“Ghost Lover?”
“Yep.” He handed her a another clipping. “They did interviews with some of the inmates who spent time with Avalon. One of them wrote that poem. I can recite it by heart.”
Avy began to read the poem.
“Who goes there in the night?
When all is deathly dark
'Cause time stands still for all of us
When all are filled with fright
Oh, take me, ghostly lover
Take me far away
Wrap your arms around me
Tell me that you’ll stay
A shadow stalks and whispers
It speaks a loveless ruse
He’s come to do his bidding
With all the little sisters.
Oh, take me, ghostly lover
Take me far away
Wrap your arms around me
Tell me that you’ll stay
Rake my body, make it shiver
Plunge your soul in mine
Give it to me nasty bad
You death-watch nightly giver
Oh, take me, ghostly lover
Take me far away
Wrap your arms around me
Tell me that you’ll stay”
Chubby handed her the large binder after she finished reading the poem. He opened it to a certain page, pointing to an article. He was the subject of the interview this time.
Long time Raleigh prison guard, Raymond Hammersmith, has been championing the innocence of Avalon Labrador for more than fourteen years. His outspoken opinions about the trial have garnered media attention and public support, yet controversy from his superiors. He offered his closing thoughts on the aftermath of the trial, sentencing, and death of his longtime friend. Hammersmith said, “Avalon was never a cold-blooded killer or a black widow like some people have been saying. She was incapable of harming another person. I know that killer instinct. I’m telling you, she didn’t have it.”
Hammersmith went on to say that the trial was a “mockery, a rush to judgment” He also disagreed with the sentence that she received. He has taken great offense to the way things were handled. He challenged the authority that would execute a woman who had been distressed during the last days of her life. Hammersmith said, “In the first place, you don’t even think about executing someone who’s suffering a mental breakdown—that’s the real crime.” He added, “I believe that the stress in those last days caused a delivery that ended in her death.” Asked what clinical proof he had of her unstable nature, he said, “Avalon said she had nightmares of divine visitations from angels. She saw a priest with long flowing hair.”
Avy clenched her fists when she read over the “priest with long flowing hair” remark three more times. Angels. Ghost lovers. It seemed like the whole prison was in on it. Either her mother was a full-tilt whacko, or something very strange had happened in the women’s main prison. Whatever it was, it had resulted in a massive cover-up. The inmates were convinced of paranormal activity. The claims might have worked in an insanity defense, but why hadn’t her mother’s attorney used the tactic earlier in the trial? None of it made any sense.
She flipped through the book, reading several more clippings while Chubby looked on. She found more about the evidence against her mother. She read a few snippets from Drake’s testimony, including his reactions to the murder. It all seemed so surreal.
Chubby went to a display shelf to bring down a picture. He held the frame before her. “This was taken in the exercise yard by one of the other officers. We were holding hands that day. It was Avalon’s birthday. You can see right here where she signed it to me. It says, ‘To my best friend in whole world, Chubs.’” He placed it back on the shelf, giving it a loving pat.
Now, Avy stared at him. It was obvious that Raymond Hammersmith had been in love with her mother. He spoke of her with a divine reverence and loyalty, as if she were a fairy princess or queen. It was hard to tell what was manic obsession, or what might be innocent infatuation. Her instincts told her that Chubby had not been intimate with her. He just didn’t come off that way. It had to be a true friendship, she realized. She could see how her mother had become endeared to this simple, gentle man.
Chubby clasped his hands. “I tried to be there for the baby, for you, Avy. But they wouldn’t let me in the infirmary. I just wanted to see you, you know? I would have done anything to hold you. But the warden said that I was too involved with my heart. He said I couldn’t be trusted.” His eyes moistened.
She felt a bit uneasy at the display of emotion. “That’s a wonderful story, Chubby. I wonder if you could tell me about some of the visions she had. I understand that my mom was hallucinating. At the end, I mean.”
“Now that you mention it.” Chubby screwed up his face, obviously thinking hard on the answer. “She did tell me several times that, well, a priest paid her a special visit. Not our regular chaplain. It was somebody else. She swore to it.” He looked down at the carpet. “Avy, you have to understand that your mom was under a lot of stress at that time.”
“Did she describe this priest to you?”
“Just a catholic priest. Father, damn, I can’t remember his name.”
“Father Geminus? First name, Janus?”
“That’s it! Janet or something. Weird dude, had long flowing blond hair. She said for a priest, he was a looker.”
Avy dropped her cup on the floor. She picked it up, patted the stain with her napkin, but Chubby was there a moment later with a damp towel. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I do it all the time.”
He looked up from the floor, then rose to his feet. “Avy, your hands are shaking.”
She put them between her thighs, willing them to stop. Things were unraveling at light speed. For a moment, she thought she might be losing her mind. The room seemed like it was closing in around her, prompting her with the sudden need to leave. Not because of Chubby. He appeared harmless enough. But the information she’d learned made her skin crawl.
