It was cluttered with confiscated toys and knickknacks. She rummaged through the pile until a voice small voice interrupted her, "I'm going to tell."
Jill looked up—it was Bill. He took a seat at his desk near the back of the room.
Jill knew she didn't have time to pay attention to him, so she continued the search. She’d deal with him later. Her hands fumbled within the drawer. A plastic figure thumped out onto the floor. Wind up toys began to click and grind. She still couldn't find it.
"Jill, what are you doing? Those are my personal belongings."
Jill was caught. She picked up the fallen figure, threw it back into the drawer, and closed it. She stood. "I'm sorry, I lost my pencil. Can I have another?" Jill asked, rushing to her desk and unloading her backpack. The fortune cookie lied.
* * *
The end of the week had come slow, but it was here at last. Jill and Bill's grades were good enough to go to the arcade, and the first thing Jill did when she arrived was put a quarter into the glass vending machine.
It clicked and clanked and down it rolled.
She caught the capsule and popped the top off . . . it was another piece of paper. She contemplated ripping it up without reading it, but curiosity chewed away at her insides.
"NO TOYS FOR MONSTERS!" it read. She crumpled it at once and threw it aside.
Jill heard keys tinkling behind her. She looked up at the machine. A distorted figure in the reflection bent over and picked up the paper she threw down. It's stinky breath! she thought, inserting another coin.
She turned around and blurted out, "This machine is broken. I want my money back."
"Sweetheart, it's not broken—you are," he said with a smile, then disappeared around the corner.
Jill turned back around and waited for the capsule to come out. When it did, she opened it. Another note read, "NO TOYS FOR MONSTERS!" She clenched her teeth and slammed her hand against the glass front.
Two more times she got the same folded paper with the same short message written in the same sloppy handwriting. "I'm not a monster!" Jill kicked the machine. It wobbled back and forth. "I'm not a monster!" she spoke through her teeth, furiously hitting the glass front until it cracked. This satisfied her. "Stupid, stupid machine. I know why nobody plays with you."
"Now, your mother's going to have to pay for it." The man dressed in yellow and red glared at her, then the machine. His hands tottered out a piece of parchment and pen from his breast pocket and wrote, "OUT OF ORDER!" It was sloppy, identical to the handwriting on the papers from the capsules. He pinned it between the metal frames and ripped the plug from the wall, causing a spark to fire back at him from the socket.
"Your breath still stinks!" she yelled as close to his face as she could get. He snapped his hands around her arms. "Get off me!" She twisted her body like a snake caught in a mousetrap and he lost grip.
Bill seemed to have heard the commotion because he appeared at the scene seconds later. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his sister like this, and it seemed he knew he needed to act fast.
He and the man both grabbed Jill's crooked limbs. She wriggled, causing all three to plow into the vending machine. It swayed backward, then forward, pushing Jill and Bill aside. It hit the ground and exploded on the man, burying him in glass shards. Colored capsules leaped in a dizzy craze in all directions as if this was their only chance to escape.
Bill stepped backward, his eyes widened. He was gazing down at the mangled torso that was stretched face up on the floor.
Jill crouched down and played with the shards of glass that had bludgeoned every part of the man’s upper body. She even tinkered with glass in his eyes.
Seemingly unfazed, she cracked open a blue capsule and yelled, "A pencil topper!" She threw it aside and opened another. "A ring!" And another. "A keychain!" And another. "A ball!" She continued the rage-filled search. "See? I'm not a monster! Look, another ball!"
The man in red and yellow flinched. Jill thrust his head down farther into the ground, crunching the glass deeper into his face.
"YOU—ARE—A—MONSTER!" Bill screeched. He slipped around the corner to get help.
Without a second in between, Jill pounced up and cried, "HELP!" She raced up to Bill. "LOOK WHAT HE DID! LOOK WHAT HE DID!" She pushed Bill out of the way before he could go any farther. His head smashed off a table game and he toppled over.
