While dusting, I admired a figurine with a striking resemblance to Isabella. It’s a well-made doll. Given to her by an adoring fan, no doubt. The doll stood about eighteen inches tall and had those creepy eyes that follow you no matter where you go. It is dressed as her character Aldonza/Dulcinea. With the thought, the song “Dulcinea,” as sung by Richard Kiley, began playing in my mind, “I have dreamed thee too long…” I let the song play out and distract me. A simple song, but it conveys how every man feels for his “Sweetie.” After the song finished in my mind, I placed the doll back in its place of honor above the mirror on a shelf by itself. My head started to throb. It’s time for a break. Before I did the last bit of cleaning, I stepped outside to take a breather and wrestle this headache away.
I took a seat on a planter outside the backstage door, closed my eyes, and tried to quell the pain. The headache wasn’t migraine level yet, but I had to deal with it before it became one. Too many people’s safety is riding on me keeping the monster Da’von at bay. Even if he merely escapes my mental prison, he will unleash death and horror on the streets of San Diego again. The first to die will be my family and me. He is carrying a powerful hate within him. I will not know who he inhabits. It could be the friendly girl scout selling cookies or a sweet old woman like Mrs. Blake. A knife could be thrust into Char or Moiraine before I see the danger. I have wasted too much time. I must find a way to imprison him permanently, but how?
While I contemplated all this, someone sat down beside me and asked, “Are you Mr. Embers?” The voice sounded sweet and clear. She had fine diction so, she must be a member of the cast.
I answered before opening my eyes, “Yes. How can I help you?”
“My name is Theresa. I want to thank you, Mr. Embers, for taking the job of the dresser for Ms. Isabella.”
Opening my eyes and turning toward the sweet voice, I saw a fetching young woman. “You may call me Nathan or Nate, whichever you wish. You don’t have to thank me. I need the paycheck.”
“No, Nate,” after a short pause, “Nate does not feel right when I say it. No, Nathan is better. Matt told me your concern about taking my job. No one in this business has ever been so kind to me. While everyone acts cordial, this troop has its fair share of backstabbers.”
“What kind of, excuse the pun, drama goes on in a theater troop?”
“Jealousy for one. Take Ms. Isabella, for example. You didn’t hear it from me, but the understudy for her part used to be me.”
“I thought you are the seamstress.”
“I am now, but when she came on board, she had me booted as her understudy. She said she didn’t need one. What would it hurt her to let me have the glimmer of hope I would play the part one day? All I can hope for is the cast isn’t too hard on their costumes. All my confidence is gone. I couldn’t sing a note if I wanted to. The bitch,” Theresa put her hand to her mouth and looked around nervously, “Sorry, Ms. Isabella doesn’t even want me to play a background part with no dialogue.” Her eyes grew wet, and a tear rolled down her cheek, “Forgive me. The emotional outburst was not intended. My first real break in this business, and she took the dream away.” She hastily wiped away the tears, “Anyways, I want you to know I appreciate the kind gesture of concern. It is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” As she started to stand, I asked, “Say, have you ever seen the ghost around here?”
Theresa sat back down, and in a whisper asked, “Have you seen it?” I nodded my head as she continued, “All I’ve ever seen is a shadow darting out of my vision as I turned my head. Other people have seen it, too. One of the men, Gerald, screamed and went running out of the building. He missed the performance, and the next day the director informed us Gerald would not be returning. It creeps everyone out. No cast member ever comes into the building by themselves. Most people will wait at the door until two or three more people show up before going in. I know I won’t enter by myself.”
“Break’s over.” I stood up and prepared to go back in to finish my work. Theresa followed. I offered the door to her, and as she passed me, I said, “If it ever bothers you again, come and find me, and I will kick its ectoplasmic ass.”
