“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie,” a group chanted.
Bob Devine took a couple of steps to the edge of the stage and held his hands up to silence the crowd. “Right, folks. Shall we meet the Heart Hopefuls?”
Dramatic music played as part of the set rotated around. A mechanical clicking sound started – click-clack, click-clack – as the new arrangement finalised. Bob Devine left Cassie and walked to the other side of the partition to where three people sat in wheelchairs. Gas cylinders behind two of the contestants delivered a dose of oxygen with each click-clack of the machinery. A large screen hid them from Cassie. Bob Devine stood on his mark, a position picked so he was visible both to the three Hopefuls and Cassie O’Neil. He cleared his throat silently, using a technique perfected over the years, and gave a wink to the skinny-mini in the front row. Her face lit up. He’d have her later, oh yes.
“Hello Heart Hopefuls!” he called out. The crowd cheered behind him. Camera Two zoomed in on each in turn, displaying them, exaggerating their sickness with close-ups. Devine kept the grin stuck on his face, lips parted just slightly, might as well show off his perfect teeth. Plus this was his best fake smile, the one he used when he hated what he saw.
The three Hopefuls called out, “Hello Bob.” The audience applauded, drowning them out.
He raised a hand to quieten the noise behind him. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of the page dashing past. The little man was slowing now, but still doing a fantastic job. Someone should get him a powershake or something, give the guy a boost. He’d talk to the company about increasing rations later, couldn’t be let down by a simple lack of sustenance.
“You know why you’re all here,” he said when the racket quietened enough to be heard. “One of you is going to walk out of the studio with a new heart. Our surgeons, among the best in the world, are waiting to perform surgery on the winner. The rest of you will go back into the organ queue – you won’t lose your place, mind.” He waggled a finger at them in turn. “One of you has an assured second chance!”
A cheer blasted from the audience.
“Shall we meet contestant Number One?” Bob left the assemblage to their clamouring, and gave the first Heart Hopeful a grin. With her waxy features and sunken cheeks, she was not the prettiest lady Bob had ever clapped eyes on, but she looked like a long time ago, she might have been. “Well, contestant Number One, who are you and where are you from?”
The woman straightened in her wheel chair. Despite her obvious illness, she had an air about her, one Bob recognised in himself. She put her face on, the one that looked best, and she worked the crowd with a little flick of her perfectly coiffed hair. For a moment, she almost caught him with those eyes. Once, years ago, he would have had her. His mind flickered back to the skinny-mini.
“Hi there, Bob.” Her face was pale, virtually sheet-white, but the makeup was perfectly applied, accentuating her features, and her clothes were new, made from rich fabrics. The top was a dusky rose coloured silk with the latest wide collar detail, the trousers matching. An embroidered waist coat finished the outfit. She mimed fixing a lock of hair which wasn’t there, and smiled up at Bob. “My name is Janice,” she continued. “Some of you,” she gazed out towards the audience, squinting into the darkness beyond the stage lights, “may remember me from my work on the award winning show, El Dorado playing Mildred, the long suffering matriarch of the O’Donnell family. When not acting, I live out in Essex in a wonderful house overlooking the cruel and relentless sea.”
She fixed Bob with her blue eyes and for a moment she almost had him, he felt his loins warm, it was her eyes – cold yet full of desire. This was a lady who did not want to die. Maybe if she weren’t so ill, he’d give her one, something to remember on her deathbed. He held in a laugh.
Janice started coughing, choking almost. Bob rushed to her side, patting her back and beckoning for assistance. A medic ran from the wings, his stethoscope already plugged into his ears. She hacked one last time, and put a hand up. “I’m okay, really. Just a small attack. Nothing to worry about.”
Bob shushed the medic away, faced his people and clapped a few times. “Come on folks, put your hands together for this wonderful, this brave woman.”
The audience page jogged past, smacking his palms above his head, the crowd responded warmly, some pounding their feet on the floorboards, others shouting, calling out amongst the wolf whistles.