Jill barreled out of the arcade and cried out to her mom, who read a magazine on the bench, "Bill got in a fight!" Jill put one hand over her mouth and pointed in the distance, toward her brother who lay hunkered over, his head clenched between trembling fists.
* * *
“No, you did it.” Jill yelled at her brother from the other side of the bench. Their mom sat between them. “You hit the man.”
Jill went silent as two police officers rushed around the corner and into the arcade. One of them was tall and stalky, the other, short with an average build.
Jill watched the men chat with an arcade employee at the counter who shook his hands in the air, it seemed, for emphasis. Then, the employee pointed at Jill. How she wished she could read lips!
The employee walked around the counter and led them to the back. They disappeared behind the rows of blocky arcade games.
Jill leaned closer to her mom’s ear. “Mom I didn’t do it,” she said, in a breathy whisper.
“I know, Hun,” mom said, combing her fingers through Jill’s hair.
* * *
After a few minutes, the men in uniform exited the arcade. Jill fidgeted on the bench as they neared.
“We’re going to need to speak with your daughter for a moment,” the stalky officer said to Jill’s mom.
“But, I didn’t do it. Bill did it,” Jill looked over at her brother, who shook a crying head.
Jill pounced up from the bench and followed the officers inside the arcade to the lifeless body of the man in red and yellow.
“Did you do this?” the stalky police officer asked Jill in a calm voice.
She hesitated. “I suppose I did,” Jill said, her voice high and proud. “Please don’t tell my mom, okay?”
The men guided her out of the arcade by the shoulders. Jill’s mom sat up from the bench and raced over toward them.
“Ma’am,” the short officer walked up to her before she could move any closer and began talking to her.
The other officer escorted Jill out of the building and into the backseat of a white and black vehicle with blue and red lights on the roof.
“Am I getting detention?” Jill asked as the officer fastened her seatbelt. “My teacher makes me stay inside for recess sometimes and do extra work.”
Jill wondered why the front and back seats were separated by a plate of steel and glass.
“It’s a little like that,” he said. “But you won’t be going back to school.”
“Then, where will you take me?” Jill asked, becoming irritated.
“Noir Detention Center.”
Jill’s eyes opened wide. “Okay, but don’t tell mom. You better not tell mom!” she yelled.
His silence excelled her irritation and she exposed her teeth and hissed at him.
He slammed the door shut.
END
Dusk to Dust
The lights flickered off until the crowd was shrouded in complete darkness. They held their breath and shifted in their seats. Mousy whispering erupted at first, then silence took over.
Torches, fifteen of them, appeared across the stage and ignited in a single, crowd-jumping moment. Flames glistened off a black coffin located front center stage. A hissing fog from somewhere offstage billowed from both sides, seeping over the coffin and out into the crowd.
A haunting melody spewed out from speakers hidden somewhere within the dark. The coffin rose five inches, then lowered back down. The vivacious beat of electro shook the seats and the bodies in them.
Even through the distorted boom of the music, a thunderous engine ignited from somewhere off
stage. At the same time, in the dark sky, a full moon as big as a car faded in. And a 1962 Miller-Meteor hearse, black and shiny as coal, trolled in.
The moon gleamed over the hearse with a crimson glow acting as a dim spotlight. A skull dangled from the rear view mirror. The hearse parked in front of the coffin and the driver's door popped open, but there was no one inside. The music stopped. A long, deep honk from the horn roared into the crowd, reverberating off every object in the auditorium.
Out of nowhere, two dark figures crashed onto the hearse’s roof, making a horrible, jarring thunk. The crowd gasped. Not a moment later, pumping music boomed back on and the five torches in front flared up and out, illuminating Szilva and Layla, the two figures. They stood on the roof of the old hearse as still as statues with their hands clasped together at the waist and their eyes looking upon the crowd with a haunting gaze.
