by Brett McBean
“It’s time for us to prove our worth to the Lord. Let’s burn this motherfucking theatre down!”
The phone rang in the Layford house. Julie hopped up. “That’ll be Dad.”
She rushed into the hall and picked up the phone.
Julie wandered back after two minutes. She fell into the chair.
“What did he say?”
“Emergency Services Unit are going to raid the theatre,” she told her daughter.
“Well it’s about time,” Thalia said.
Part 3: The Pay-Off
It was clear, when the ESU officers had finally gained entrance into the building, that they were definitely not dealing with a terrorist group. The general concurrence from all law enforcement was that the group inside were a cult, but they weren’t ever completely sure until the lock was carefully, and quietly picked, and they saw no members standing in the foyer. A terrorist group would always have people guarding it.
A cult might think to place guards, but that was only in the minority; most cults were disorganized and led by morons with more charm than brains.
This cult was obviously in the majority.
The ESU had set up with rapid precision, keeping the noise to an absolute minimum. They had checked the security guards that lay sprawled in their own blood, but they were long dead.
Now, twelve ESU officers stood in front of all three entrances to the theatre. Within the group of four by each door, two men held assault rifles, while the other two held a small but powerful battering ram. Their orders were relayed through earphones by the commanding officer who, outside, held a portable television.
With guns poised and battering rams ready, the officers inside the building waited for that one final order.
From behind the doors, the leader of the cult shouted: “It’s time for us to prove our worth to the Lord. Let’s burn this motherfucking theatre down!”
Immediately afterwards, the officers received the order.
* * *
Sam gazed out at the sea of terrified faces. His thoughts were on how masterful his plan was. On how brilliant he was.
He knew there would be mass hysteria when he first set fire to the theatre, but his people would be standing by the doors, firing bullets into anyone trying to escape. He felt no guilt about killing his followers, after all, they were nobodies, runaways with no ability to think for themselves.
Fucking morons, he thought. They’d believe I was black if I told them so.
But he did love the power. He was a god to these people. That aspect he would miss.
Never know, I could get another group together after I’m far away from here, he thought. Change my look, go to another country…
At once, all three sets of doors were smashed open and officers came barging into the theatre.
Sam watched, stunned, as a dozen or so armed police swarmed the room.
“Put the weapons down and place your hands on your heads!”
The audience screamed as Sam fell under the desk.
Watching from his impromptu cubby house, Sam saw that each officer had their rifle pointed at the cult members. Even the ones that had been carrying the battering rams were now armed with rifles.
“Put your weapons down now!” the heavily armed and protected officers screamed.
There was a moment of hesitation, as the members thought about which path to take.
But, just as Sam had preached to them time and again, the disciples of Uncle Sam’s family chose to go down fighting rather than be captured.
All armed members raised their guns. From around the theatre came the thunderous onslaught of gunfire.
The cult members guarding the entrances were pummeled with bullets.
By the end of the battle Sam’s entire cult had been shot. No officer was injured.
“Sam,” one of the officers called. “Come out with your hands on top of your head. If you come out firing, we will be forced to shoot. This is a warning. Come up slowly.”
With the faint cry of ambulances and the audience being led from the theatre, Sam stood up.
“Please, don’t shoot me. I, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the leader, you see. They forced me to do this. I was a patsy.”
Sam continued to insist on his innocence as two officers handcuffed him and led him out of the theatre.
“Hey, what happened to Flag and Shorty and Bobby?” Sam asked as he was escorted outside.
“They’ve been taken care of,” one of the officers said.
“Good,” Sam said. “I hated those fuckers. Flag, he was the leader, you know. He was the one that set this whole thing up.”
* * *
Two men sat under the shady cover of an umbrella, sipping coffee amid the crowded café.
“Okay, Bill, what’s your full name?”
“William Anthony Crivelli. But I prefer Bill.”
“That’s Italian?” The man from the newspaper smiled.
“Yes. My family was originally from Venice.”
The man scribbled on his notepad. “You don’t mind, do you Bill?”
“Of course not. How else are you going to get the story?”
The man smiled and nodded. “Okay. What was your job at the Marty Laffin show?”
“I was the floor manager.”
“How long were you the floor manager?”
Bill inhaled and gnawed on his lower lip. “Geez. A long time. I joined not long after the show started. Took over after Carlo…Carlo, I don’t remember his last name, but anyway, that was, oh, about fifteen years ago.”
“You were good friends with Marty?”
“In a way. Very private man. Didn’t have too many close friends. So I guess you could say I was a friend. I had dinner at his house a couple of times.”
The two men chuckled.
“How are you coping after what happened? I mean, you sound like you’re coping all right, but it’s been, what, only a few days.”
Bill sipped his café latte and shrugged. “I have trouble sleeping; the occasional nightmare. All the usual things. But as you say, it’s only been a few days. My wife has been wonderful, so have the kids.”