As I passed people backstage to return to my work, I noticed everyone did stay in groups of two or three. If you didn’t know the reason, you might think they are a little cliquish. The final dressing room waited for me to finish it. Emptying the trash bin is all that remained to do, then I would be done with the janitorial duties. While pouring the contents of the small trash can into the larger can on my janitor’s cart, I saw a bloody rag. It had more blood on it than from a simple cut. It concerned me. A great many of these artistic types have fragile egos. Maybe she’s a “cutter.” Isabella has such a flamboyant personality; I wonder if she is covering depression. I have tangled a time or two with that demon. I don’t want to be a busybody, but I will keep my eyes and ears open. If I keep seeing these bloody rags in the trash, I will gently let her know she is not alone. My experience with mental health issues may be a comfort to her. Of course, this could all be as simple as she received a big cut, and she bled a bit. One instance of a bloody rag in the trash is an anomaly. Two days with bloody rags in the trash is a concern. Three days make a pattern and begs for help.
Everything is done, and as I started to leave the room, I took one last quick look around to make sure everything was done. All is as it should be except somehow the exquisite doll of Isabella had moved. I must not have replaced it carefully enough. Moving the doll back to its original position is simple enough. The headache came back anew. When I returned to the janitor’s closet with the cart, I took more aspirin even though the headache seemed to be lessening.
All my janitorial work is done for the day. What to do now? There are a couple hours before I must be back to play the FTD Man. What to do with the time? If I went home, it would burn up most of the time, and I would have to turn around and come back. So, no. Walking around the theater, I hoped to find an idea of something to do. In the lobby stood a display with pamphlets with all kinds of attractions here in “America’s Finest City.” It carried all the usual tourist traps. The lighthouse at Point Loma, the Star of India, the San Diego Zoo and Safari Park, all of them, are great to spend an afternoon enjoying. I have been to all of them a time or two except for the Star of India. Here is something different. There is a Psychic Fair at Balboa Park. No, I don’t think so. There is enough (cue spooky music) strangeness in my life. After finding nothing to occupy my time, I think a nap in the back of the theater sounds like a plan. It’s quiet and deserted there. I staked out a cozy spot up in the back corner of the balcony. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and began my snooze.
The nightmare began with a piece of my head exploding out. A pair of ghostly hands came out of the hole and pushed on the sides of the opening. They leveraged the rest of Da’von out of my head. My body fell like a lifeless mass at the foot of the spirit form of my tormentor. My spirit rose out of the remains of my savaged body. My ghost raged at Da’von. I am impotent to fight against this creature. My ghost looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. There is my sword in its place of honor in our living room. The shadow of myself closed its fingers on the hilt. They passed through as though the hand is real and the sword but a hologram. Wait, this is my home. Char and Moiraine were here asleep and defenseless. The spirit of Da’von laughed and rushed to my daughter’s room. I followed and vocally challenged the monster. Da’von jumped into my sweet Moiraine’s head. She jerked her head first one way then another. A maniacal expression filled her face as she bolted straight up. Robotically, my possessed little girl threw off her covers and stood. In her voice but not her voice, she spoke. “I know you are there. Come watch me kill,” with a mocking tone, “Mommy.”
Da’von, in my daughter’s body, forced her to go to the kitchen. Next, from the block holding our cutting knives, she retrieved the chef’s knife. With a murderous grin on he
r face, she stocked to my bedroom.
I screamed at my daughter, “No, don’t. Fight him, Mo. Please, please don’t.” Repeatedly I blocked her path only to have her walk right through me. I stood between her and her sleeping mother.
“Mommy.”
Charlene rolled over to face our daughter. Lazily she said, “What is it, Moiraine?”
In one swift motion, Moiraine sliced through my ghostly form and her mother’s neck. The stroke had such force, it all but severed my wife’s head. Blood sprayed across the room, ceiling, and my daughter. There is so much blood. Moiraine dropped the knife. Wiping the blood from her face with her free hand, she (oh my God) licked the blood from her hand and smiled as she tasted it. Mo turned and walked out of the room. At the front door, she undid the locks and walked outside. She made her way to the major cross-street near our home. It’s late, and there wasn’t any traffic to speak of. She stood there waiting until a big-rig truck approached. The instant the truck drew close enough it could no longer stop in time; my daughter, my sweet Moiraine jumped. The sound of brakes squealing, and tires skidding filled the air. My daughter’s body exploded in a cloud of flesh and bone as it hit the grill and fell beneath the tires.
