Vengeance

by Susan Lewis

  23

  As Kirsten walked through the darkness towards the cavernous opening in the trees of Scout Island she was looking at the curving sweep of the branches that reached across the top of the clearing. Shafts of bright light were shooting upwards through the entwining foliage, a chill wind was swaying the shadows. ‘Have enough branches been chopped away for the camera to see through?’ Kirsten was asking David.

  ‘Yep. The crane is already rigged. You can go up and take a look as soon as you’re ready.’

  ‘OK. What about the other cameras?’

  ‘They’re being set up now. The operators seem to know their stuff, I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘All right,’ Kirsten said, wincing as Ruby tightened the grip on her arm.

  ‘Shit, just take a look at all this,’ Ruby said, her eyes steeped in awe as they entered the clearing where electricians, props men, sound guys, cameramen and their myriad assistants were busily setting up for the big scene. The atmosphere was electric, excitement reverberated through every voice that yelled out, exhilaration and exuberance flowed like a magnetic force through the misty night air. In the flooding beam of working lights everyone hefted and carried, threw and caught, climbed and jumped, spun cables, laid tracks, mounted cameras and rigged booms. Alison and her two art directors were at the altar which towered magnificently towards the roof of knotted branches. They were supervising the last minute decoration, but already the altar was so impressive as to arrest Kirsten in her tracks. As she gazed up at the gargoyle faces, the fiercely protruding tongues, wolfishly bared teeth and chillingly obscene emblems of loa worship she felt a tingling inside that seemed to spread to every part of her body. She could feel herself smiling as her heart thudded with profound admiration at the effect Alison had created, yet at the same time she was aware of her bitter resentment that all this energy would have to be put on hold while they moved to the other set for Anna’s scene. The chief electrician was talking to Alison now and Kirsten knew they’d be discussing the intricacy and texture of the mystical light to be directed on to the sacrificial shrine.

  ‘Is the other set being got ready?’ she asked David, biting hard on her irritation.

  ‘Yes. But the camera boys are waiting to hear from you where you want them to do this shot on Helena before we go over there.’

  ‘OK. Get them to put it there, slightly off centre,’ she said pointing to where the graphics team were carving cabalistic signs in the thick ashes strewn over the ground in front of the altar.

  As David disappeared into the crowd Ruby said, ‘I’m going to get me a coffee. Want one?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Kirsten answered, wondering where, in all this mayhem, she might find Jake. She experienced a quick pang of nerves at the prospect of seeing him, but knew the quicker she got it over with the better. A sound assistant raced up to her, hooked a set of headphones around her neck and clipped a battery to her belt.

  ‘Monitors over on the left side,’ he told her waving an arm in the general direction of where some of the cast were already beginning to gather.

  Kirsten thanked him and made her way towards Jean-Paul, stepping to one side as a handful of scenes men carried a massive, grisly looking totem pole towards the altar. In the distance Kirsten could see the working lights of the other set. The solitary house with its grey stone walls, narrow windows and decrepit roof was, as far as she could see, just perfect and Alison was right, they’d achieve a much more sinister effect by putting it in the midst of the looming shadows of this mistshrouded island. But damn it, it needed the dawn!

  She turned back at the general gasp of wonder that went up as simultaneously the working lights went off and the thickly-coloured hue of vermilion and ochre lamps beamed shafts of eddying light on to the altar.

  ‘The man is a genius, no?’ Jean-Paul whispered in Kirsten’s ear as Jake waved a hand for the electricians to revert back to working lights.

  Kirsten turned to Jean-Paul and gave a startled scream as she came face to face with the glittering red eyes of a demon’s mask.

  Jean-Paul laughed and lowering the mask he planted a kiss on each of Kirsten’s cheeks. ‘So, how are you feeling?’ he said. ‘Please tell me you are as nervous as I – it might make me feel a little better.’

  ‘As nervous as hell,’ Kirsten laughed.

  They talked quietly together for a while, going over the notes she had given Jean-Paul during their discussions, until David came running over to tell her that Helena was ready and should he ask her to come on to the set?