“That’s great,” the reporter said. “Family is the best therapy. Now, what do you think when you hear or see the man, Sam Drayton?”
“Hatred.”
“You don’t feel, I don’t know, pity?”
“The man murdered over a hundred innocent people. He was a nobody, a loser who would do anything just to be noticed.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Is that why I think he did what he did? Yes. From what I’ve heard from the police, Sam Drayton was a bum. He didn’t work, he collected money from the government, while he preyed on gullible, destitute people. Kids, some of them.”
“He was an aspiring actor and comedian, did you know that?”
Bill nodded. He took another sip of coffee. “He got rejected from every audition he went for, apparently. Tried for years to become a successful actor or comedian. Never got anywhere. You ever see that movie, The King of Comedy?”
The man from the newspaper nodded.
“I think he got pissed at the industry. Thought the whole world was against him.”
The reporter looked up. “You sound like a psychologist.”
Bill smiled. “That’s just my opinion.”
“You think he did all that for revenge?”
“Well, I think there’s a little more to it than…” Bill stopped when he noticed a man standing by the table. He had long hair and was incredibly thin.
“Can I help you?” Bill said.
The reporter turned around.
“Are you Bill Crivelli? The Bill Crivelli?”
“Yes,” Bill said.
“Wow. I can’t believe it’s really you. I saw you on T.V. man. I think you’re a hero.” The man held out a small book and a pen. “Co…could you maybe sign this for me?”
Bill nodded and took the notebook from the beaming man. “Wha
t’s your name?”
“Ray,” the man said proudly.
Bill wrote:
To Ray. If you believe in yourself you can overcome anything. I did.
All the best,
Bill Crivelli.
He signed and dated the page. He handed the notebook back to Ray.
“Wow,” Ray muttered as he read the inscription. “Thank you so much Mr. Crivelli.”
“Nice to have met you,” Bill said.
As Ray shuffled from the table, the man from the newspaper smiled at Bill.
“Do you get that a lot now?”
“Sure,” Bill said. “I get stopped all the time by people who can’t believe it’s actually me. I’ve signed so many autographs these last few days. It’s strange. I mean, who am I? Last week I was just a floor manger on the Marty Laffin Show. Now, I’m recognised everywhere I go.”
“Do you mind?”
“I like it,” Bill said. “I always wanted to be famous. Just yesterday, I got offered a guest role in a hit T.V. show.” He grinned. “Due to legal matters I can’t name the show yet.”
“I understand,” the reporter said.
“I’ve even got an agent now,” Bill continued.
“You’re going to be more famous than Sam Drayton.”
Bill’s smile faded a little. He finished off the coffee and gazed at the young reporter. “Yeah, I guess so.”
More famous than Sam Drayton.
Those words haunted Bill for the remainder of the interview.
NOTES:
My second published story, and my second to be posted on the Horrorfind website. I wrote this back in 2001, just as reality TV was really taking off. It infuses my love of tacky game shows, late night talk shows, and my fascination with cults.
A LIGHT FOR ROSE
The first time Clayton saw the light, he didn’t think much of it.
He was trying hard to fall asleep when a flash of light forced his eyes open. He lay gazing at the window. The light, or whatever it was that had shone at him, was gone.
Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…
As the footsteps continued above, a second flicker caught his eyes.
He rolled on to his back and stared up at the darkness.
Lightning perhaps? he thought, even though it was a sultry summer night.
He shrugged it off and was about to attempt another restless slumber, when once again a gleam of light flickered into his apartment.
Clayton sat up.
The light vanished again, only to reappear moments later, glinting through the window like sun reflecting off a car’s windshield.
Only it was night and he was five stories up.
Just what I need, he thought. If the footsteps weren’t bad enough.
He rubbed a hand over his face, felt the prickle of stubble, and sighed.
Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…
Tiredness sat heavy on him, like the oppressive heat of the past few days, and even though he wanted to sleep, needed to, the footsteps of his upstairs neighbor kept him awake.
He glanced over at the alarm clock. The red numbers glared back at him: 12:51.
He had ten more minutes of footsteps marching above, and then he would try and get some much-needed rest.
Not if this damn light continues.
Just like the footsteps, it too seemed to have a definite rhythm.
Where’s it coming from? he wondered.
The light blinked on and off for another ten minutes. It eventually stopped, along with the footsteps.
“Finally,” Clayton breathed, lying down and closing his eyes.
He could now try and sleep. The footsteps would be back tomorrow night; hopefully, the strange light wouldn’t.
Clayton fell asleep soon after.
* * *
The light returned at twelve-fifty the next night, just as the footsteps started.
Clayton was in bed watching some old black and white movie and drifting off to sleep when his eyes were hit with the same sharp, almost glowing light.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes and cursed.
