stepped out of the universe for an instant, then stepped back into the same place to find the place had changed. It was weird, far from normal, and yet … she’d felt this before. Where?