After a minute passed, she stood up. “This meeting has been a real eye-opener,” she said, catching her breath. “My mother couldn’t have had a better friend than you. Thanks for understanding her, protecting her, and allowing her some dignity. I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” That was another thing that rattled her. She sidestepped toward the door. “I have another appointment that’s very important. I’ve got to go.”
He shadowed her steps, grasping her forearm before she made it to the door. “If you’ve been digging around for information about your mom, just remember to forget most of the bad things you read or hear. She wasn’t anything like they said. She was a kind, loving person.”
“Thanks for saying that, Raymond.” She raised her hand to open the door.
“Avy?”
She turned to meet his gaze. His eyes looked like steel. “Yes?”
His body stiffened. “I won’t ever let them hurt you again. Ever. Don’t be afraid to call me if you’re in danger. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
She left, almost stumbling on the stoop. Her vision blurred as the tears sprang. She sensed Chubby’s gaze following her across the yard over the flagstones.
The ignition key fumbled in her hand before she got the engine started. She turned the stereo on full blast, then pressed down on the accelerator. The car took off with a lurch. Avy drove through the streets of Raleigh in a daze, trying to understand everything she’d just heard. Although the last years of her mother’s life had been filled with misery, there had been one person who stood up to defend her, accepting her as a friend. Chubby, Raymond Hammersmith. He had believed in her—taken care of her up until the very end. It tore at Avy’s guts, knowing she had not even shown half that trust or faith in the person who had given her the miracle of life. She had no idea if she could ever squash that guilt, but somehow she knew she had to try to make things right with her soul.
When she pulled in the rear parking lot behind the Stadium Theater, she took a quick
moment to freshen her makeup in the rearview mirror. Composed, Avy exited her car and made her way to the door where she rang the service buzzer.
Sebastian opened the door, a triangle of pizza hanging from his mouth. She stepped in, setting her purse down. He retrieved a large cardboard box from the counter and presented it to her. He wiggled his eyebrows in invitation to open it. She peeled the top off and swiped the tissue paper aside. It was her costume.
“Had it dry-cleaned,” he said around a pizza wedge. “Some of the stitches were reinforced. Hey, your eyes are pink. You okay?”
“It’s the pollen in the air.” She hoped he didn’t read anything else in her expression. Right now she felt like an emotional powder keg. It would be a miracle if she got through the rehearsal session.
Her eyes roamed over the lavender, nylon, one-piece suit. The costume was sheer, speckled with multicolored sequins. It was tiny. A feathered fantail that frothed from a wide elastic belt served as the waist decoration. She pulled the headpiece out, a beret with a small shock of feathers. It looked “show-girlie,” in a Las Vegas sort of way. She ran a finger through the suit fabric. It was tissue-thin, almost see-through.
“Very pretty,” she said. “But it looks like just about everything is going to pop out of this. I hope you keep the stage warm.”
“That’s the whole idea.” He dusted pizza crumbs from his shirt. “Have to keep the eyes of the audience on the beauty rather than the beast. We call it ‘misdirection’ in the trade. I have a feeling I’m going to get away with murder.”
Avy gave him a playful shove, then entered the bathroom. Inching the suit up was the only way to get it up past her hips, requiring her to exhale. Oh, it was tight. She stood five-nine. The suit had been tailored for someone at least three inches shorter. She had to slump to corral her breasts into it. When she stood erect to draw her shoulders back, the top rode down while at the same time the crotch rode up. Whew, yeah. It was a dinger, all right. She wondered if her buttocks looked like a couple of spring hams ready to punch each other out. The hell with it.
“Here I come,” she said in warning. She stepped out, gave a twirl.
Sebastian spit pizza crumbs. “I am going to get away with murder. Nobody is going to watch me. You should be insured as a national treasure.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a new one. I thought you were going to ask me if I worked out.” A little tingle shot through her when she noticed him checking her out. She got the belly button tingle—a warning that the dirty little sex demon was sneaking up on her. That was all she needed right now, something that would annihilate her concentration.
“That occurred to me,” he said. “But it’s too cliche.”
“It rides up in places,” she said, adjusting the fabric.
“We’ll do some custom-fit alterations. I won’t have you performing in something that doesn’t feel right.” He pulled a few chairs from the main aisle, clearing a path. “Give me a few moves.”
She dipped, brought herself up on point. She did few high kicks then strolled down the length of the room doing the runway strut. After a bunny dip, she finished it off with a curtsey. He watched her with rapt interest, his mouth forming a little O.
“Fantabulous,” he said. “You’ve got the balance and coordination of a cat. I have the doves penned up on the roof getting some sunshine, so we’ll use my hand props. The music score I run through the sound system is choreographed for the acts. The volume fluctuates, providing cues. The music is also designed to hide some of the mechanism noises in the props, like the guillotine, trapdoor, and other tricks. You’ll be pushing a lot of props on stage from the wings, and removing ones that have been used during the act. Try to be fluid. Always smile like you’ve won the lottery. If you stumble or falter, I’ll snatch their attention away. Mistakes are bound to happen so don’t let it rattle you. We can kick it in gear with a quick run-through if you don’t have any questions.”