Not again.
Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…
He was too aware of the footsteps now and knew there was no way he was going to get to sleep until both the footsteps and the light had stopped.
He turned off the television, threw the remote down and hopped out of bed. He didn’t bother turning on any lights – the faint glow of the moon let enough light in for him to see his way around.
He stopped in the middle of his apartment, looked up and shook his head.
Stop your damn worrying, Rose. Keeping me awake won’t bring him home any sooner.
Of course, he knew one way he could solve both his and Rose’s problem. It would only require a bit of guts on his part and a willing soul on Rose’s.
Yeah right. Who am I kidding? A gorgeous woman like that wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
Then there was Rose’s husband, Hal, to worry about. And Clayton certainly didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.
Clayton wandered over to the refrigerator and grabbed a lukewarm Coors Light. He popped the can open and took a mouthful. It was tepid and bitter, but did the job.
He stood by the fridge and watched the strange rhythmic flickering of the light. Listened to the steady beat of Rose’s footsteps.
Thump thump thump thump…Thump thump thump thump…
Clayton walked over to the window. Sirens and the sound of tires screeching and the occasional scream wafted up through the open window. Somewhere a baby was crying. He liked to keep the window open during the warmer weather. He liked having some air flowing into his stuffy studio apartment, and he didn’t mind the sounds of the city.
He looked down at the alley. Thought perhaps it was somebody with a flashlight playing games with him. He saw nothing but shadows and dark shapes. Shapes that could’ve been the trashcans and abandoned shopping carts that littered the alley - or perhaps something more sinister.
Whatever was down there in the foul alleyway, it certainly wasn’t the source of the light.
It continued to flash at him.
It reminded him of the light catchers he used to have as a boy. The way the sunlight or moonlight used to cast its reflection through the hundreds of tiny mirrors, as the catcher twirled slowly with the wind.
There was no light catcher hanging from his window now.
Maybe in the future, when he got back on his feet and was able to afford some swank apartment on the Upper East Side. When he moved out of this dump, moved out of The Village, then he would buy as many light catchers as he wanted.
He gazed up at the full moon and took a sip of beer.
His mind wandered with thoughts of a new and better life. By the time he had finished his beer, it was past one o’clock and the footsteps had stopped and there was no more light.
He turned away from the window, tossed the can to the floor and hopped back into bed.
He stayed awake until Hal arrived home, thinking about the light and what, or who, was causing it. The light didn’t return and he eventually drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
Geoff sighed. “Christ, Clay. I set up these interviews for you and you don’t even show up. What the hell kind of message does that send out, huh?”
“Listen Geoff. I’ve been real tired lately. Haven’t been getting much sleep. I just overslept today, that’s all.”
“That’s all? Well listen, buddy, I’ve managed to set up another interview with my boss the day after tomorrow, eight-thirty sharp. Think you can handle that?”
Clayton wanted to tell him that he didn’t really want the job, that he didn’t want to gain fifty pounds and lose his hair like Geoff. But the guy was his best friend and he was sticking his neck out for him. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Be early, huh? Wear a nice suit and act real sorry about today.”
“Now tell me. What’s up? Why are you so tired lately? You don’t work, you haven’t got a woman to keep you up, and you hardly go out anymore.”
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
“There are drugs for that.”
“I don’t want to take drugs. You know that. It’s nothing serious. Just…”
“Just what?”
Clayton knew what Geoff was going to say, but he had to tell someone.
“That Rose babe still keeping you up?”
“Yeah.”
Geoff laughed. “She still pacing back and forth waiting for her dear husband to call every night?”
“Yeah.”
“I tell ya, that Hal is one lucky man. What I wouldn’t do to get into her pants.”
“That’s not all that’s keeping me up,” Clayton said.
“Okay. So what else is?”
“A light.”
Geoff was silent for a moment. “Huh?”
“For the last two nights there’s been this strange flickering of light. It’s as if someone is holding a magnifying glass up to the moon and shining it into my apartment. Only it flickers. On and off. For about ten minutes and then just goes away.”
Clayton waited for the laugher, for the snide comments.
“Dude, you really need to get some sleep,” Geoff chuckled.
“But what could it be? I don’t know where it’s coming from or what’s causing it. It seems to go away once Rose goes to sleep.”
There was a long intake of breath from Geoff. “Well, what do you think it is? A U.F.O.?”
“No, of course not. I dunno.”
Clayton did have his ideas, but they were all ludicrous, and he knew the kind of response he would get from Geoff if he told them to his friend.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Right. Nothing,” Geoff said. “Listen, get yourself some rest. Go to the interview, knock’em dead, get the job, and then you can move out of Greenwich Village and into my building. There’s a free apartment just waiting for you buddy. Just imagine the parties we could have. Look, why don’t you go up to Rose and keep her company until Hal comes home…?”