The crowd didn't notice the heavy smell of propane exhaust drifting in the front rows or the fog blurring the torches and moon to a faint lull. Focus was on the two women, each with the right side of their faces painted to look like raw-boned, blood-oozing zombies, the other half untouched, gaunt, beautiful.
The two women looked similar; so similar, those who didn't know them would no doubt mistake them for twins. They both wore the same vertical, black-and-white striped bodice dress, adorned with bronze cogwheel buttons. Their hair was woven the same, into a long, thick, and straggly braid sneaking from the back of their heads around to the top of their breasts.
There was, however, a defining difference in their appearances. Szilva had dark purple hair, the color of wild plum, and a purple birthmark above her upper lip to match. Layla, on the other hand, had hair the color of a phantom's shadow, yet only the black of her outfit to match it.
It was Szilva who made the first move. With the beat of the music, she pounced down in front of the coffin. Layla followed suit. However, she jumped in back of the coffin and raised its lid.
Szilva stepped in and turned to the crowd. Layla lifted a straightjacket from behind the casket and began restraining her partner. The beat of the music steadied like the pace of a troubled heartbeat.
With the jacket secured and the straps tight and fastened, Szilvia's cool demeanor turned rabid. She thrust her body back and forth as if she were possessed by evil. Beams of white light attacked the stage at every angle. She roared unnerving, unintelligible chatter from the top of her lungs. The beat of the music quickened. Layla took Szilva's shoulders and within moments she calmed to a sniveling growl.
As Layla fastened Szilva's ankle with leg irons, Szilva gazed at the crowd with an anger in her eyes strong enough to pierce every heart there. When Layla had finished, Szilva laid on the purple cushioned lining of the coffin. Once her head hit the pillow, she closed her eyes.
As Layla closed the lid, a round platform raised them and the hearse from the stage, lifting them closer to the crimson moon. Fog swirled down and up over the stage in fanciful breaths. Flames steadied, yet the moon brightened, twisting the lunar craters into a face like a mad jester, with a grin as broad as the moon was wide.
A snarl swirled from Layla's upper lip, showing off a jagged fang the size of a wolf's. She raised her arms above her head and, with the snap of her fingers, an electric handsaw appeared in the grip of her hands. She clenched a finger over the on and off switch and revved it for the crowd.
Layla crouched on top of the hearse and lowered the saw to the black roof until it pierced the metal. The sound it made thrashing through the metal would no doubt jar even the dullest of ears. She cut a three-sided rectangle opening and hauled it toward her until she left a large open wound in the hearse’s roof, like a deranged sort of moon roof, if you will.
From below, the coffin made a sudden jump coinciding with the beat of the music. Again it raised, then thumped down again, then again. It raised into the air, this time continuing its course upward, above the hearse and above Layla. It paused at the center of the fool-faced moon.
The music started to get more intense. The coffin lowered and, once it hovered over the hearse, it dropped like a bag of rocks, right into the moon roof. The force from the falling coffin shook the platform, forcing Layla to spread her arms and legs out for balance. She heaved over the crooked peel of roof back in place. To further secure it, she stomped down with her black high-heeled boots to the rhythm to the music.
At this point, the electro drummed louder and more vivacious than ever before. The platform began rotating clockwise, and thin beams of light swirled across the hearse. Layla snarled out at the crowd and began dancing, arms outstretched, on the flimsy roof. And once the platform made a complete round, she jumped down to the foggy ground and disappeared.
A second later, she returned, carrying a thick rope. She neared the front center of the stage, flexed muscles in her neck and arms tensed outward. Whatever was on the other side of the rope was heavy. She released part of the rope inch by inch until long icicle-like metallic spikes glistened down from the ceiling. The spikes were attached to a huge board as big as the platform below it.