She had no questions.
He led her out to the stage, inventorying various props parked in the wings. There were three acts per show. The first act used a table of small props—the card tricks, sleight of hand, cups, balls, and other manipulation items. The second act held the medium props used with illusions—the levitating woman, the heavenly rope, chair suspension, the twister. The large props occupied stage right. They too were marked in the sequence of order, beginning with the guillotine, levitating table, wheel of death, sawed woman, kettle of doves, and the finale, the disappearing assistant.
He walked her through the routine by the numbers without music. He positioned her body posture relative to the audience, which kept her at precise angles. While she loaded the props, he performed small fill-in tricks to distract from her physical chores.
He performed with such adept skill that she could not see the strings, wires, or magnets. She found it difficult to follow his hands—they moved with a fluid grace that would leave the world’s best master magicians wanting.
She went through three dry runs sans music. While performing, she was amazed to discover the simple physics involved in each trick or illusion. She also learned the proper placement of props in the audience’s line-of-sight.
It wasn’t all smooth sailing. When it came time for the sawed woman, she needed to lie in a coffin-like box with her legs folded up against her chest. With her added height, she struggled five times to get in the proper position. That error threw his timing off. Once during a levitation sequence, she tumbled to the floor, taking the chair with her. He warned her that a fall to the floor was the worst accident to recover from. She repeated the maneuver several times until she had it down.
She rehearsed to the music through the entire show. It was near the end of the third act when she ran into trouble. After rolling a table with a huge kettle in its middle to center stage, she had to lift the lid of the vessel and place a single egg on the bottom platter. When she closed the lid, she had to depress a small button in the handle that dropped a dozen live doves onto the platter, or in this case, the stuffed props. A single bird was to be left lying on its back on the platter, appearing to be dead. She had to pick it up and blow a life-giving breath over it. Then she needed to toss it in the air, where it would take wing and fly over the awe-struck crowd.
With the volume turned up, the accompaniment was so loud she couldn’t hear his verbal cues. She froze, giving him a confused look.
He performed an exaggerated hand toss in the air, demonstrating the move.
She nodded. “Like this?” She swung her arm up high, pitching the prop into the air just when the music hit a high, frantic note. The move was too energetic.
She turned, smiling at Sebastian. He looked pleased, even to the point of shock. She walked across the stage to stand before him. “I think I nailed it this time,” she said.
He smiled at her, but his gaze dropped below her neckline, then zoomed up again.
She looked down. She’d thrown herself out of her suit.
Sebastian fumbled with a prop. “Now that is misdirection,” he mumbled, the side of his cheek twitching in nervous pulses.
She turned around, adjusting her costume. The heat of embarrassment rushed up her neck. She could almost feel her face beginning to broil a hot shade of pink. “I screwed it up.” she said. “I feel like such an idiot.” To her way of thinking, this rehearsal was over. She marched toward the wing.
“Oh no you don’t!” he called after her.
She paused.
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” he went on. “Shit happens. You’re going to get right back on that bucking horse. Nothing’s wrong. I’ll get alterations on that piece tonight. We can have an elastic decoration sewn into the middle to allow for the extra body length. It’s the reason we’ve been having some trouble with the props, too. They were designed for a shorter person.”
She wondered why she didn’t just strip down and let it all hang out. Throw herself at him and shove it right in his face. The heat of humiliation was all
consuming. She was so mad at herself she wanted to scream her throat raw.
“I’m a big, clumsy amateur. You need a smaller girl who has experience.”
“What I need is my head examined for ever having a smaller girl in the first place. You’re my perfect fit. You’re better for the act. Now let’s finish this.”
The next trick was the disappearing assistant. She stood over a concealed trapdoor on the stage floor, trying to stem her emotions. She still couldn't control her self-anger, and it had her trembling in a mini-fit of rage. He pushed a large curtained framework on wheels toward her, then lifted a slit in the drape, covering her from view. The large curtain box rolled around her while he delivered an incantation. From an earlier explanation, she knew that a remote device in his coat pocket would spring the trapdoor, allowing her to fall to a mattress below. From there, she would crawl under the stage to a utility door, then appear stage left.
He recited the last word of the incantation. The floor disappeared beneath her feet. She plunged downward. A bright flash went off behind her eyes, accompanied by a snap.
The next thing she knew, she was standing out in the parking lot in front of the theater backdoor, her vision swimming, legs shaking. She tried the door. It was locked. How in the hell did she get out in the parking lot?
First she hammered her fist on the door, then stabbed the service buzzer several times. She must have conked her head, and then wandered in a stupor until she had exited the theater. That had to be it!
The door flung open. Sebastian stood on the other side, his face blanched white. He took her by the wrist, ushering her inside. “Whoa, Avy, what in God’s name just happened?”
“I don’t know. I went through with a big pop. I think I hit my head or something.”
Sebastian looked like he had seen a monster. “I just can’t figure how you got through.”
“It was easy. The hatch went boom, then I went whoosh. Just like we rehearsed.”
The War Gate Page 7