  ‘Just give me a moment,’ she said, catching Jake by the arm as he passed.

  ‘It’s looking fantastic,’ she told him.

  ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ he smiled, looking down into her eyes. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said softly.

  ‘I owe you one.’

  Jake’s head tilted to one side as his eyes creased in a smile. ‘What do you say we put it down to a moment of madness and go back to the way we were?’ he said.

  Kirsten lifted a hand and touched his arm. ‘Let’s do that,’ she whispered, ashamed at the weakness in her that was once again making her want to press herself into the comfort of his arms. She felt so shut out by everyone she cared for, but at least the situation with Jake seemed to be over.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, lifting her troubled face to the light. ‘It’s going to be great. We’re all rooting for you, you know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kirsten smiled.

  ‘So how about we get this show on the road?’

  ‘OK,’ she laughed. ‘You know about the change in schedule?’

  ‘I do. I imagine you’re pretty pissed off about it.’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ Kirsten remarked. ‘Anyway, how far are you off here?’

  ‘We’re about ready for a rehearsal.’

  ‘All right, David,’ she said, turning back to where he was still hovering. ‘Bring Helena on. Who’s giving her an eyeline?’

  ‘I think Anna’s doing it herself,’ David answered, ‘but I’ll check. Do we want any of the extras?’

  ‘No.’

  A frantic string of messages started up over the walkie-talkies then, calling for Helena, for Anna, for make-up, continuity and costume.

  Kirsten looked around for Jean-Paul again, but he was gone and suddenly her heart tightened as she saw Laurence at the other side of the set. He was standing beside Ruby who was hanging on to his arm as he talked to the choreographer. Kirsten averted her eyes. How was he feeling right now, she wondered. Was he nervous, like everyone else, or was he, as she suspected, quietly confident that all would go to plan? Well it just damned well better, she seethed to herself, because if it didn’t . . . But she didn’t want to think about that, she had somehow to control her anger and make this debacle of a revised schedule work.

  She started across the clearing as Helena, in the full costume of a high priestess of voodoo, stalked majestically on to the set to a round of applause. Kirsten smiled fondly. No matter what was going on between them personally, tonight was Helena’s night and Kirsten was going to do all she could to make it special for her. This, of all the scenes, was the one in which Helena was the absolute star, for Marie Laveau, as the great mambo of the idolatrous ritual, was to conduct the pagan ceremony of sacrilege and sacrifice.

  ‘OK, let’s have first positions,’ Kirsten called out to David, as she reached Helena’s side. ‘We’ll start blocking through. You look amazing,’ she told Helena.

  Helena grinned and Kirsten gave a gasp of laughter as her heart almost skipped a beat. Helena’s own teeth were covered by another larger set which was cracked, blackened and blood-stained. And whatever the make-up artist had used to bring out the colour of Helena’s eyes was equally chilling. As Helena moved into the light they sparked and flashed like flames. For the moment there was no expression in them, except perhaps a touch of anxiety as Helena began psyching herself up for the performance. The darkened skin of her face was painted with jagged red scars, her eyes were
thickly rimmed with white grease. Her hair was combed viciously back from her face, heightening the harsh bones of her cheeks. Her lips were blood red, so too were her fingernails. Beneath the sombre black cape whose collar sat high and stiff behind her head, was a glittering gold and silver robe, cut so low that the dark circles of her nipples were almost visible.

  She stepped in behind the altar. Anna Sage appeared and though she cooed her appreciation of the way Helena looked, Kirsten could see it was an effort. Maybe the headache wasn’t a sham after all, she looked dreadfully pale.

  ‘I’m sorry about this change,’ Anna said to Kirsten. ‘I hope I’m not being too much of a nuisance. It’s not often I get these migraines, but I do from time to time. I suppose it’s the pressure of . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Kirsten said cutting her off. ‘I understand. And you don’t have to be here for the eyeline, you know, your stand-in can do it.’

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’d rather do it myself. It wouldn’t be fair on Helena otherwise.’