“Isn’t she just gorgeous?” he asked, and for once felt he was speaking the truth.” Alright folks, lets move on to the next contestant. Number Two, who are you and where do you come from?”
In the second wheelchair sat a man. A shock of white hair stood out, wild, making him look like those old photos of Einstein in school books. The man wore an oxygen mask, which he lowered to speak. A mark remained on his skin, illuminating the place the mask had been. He was dressed in basic issue plus-one clothing, identifying him as a government worker. Next to a flower like Janice, he appeared dreary and forgettable.
“Hullo Bob, my name is George. I work in a lab developing better food sources for our ever-hungry population.” He replaced the mask as the audience whooped and applauded. Although dull, this man did know how to rouse the crowd. Bob recognised the edge in his eyes as his guest watched for the perfect moment to continue. There was a momentary lull in the noise, and George lowered his mask. “I live somewhere in the southeast of England, but I’ve not been given permission to disclose exactly where.” The old man winked and replaced the mask fully, drawing a deep breath. Ever present, the machinery behind his wheel chair went click-clack, click-clack.
Bob Devine gave George a sideways glance. The old codger really knew how to work the fools in the seats, even down to the cheeky wink. “So,” Bob said, “secret occupation, secret location. How about that, folks?” He turned fully to the audience and waited as the crowd put their hands together. “But let’s not forget contestant Number Three, who are you and where do you come from?”
“Oh hello, Bob,” the third contestant drawled.
She was a wisp of a woman, almost overpowered by the tubes as they appeared from behind her and snaked under her clothes. At first glance, it was obvious she was a mere citizen, relegated to salvaging government cast-offs to create her own clothing. Admittedly, someone had made fine work of the patchwork concoction now draped over this diminutive person.
The contestant gave a weak shake of her cleavage and unleashed a toothless grin on the studio. “I’m Drusilla. I am a passport checker at a Food Distribution Centre in North London. I am among those who make certain the worthy population in the city get their rations as quickly and hassle-free as possible.” An oxygen mask hung around her neck. She grabbed it and took a couple of lungfuls of air.
“Well aren’t they all just wonderful. An actress, a scientist and a FDC worker – all will make worthy recipients of Cassie’s gift.” The audience gave a standing ovation. “I think it’s time to get back over to the other side of the studio and see what questions the Hopefuls are going to have to answer. And we’ll do that after this short break.”
Cassie watched as Bob Devine emerged from around the partition that kept the Heart Hopefuls out of view. She’d listened as he manipulated the crowd – and the viewers at home. She might as well chuck her cards down on the floor and walk up to the operating room right now. The choice was already made.
She had been spoken to by the producers before the show, warned if she caused a scene she’d be escorted from the premises. But if that was true, surely somebody would have cut live feed when she threw her wobbler earlier, taken her away and replaced her with another victim. Suiciders were ten-a-penny. Who wanted to stay in this world anymore?
A thought occurred to her. Hit her so hard she almost fell off her stool. As Bob Devine strode up to her, his perfect smile plastered on his beautiful face, she realised: they need me. She’d seen that interview with Bob, weeks ago on the telly. He let a comment slip, she’d been watching the live show – his slip w
as edited from the repeats: “It’s all about the ratings.” Her tantrum at the front of the stage, her tears and fear of dying, all were fodder for a ratings boost.
Bob slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Ready, chuck?” he asked.
Cassie cleared her throat, and replied, “I’m ready, Bob.”
Bob turned to the audience. “Now we’ve met the Heart Hopefuls, it’s time for Cassie’s question. The crowd cheered, already shouting out their favourites.
“Okay.” Cassie clutched her cards to her chest.
“Well, go on then. You don’t want to keep them waiting too long – there might not be a choice.” The audience erupted with laughter.
Cassie ignored the host and studied the top card. “My question is this: Why do you need my heart?” She lay the cards in her lap, and glanced towards the partition. The click-clack of the oxygen cylinders broke the momentary calm in the studio. “Can Number One answer?”
“You’re a little darling for offering this, you know.” Janice paused while the crowd erupted with cheers. The audience page skipped by, trying to silence them, he was soaked in sweat by now, and visibly slower.