Not only is my body lifeless, but after seeing those horrors, I now had no Life.
The ghostly figure of Da’von rose out of the tangle flesh of my daughter. He looked straight at me and said, “Your debt is paid. It is time the rest of the world pays theirs.”
Waking with a start, I cried out in anguish. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard it felt like it would burst out and sweat-soaked my clothes. It is the worst nightmare I ever had. Looking all around me, I saw the ghost a few feet away. Somehow it conveyed a smile in the boiling mass. It is darker and more menacing too. I heard a hint of laughter in my ear. The bastard had enjoyed my pain, my sorrow, and my fear.
The house lights came on. In the blink of an eye, the shadowy ghost turned sideways and disappeared. Over the loudspeaker came, “Would all cast and orchestra members please assemble in the theater. There is an announcement we would like to make.” I moved forward for a view of the goings-on. After about ten minutes, everyone had taken seats in the audience. Both the stage manager Matt and Mr. Roberts, the boss, came walking onto the stage, Matt spoke up, “Okay, okay, quiet down everyone.” The murmurs of the crowd died down.
Mr. Roberts began, “Well, I’m sure you all know this production is in trouble. I don’t know what to do. But if this keeps up, we will shut down, and all the remaining stops we have on this tour will be canceled.” A general panic began to build through the cast. The noise built to a deafening level.
Matt whistled through his teeth loud enough to call the cows home. The cast settled down quick, as Matt said, “People, we can look at this as a failure or we can look at it as an opportunity. We can fix this. We only sold a handful of tickets for the next couple of performances, so we are going dark for two nights. I want everyone, and I mean everyone, to renew themselves. Contemplate what is at stake, and how everyone depends on everyone else. We can pull this out if we can pull together. The plan is we are going to hit this town hard with promotions on TV, radio, and print. We are giving away seats. We are going to fill this auditorium. We are going to remind everyone what it’s like to perform before a crowd. I don’t know what happened to this cast. We started strong, but slowly it seems we have lost our zest for this production. Well, that’s all I have for you. Think about all this tonight. Tomorrow we will hold a rehearsal, and maybe we can figure this out. Goodnight.”
Mr. Roberts began with, “If Matt here didn’t make this clear to you all, let me state your jobs are on the line. We are taking this chance. This one night to see if we can come together. If not, we close the doors. We will cancel your contracts, and you will be responsible for finding your own way home. It’s that bad.” Mr. Roberts and Matt walked off the stage as the cast started arguing with each other. After a few minutes, everyone started breaking up into smaller groups as they walked away.
Just when I thought I could make some decent scratch, cheddar, dough ray me, cabbage, greenbacks, and Benjamins, it falls through my fingers like sand. At least there will be a couple more days’ worth of pay. I began to really worry. What I need is something, anything, to take my mind off the bleak news. As I was walking around there in the balcony, the light board caught my eye. I’m sure they won’t mind if I just look at it. Sitting in the lighting guy’s chair and looking at the console, it felt like I was on the bridge of the Enterprise. The first Star Trek. Those consoles had cool looking buttons the actors could touch and press. The second show, Star Trek: The Next Generation, had flat panel screens for the consoles. The cast of that show only could get their fingerprints all over them.
Someone snuck up on me and let his presence be known by coughing. Startled, I jumped up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t touch anything I just looked.”
“Don’t tell me. You were playing Star Trek, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, a little bit. My name is Nathan, by the way, and you are?” I held out my hand.
“I’m Gary. I’m the lighting director.” We shook. “You shouldn’t be playing with this stuff. We can’t afford to fix it if it breaks.”