  Kirsten looked at her. Anna always did her own eyelines and was extremely grateful when the others did theirs. It was much easier, she maintained, to get the level of performance right when you were playing to the real person. ‘Jean-Paul’s around somewhere,’ Kirsten said. ‘If you find David he’ll take you to your positions. There’s no hurry though, we’ll be a while blocking this through.’

  As Anna went off Kirsten turned back and watched Helena going over her moves with the choreographer. All around them people were starting to gather, as fascinated by the set as they were by Helena.

  At last, having watched an entire rehearsal through the viewfinder while the focus-puller rehearsed his own performance, and having decided to use the camera on the crane for the end of the sequence, Kirsten jumped down from the camera seat and walked over to Laurence who was standing at his monitor, his hands resting on the back of Ruby’s chair.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, failing to disguise her irritation.

  He nodded. ‘I think it’s going to be great.’

  ‘Any notes?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘OK, set up for a take!’ Kirsten shouted.

  ‘You still mad about this change of schedule?’ Laurence said, though Kirsten barely heard him above the noise that had started up.

  ‘Laurence!’ she answered, raising her voice to be heard. ‘I want to shoot the whole scene now, complete with zombies, nude dancers, sacrifices and offerings, the way it was planned.’ This veering away from the climax was getting her angrier by the minute and she knew that even Helena’s single performance, which was going to be stunning, wouldn’t get her worked up to the pitch of excitement she and everyone else had been heading towards. ‘So yes, I’m still mad,’ she went on. ‘And I’m standing by what I said. If we haven’t finished by the time the sun comes up then I want another night-shoot and that’s going to double the cost of what we’ve already laid out.’ In other words that was the price they would have to pay for his pandering to Anna’s headaches. She didn’t say that of course, but the words lay there unspoken between them.

  A few minutes later she was back at the altar with Helena. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, shielding her eyes from the dazzling lights.

  ‘OK,’ Helena answered. ‘Happy with what you’ve seen?’

  ‘Happy. I know you’re holding back for the rehearsal, but when it comes to the take I want you to go for it. I mean really go for it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  ‘OK. Why don’t you go and sit down for a while?’ Kirsten said, as the set decorators hovered around lighting candles and incense and adding the finishing touches to the props.

  ‘No, I’ll stay here,’ Helena said, looking down at the python as it was laid out in front of her. ‘Hi there little Dermott,’ she said, running her fingers down its back.

  Kirsten burst out laughing.

  ‘For God’s sake don’t tell him,’ Helena grinned. ‘Anyway, you’ll have to excuse us, ’cos little Dermott and me have got to have a bit of a chat before we go for a take.’

  Leaving Helena to it Kirsten strolled to the edge of the set, wincing when she passed David as he yelled, ‘Let’s have a bit of quiet, please!’

  She was leaning against a tree just a couple of feet from the set watching the chaos taking shape when she heard a rustling behind her. She turned to see who it was, but there was nobody there except those who were working on the tumbledown house, but that was too far distant to have accounted for the noise she’d heard. Suddenly all her senses were alert as she peered into the darkness and listened. Somebody was there, she could hear them breathing and she was about to yell to one of the burly electricians when to her amazement she saw Tom totter out from behind some bushes and into the light.

  ‘Tom!’ she gasped, running forward. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Quickly she hoisted him up in her arms, wrapping her coat around him to cover his pyjamas. ‘Does Daddy know you’re here?’ she said.

  ‘Daddy’s up there,’ he said, pointing to where Laurence was leaning on a balustrade of the camera platform looking down at the set.

  ‘Yes, but does he know you’re down here?’

  Tom shook his head solemnly, then to Kirsten’s dismay a single tear rolled from the corner of his eye.

  ‘Oh, what is it, honey?’ she said, hugging him to her. ‘Did something frighten you?’

  She felt him shake his head and held him more tightly as his tiny arms gripped her neck.

  ‘Then what is it, sweetheart? Do you want to see Daddy?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tom said, his little voice choked with tears. ‘I want to see Daddy.’

  ‘Oh, come on then, let’s go and see if we can get him to come down.’