Layla cocked her head to the crowd. "From the count of ten, I’ll drop the spikes onto dear Szilva, but I need your help. I need your voices to guide me!" She sounded out of breath but she continued, "Ten." The crowd followed her. "Nine. Eight." The crowd gained momentum. "Seven. Six. Five." Layla's arms and legs shook. Her two and a half inch heels felt as though they were ready to snap. "Four."
There was no sign of Szilva. By the count of five, Layla expected to see her clawing through the roof like they had practiced. Layla held her breath and closed her eyes.
"Three. Two," the crowd yelled.
And with her voice nearly exhausted, Layla yelled at last, "One!" She let go of the jagged spikes. They slipped through her hands, burning her palms like fire. She let out a cry, turned to the crowd, and closed her eyes. The spikes came crashing down, slamming through the hearse, through the coffin, and through Szilva.
The crowd gasped and hollered. Layla kneeled on the floor, her hands covering her face. What had she done to her partner, to her best friend? Her heartbeat at an odd surging rhythm, she was going into shock. She could feel it.
At that moment, the crowd began hollering and cheering like she'd never heard one before. Layla, still hunched down, turned around where she saw Szilva standing tall on top of the spiked board. She was alive! She must have rode down on the thing! She was alright! "Fuck you," Layla cried out, but there was no way Szilva could have heard what she had said over the boisterous cheering crowd.
* * *
"How in hell are we going beat tonight?" Layla asked, taking off her dress. "We have one more show and we retire. One more. How the fuck are we supposed to beat tonight?"
"Layla, we will, I promise. Let's start thinking of something right now."
"How about disappearing the Statue of Liberty?"
"You can't be serious. It's been done before!"
"You're right. What was I thinking? What about . . ." She wiped a wet cloth over the makeup on her face.
"Not grand enough anyway! How about we extinguish the sun? Sound good to you? That's how extraordinary it’ll need to be to outdo this show."
"Yes." Szilva put down the cloth and stared at Layla's reflection in the mirror. "We'll extinguish the sun. It's never been done before, right?"
Layla smirked. "No, it's never been done before. Because it's impossible."
"Listen to you. Impossible? We're magicians, damn it! We've been making the impossible possible for thirty years! We've moved beyond the kiddy birthday parties and the baby showers." Szilva swiveled her chair to face Layla, who was slipping on a pair of shorts. "Last week we were number one on the Top U.S. Performances. Don't you remember? If we want to make our last show extraordinary, we, of all people, can make that happen."
"I believe you." Layla felt a buzz of excitement in her stomach. Szilva always knew how to get her blood pumping.
* * *
Six months and a hund
red sixty-three failed attempts later, Szilva and Layla had finished refining their final illusion and were ready to unveil it to the world with only one day before the show.
"Houdini will be forgotten," Layla said into a microphone displaying a NYCN TV logo over all four corners of the base.
"You heard it, folks, Houdini will be forgotten. Boy, you girls must be churning out something crazy!" Mengyao, a nighttime television host sitting across from them, replied, bright eyed. He sifted through a small stack of papers on a big white table separating him from Szilva and Layla. "I’m going to be blunt about this next question. It’s on everybody’s mind. So, are you ready to reveal to the world, the magical feat you’ve been grueling over for the past six months?"
The studio silenced. Szilva and Layla locked eyes, both pausing for a moment of thought, to make certain this was the time for telling. Szilva nodded and spoke, her voice sharp and steady, “We’ll douse the sun and darken the universe.”
Mengyao took time to think of a reply, but was speechless.
Layla took over. “This final feat, however, isn’t a goodbye, but a thank you to all those who helped us gain enough momentum over these past thirty incredible years to share our magic with the world.”
“I want to note, this feat is not the waving of a white flag. It will be to new beginnings.” Szilva looked back at Layla, who listened on with a sincerity felt deep within her heart.
Mengyao took a long pause before he spoke. "Wow. I want to get this straight for all the folks out there who just tuned in. You’ll be extinguishing the sun? Turning off the big fiery star? It'll be kaput? Kaplooey? Goodbye?”
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