“I was telling the truth. I didn’t touch anything. It’s a pretty slick set-up. It’s way different than the old lighting board I used in High School.”
“She is a beauty,” Gary said. He sat down in the chair and started pushing buttons, and the stage lit up. “This isn’t top of the line, but she’ll do. I can control each light individually or program the computer to do it. It is very versatile. I can even use remote-controlled spotlights.” He pressed a button, and a spotlight came up on stage. He put his hand to a joystick on the console and moved the spotlight on the stage. “I can change its color.” He fiddled with another set of buttons, and the spot rotated through many different colors. “I can even tell the computer to repeat what I just did.” Which he did. It is all really cool.
My phone went off with a text from Matt. He wants to see me at the backstage door. “Gary, thanks for the two-dollar tour. Well, I’m needed downstairs. I’ll catch you later.”
“See you later, Nathan. Thanks for letting me give you the demo, I don’t get to show this baby off much.” Gary started pushing buttons again, and the stage went dark.
“Ah, Nathan. I am glad you came so quick. I saw you on the balcony. You are welcome to the meetings like all the other cast members. You,” with emphasis on the next word, “are a cast member.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember it in the future.”
“Nathan, I have a huge favor to ask. Since you are Ms. Isabella’s new favorite, I need you to inform her the production is going dark and generally repeat to her what I told the rest of the cast. She wasn’t at the cast meeting. She hasn’t gone to any of them. Her arrogance is one of the reasons things are going so poorly for the production. Her attitude is affecting everyone in the cast. My only hope is what I said will snap them out of their funk. To tell you the truth, it would take a miracle to save us,” Matt said with despair in his voice.
“It’s that bad?” Matt nodded slowly and with intensity in his eyes. “You know, miracles happen. Maybe the cast has some karma they can spend to turn things around.” I chuckled in my head at my inside joke.
“One other thing, Nathan, when you tell her no show tonight, inform her there will be no flowers either. With the production going dark, I canceled them until our next live performance. We must save every penny we can.”
In a humorous mocking tone, I said, “Not telling her yourself makes you a coward.”
“I know. I’ll wear a scarlet letter C from now on,” Matt answered with dread in his voice.
“If it were done when ‘tis done, the ‘twere well It were done quickly.” I smiled after saying it.
“Well done,” Matt said with an impressed expression on his face. “Macbeth Act One Scene Seven. Do you have some theater background?”
&nb
sp; “High school only, nothing professional. I worked backstage, prompting lines to people who forgot or missaid theirs. The Drama teacher, Ms. Gross, made full use of my perfect memory.”
“Perfect memory?”
“It’s like eidetic memory, only better. I remember everything I’ve seen, done, or felt since the age of five. I can relive it all in perfect clarity.
“Wow. Do you know the script to Man of La Mancha?” Matt asked.
“Ever since I saw Richard Kiley perform it.”
“I could have used a few actors with a memory like yours over the years. Not all actors are accomplished at remembering their lines. This has been a pleasant conversation, but I have a list this high,” Matt placed his hand about shoulder high, “of tasks I must accomplish, and only this much time to do them,” he held up his index finger and thumb about an inch apart, “A word of warning, break the news to Ms. Isabella gently. She can be a primadonna.”
Chapter Eight
The walk to Ms. Isabella’s dressing room is only a score of steps, but I took my time. Matt’s warning about the primadonna slowed my journey. Except for the nameplate under a single gold star, the dressing room door is a stark barrier to my task. Breaking bad news to anyone has never been a favorite pastime of mine, and I dread doing so now. Well, it’s showtime, I thought to myself. After knocking once, “Ms. Isabella.”
“Come in, Nate. You forgot to say, ‘Flowers for you.’”
As I stepped through the door and said, “Ms. Isabella, the show has been canceled, so no flowers today.” As I crossed the threshold to enter the room, another headache started. I must remove Da’von from my head soon. I can’t take all these annoying distractions.
The Calling Page 8