Janice continued, “Okay, it’s like this. El Dorado had my character run away last season due to my ongoing health problems. Now they’ve got a cracking storyline to bring me back with and I need to have a properly working heart in order to return. Who of you in the studio today follow El Dorado?”
The small screen above Cassie showed one of the cameras panning in as people screamed and jumped up in their seats, beating their hands together like fools.
“Well then, give us your vote and perhaps you’ll all witness Mildred O’Donnell’s fantabulous return to the sun and sea that are El Dorado! Believe me,” she paused dramatically, “it will be something to behold.”
Bob laughed, and turned to Cassie. “Well then, what did you think of Janice?”
“Um, she’s okay, I guess,” Cassie never paid much attention to El Dorado or any of the other soaps on the television. Stopped people noticing what was actually going on. On the telly they always had enough to eat. None of the actors had the malnutrition the rest of the country seemed to suffer from. Had no one else noticed this?
“Who do you want to ask now?” Bob Devine raised a hand to the audience, at his cue, shouts of: “Two first!” and, “Three, pick three!” greeted Cassie’s ears.
“Next one, I suppose. Let’s hear from Number Two.” Cassie glanced into the wings. A broad shouldered security man leaned up against a wall; he filled almost the entire width of the exit.
“Cracking choice, go on then, George.” Bob clapped, the audience quickly joining him.
Cassie listened as the man took a breath – presumably from an oxygen mask.
In a weak voice he said, “I am on the verge of making a ground-breaking discovery. Can’t say exactly what the machine is, or what it does,” he breathed in a dose of oxygen and continued, “In fact, I’m lucky they let me out at all!”
Laughter erupted from the audience.
“Can you tell us anything about the invention?” Bob asked.
“Yes. I can say categorically: my discovery will solve world hunger.”
Gasps and scattered applause met this statement.
George spoke again, “My heart is old, and I have so much to finish. If Cassie is willing to make such a grand sacrifice, you be sure her death is for the greater good of mankind. Let me ask you a question, all of you – all you intelligent folk in the studio today and the millions watching at home – if any of you are hungry right now, at this minute, waiting for tomorrow to get food rations, vote for me. I will make the ache in your belly go away. I will put meat back on your bones.” He took a moment to breathe some oxygen. “You need me if humans are to survive.”
“My goodness that was well said. What do you think?” Bob faced the audience, his perfect smile on. “This is what this show is all about, opportunities!” Whoops and cheers drowned him out for a second. “And you, Cassie? Want the ending of your life to be truly altruistic? Won’t get better than our George.”
“He does seem to be involved in some important work,” she said. Cassie tried to locate the aisle she’d used to get to the stage. With a start she realised the platform was almost directly in front of her stool. Eyes watering under the bright studio lights, she squinted into the shadows, this time in an attempt to find the back of the room. There was a door out there, a possible route to freedom. The food they’d been giving her over the last few days seemed finally to be having an effect. Maybe it was adrenaline, but she was sure her energy levels were up. She could probably even outrun the audience page. Bob was waiting for her. “Number Three,” Cassie said, “why do you want my heart?”
Drusilla cleared her throat. When she spoke, the nervousness was apparent in the woman’s voice. “I need a new heart because I destroyed my own. I was hooked on rave.” The audience gasped. “I know I was lucky – I survived. To live through an addiction to that drug is more of a chance than most get. I’m clean now and would never dream of taking any drugs, ever again. If I am lucky enough to be given a new heart today, I will dedicate the rest of my life to touring the country and counselling the youth against the drug. I’ve even got a little saying: Once is ecstasy, twice like heaven, third time equals death. Don’t rave on.”
A few people started to clap. Then, more joined them until the entire audience seemed to be on their feet.