  As she walked towards the camera platform Kirsten lifted her walkie-talkie in order to speak to Laurence, but she got no further than pressing the button when Jane suddenly came racing out of the darkness.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve been looking all over for him. I just popped out to get myself a coffee and when I got back he was gone. He was fast asleep when I left.’ She was breathless and shaking so hard that Kirsten didn’t immediately hand Tom over.

  ‘Honestly, it gave me the fright of my life,’ Jane went on. ‘God, if anything had happened to him – he might have wandered off anywhere, fallen into the river . . .’

  ‘But he didn’t,’ Kirsten said soothingly. ‘He’s right here and quite safe, aren’t you, soldier?’

  ‘Jane,’ he whimpered and letting go of Kirsten he held his arms out for Jane. ‘I want my Daddy,’ he said, trying very hard not to cry.

  Jane looked anxiously at Kirsten. Obviously Laurence would be furious if he discovered Tom had been out here while all this was going on, though what Kirsten wanted to know was why Jane and Tom weren’t back at the hotel.

  ‘Tom wanted to sleep in the trailer tonight,’ Jane explained. ‘Laurence said he could providing he didn’t set foot outside.’

  ‘Then you’d better get him back there pretty quick,’ Kirsten told her, ‘before Laurence sees either of you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ Jane said, glancing nervously towards the stretch of forbidding darkness between the set and the trailers.

  Kirsten called out to the third assistant and told him to escort Jane and Tom back to their trailer. ‘And whatever you do, Jane,’ she cautioned, ‘make sure you lock the door next time you want a coffee.’

  ‘Oh, I will, I will,’ Jane assured her. ‘I’m sorry, really. Oh gosh, I wish we could go back to the hotel, I don’t like it out here at all.’

  For some reason Jane’s nervousness seemed to incite Kirsten’s and suddenly Kirsten remembered Ruby’s fear that the child in her reading was Tom. It wasn’t that Kirsten believed it, but there was no harm in being extra careful while they were out here in the dead of night. ‘If I were you,’ she said to Jane, ‘I’d lock yourselves in when you get back.’ Then to the third assistant she added, ‘Ask
the security guards to keep an eye on the trailers.’

  She watched until the three of them had disappeared into the shadows, then turning back to the set she called out to David. ‘How are we doing over there?’

  ‘Couple more minutes,’ Jake shouted back as he watched the console operator making final adjustments to the lighting.

  At last the cameras started to roll. A feverish silence descended over the set as a harsh red light beamed down on the altar.

  Everyone was still.

  ‘Shot five hundred, take one,’ the clapper-loader announced, slamming the board together.

  Kirsten waited for him to settle. David moved quietly across the front of the crowd that had gathered. Kirsten looked at Jake and as Jake touched the console operator’s shoulder fluid motions of warmly glowing lights began rippling over the altar. Helena’s face was a study of unholy, transcendent rapture.

  Kirsten raised a hand. The sound man hit the playback machine and a tattoo of dense, sonorous beats throbbed into the night. A few seconds later slowly, rhythmically, Helena’s body started to sway as she lifted her face towards the canopy of gnarled and mistshrouded foliage overhead. Undulating streams of light touched her, painting her with a sleazy saturation of lurid colour, as the leafy shadows cast strange and ungodly images over her writhing body.

  ‘Papa Legba, Ouvrir barrière pour nous passer,’ she chanted, the turbulent emotion of her husky voice blending with the hypnotic monotony of the drums. ‘Papa Legba, Ouvrir barrière pour nous passer,’ she repeated. Her head fell back, her arms spread her cloak like wings and before her on the altar the slithering blood python moved sluggishly over the objects of tribute. At last her hands closed around the creature’s succulent flesh, her fingers fanning the circles of its body as her thumbs lifted the pointed face to her own. ‘Damballah, Damballah,’ she intoned. Suddenly she jerked the snake upwards as her head dipped and the drums thundered into a terrible rhythm. She coiled the snake over her shoulders and began a blood-curdling liturgy to the ancestors. And as her body writhed, jerked and vibrated to the diabolical rhythm and the python curled itself lovingly about her so the gathering before her watched, spellbound.