Seizing the opportunity, Drusilla said, “Who doesn’t know someone who’s died of rave? That evil drug needs to be stamped out and as soon as possible!” Briefly, the woman flashed up on the small screen above Cassie’s head. She seemed to be almost covered in tubes, a shrunken person who even in her obviously weakened state, managed to ball up one fist and pound it into her other hand. She collapsed against the back of her wheelchair. A nurse raced out from the wings on the opposite side of the stage and fixed Drusilla’s mask onto her face. “Thank you, dear,” she said after she’d taken a deep breath.
The nurse stayed another second before receding into the wings.
Bob Devine stepped up to the edge of the stage. “Wow that was pretty intense. Three terrific people. Three fantastic causes. Can you choose? I know I couldn’t, which is why we’ve got you at home. Pick up those remotes and place your vote. Press the blue button for Heart Hopeful One, the green button for Heart hopeful Two, and the red button for Heart Hopeful Three. Or you can phone through to the number on the screen with one, two or three at the end – depending on your choice. Good luck!”
Cassie stared down at her question cards. The cameras scanned the audience, zooming in as people punched their choices into the controller on the arm of their chairs. The public were voting in their millions. Thousands of pounds a second mounting up for her Jack - her mother and father would be set up for life.
“I don’t want to die,” she whispered. It was little more than a thought escaped from between pursed lips, not even intended to be vocalised. The microphone somehow caught her whisper. The technician cranked the volume up, and replayed for all to hear, her words, echoing around the studio.
“I don’t want to die.”
Chapter 3
Bob Devine turned to the wings and drew the side of his hand across his neck. It was a discreet movement Cassie almost missed. The host faced the nearest camera and said, “We’ll be back after a short break.” He flashed a big, white-toothed grin until the red light on top of the camera flicked off.
Somebody said, “Off air,” through a speaker.
Bob strode up to Cassie. His expression was one of distaste, anger and boredom, all wrapped up together. “The rules were made perfectly clear when you signed up for The Ultimate Choice. There’s no going back.”
He’d said these words before. Others had tried to refuse, of this Cassie was certain. “The contract… somewhere in all those pages, surely there’s a clause, a cooling off period, something. “I’m giving up my life!” She glanced left and right. People gather
ed at both exits, talking, pointing at her.
“If you try to leave, my security won’t hesitate to shoot you the moment you step out of our building. One way or another, Cassie, you will be dead by nightfall.”
“I’m not sure I want to die now. There are so many reasons to live…” Tears gathered again. “You can’t make me!” She blinked, and concentrated on figuring out an escape route.
Bob Devine bent down on one knee, and took one of her hands between his own. If the situation weren’t so different, Cassie might have thought he was about to propose.
“At least here, on the show, you’ll be setting your son up financially. He’ll get a good education in the best schools.” He leaned in closer. “Maybe he’ll even get a licence to have a child legally.” He moved his hand up to her shoulder and gripped hard, his fingers pressing painfully into her skin.
Cassie took one last glance up the aisle, trying to pierce the darkness beyond the studio lights and find the door she’d entered through. Freedom. “You’re right.” She held her breath as his tight hold on her shoulder relaxed a little and he started rubbing once more. She was going to scream. If he didn’t release her and go back to being a host, she was going to scream so loud the audience would be out of their seats. Her farcical attempt to pretend like she was on the show voluntarily was all but done. Bob Devine kneaded and rubbed. Remove your hand, she thought. A scream bubbled up in her throat. If it escaped, the carnival atmosphere would be wrecked. Even that sweaty little man running alongside the stage wouldn’t get them cheery again. She bit down on her tongue, sucked in a breath and waited for him to release her.
Her silence seemed to signify acquiescence on her part. He spoke quietly into his microphone before turning to her and saying, “Right, Cassie, my love. Give us a beaming smile over at Camera One.”
An image came to Cassie, one of her Jack as an adult. He has his father’s eyes and her blonde hair. He’s intelligent and well educated, holding a job high up in the government. He’s allowed to marry, and gets a license that results in her granddaughter’s birth. And they name her Cassie after the sacrifice she made on this day. Her parents, always so sullen and unforgiving towards her, she sees them actually smiling at the thought of their daughter.
The Ultimate Choice Page 2