Reprieve
Page 31
“What do you want me to do?” Jaidee said.
“I rush the back, grab the knife. You check his pockets,” Victor said. “The guy doesn’t look that strong.”
“Guys,” Jane said.
“But all these people,” Jaidee said.
“They’re not doing anything,” Victor said. “It’s a game. They’re actors. Enough talk. We’re almost out of time.”
“NO!” Kendra shouted, her limbs fully animated now. She pushed every button she could, trying to find an intercom. “NO, NO, NO!”
Victor rushed forward. Cory raced over to him, stood in his way, pushed him back.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Cory said.
“Jaidee, RUN!” Victor said.
Jaidee weaved around Victor and Cory, ran toward the man with the knife. Cory turned, shouted, “Hey!”
Jane said, “Jaidee! Wait!”
“JAIDEE, NO!” Kendra cried. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”
Victor shoved Cory as hard as he could. Cory lost his balance, fell to the ground.
“REPRIEVE!” Bryan shouted. “REPRIEVE!”
The knife man smiled down at Jaidee right as he made contact. “Gotcha,” he said, and sliced.
The world went mute. On the screen, Kendra saw Jaidee run toward her cousin. She saw Cory’s mouth become a long, horrified O. She saw the actors’ and crew members’ eyes distend, the knife man’s face contort into a long bundle of creases, his mouth open. The knife man smiled, and Jaidee’s face, suddenly, was dotted with black specks. He stopped running. His jaw fell.
Kendra’s paralysis returned. Around her, more monitors had turned to snow, all shouting Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
On monitor 22, her cousin choked, hitched, sputtered. His neck oozed, the black torrent falling carelessly to the floor. He extended his arms. Jaidee shouted and stepped back. The knife man released Bryan. Bryan took a step. Then another. Then another. He reached for Jaidee. Jaidee grabbed him as he collapsed.
Kendra screamed. Her legs gave out. She fell to the floor, shivering. Her arms slid to her sides. Not happening, she thought. Not happening not happening not happening. She thought about Bryan at Holmes Lake, turning to her, his face etched with concern, saying, We’re always gonna be here, no matter what. She thought, Not happening not happening not happening.
Behind her, from the screen, she heard the knife man say, “Welcome to show business!” She looked up at the monitor, saw him run out the door.
Next to Bryan’s bleeding body, everyone hovered. Cory knelt down. Victor knelt down. Jane knelt down. Jaidee knelt down. They touched his face. “Bryan,” Cory said, “just hold on.” Victor touched his wound; Jane batted his hand away. Blood poured onto the concrete in black streams.
“It’s not real,” Victor said. “It’s not real.”
Jaidee put his hands on his roommate’s chest.
And Kendra, finally mustering some strength, stood, raced out of the room, down the stairs, outside to the haunt entrance, past the giant bleeding baby, down more stairs, and on to Cell Five, where she fell instantly once again into paralysis, watching as the contestants, the crew, the actors, hovered around her cousin. Her body cold and numb, she slunk into the wall by the outer door, the door she’d nearly rushed to with a fake-injured Christy. From somewhere distant she heard Cory’s voice: Kendra! Kendra, go back upstairs! She closed her eyes, exhaled, thought of Bryan in her bedroom, telling her that her father wasn’t a good man but a complicated, principled, brilliant man. She thought of Bryan at her dad’s funeral, telling her that goth shit was for white losers, that she needed to be there more for Lynette. She thought of Bryan at home, sitting at the dinner table, twinkling his eyes at her as her mother and Rae fought about something ridiculous, something trivial. These thoughts, in their aggregate, broke her stupor, opened her eyes, propelled her forward through the mess of people she’d come to know as friends, who now represented foreignness and unfamiliarity, and with each step, the illusion of Quigley House cracked and crumbled, encircling her with years and years of immutable treachery. When she got to Bryan, on the ground, flanked by Jaidee, Victor, Jane, Cory, her entire body filled with a twisted, tangled, writhing horror, and she let out a terrific scream, finally understanding what her father had meant all those years ago when he’d pointed so intensely at the television.
You watch this, Kendra, he’d said. This is the world we live in.
Witness: John Forrester
Cross-Examination Excerpt
September 17, 1997
Q. Mr. Forrester, where were you the night of the incident?
A. I was in Omaha. My mother hadn’t been feeling well.
Q. Is it common for you to be away during business hours?
A. Business hours? We don’t have things like that. But during a tour, is it common? No. But it does happen from time to time. I have a competent management team.
Q. Did you communicate with your management team that night?
A. Yes, regularly.
Q. Right. Phone records indicate that Cory Stout called you at 8:42 p.m., 8:57 p.m., 9:05 p.m., and 9:25 p.m. All these times coincide with the times contestants completed a cell, right?
A. Yes.
Q. Mr. Forrester, were you aware that my client received a call from an anonymous number at 9:26 p.m.?
A. Only after the cops told me.
Q. Was this call from you?
A. No.
Q. But you have to admit, it’s a little coincidental. You’d been updated on the contestants’ progress throughout the night, and Leonard then gets a call as soon as they hit Cell Five.
A. Is it coincidental? I don’t know. I was just doing my job.
Q. And Leonard knew about the hidden hall flanking the side of the basement, right? The one the actors use to go between cells?
A. Yes. As I said, I’d given him a tour in January.
Q. And according to the video footage, Leonard went right for the door to Cell Five.
A. That seems to be what happened.
Q. So how is it that he got tipped off that the contestants were in that cell? Who would even know that but you?
A. Everyone in the control room knew it. All the actors knew it. But that’s irrelevant too. Nobody from Quigley made that call. I really can’t answer that question because I just don’t know.
Q. Leonard also sent an email to you at 9:16 p.m. Were you aware of this?
A. Not until the cops brought it up. I’m afraid I don’t check my email as often as I should.
Q. Here’s a copy of the email. Can you read it, please?
A. Sure. It says, “You gonna call me?”
Q. Right. He sent this message ten minutes before he received the anonymous call. Fifteen minutes later he was in your house.
A. Yes. But as I’ve said before, Leonard had been obsessing about me for a while. He’d been calling the house nonstop. We had to block him. It makes sense that he’d email me too.
Q. But that’s the only email on record we have between you two.
A. We usually spoke by phone. When that got cut off, he moved to email. It’s not that difficult to figure out.
Q. Mr. Forrester, you said that at one point you and the defendant were close.
A. We were friendly, yes.
Q. So friendly that you helped organize a trip for him to Thailand.
A. I did that as a favor, yes. He was stressed, as I’ve said. It wasn’t overly burdensome. Just a few calls.
Q. And there he met and fell in love with a Thai prostitute.
A. Yes.
Q. Did you at some point tell him that you could bring this woman, this Boonsri Pitsuwana, to the United States?
A. I did not.
Q. So in a conversation at Pete’s Bar and Grill on March thirteenth you did not tell him that you’d met up with her in Bangkok, that you’d promised to bring her over if he’d do you a favor?
A. That’s ludicrous. I haven’t been to Thailand in five years.
Q. But you were at Pete�
��s on March thirteenth, with Leonard?
A. Yeah. That’s the last time we talked.
Q. And do you remember what you talked about?
A. I told him that I thought we should stop hanging out. He wasn’t too happy about that. I’ve already discussed this.
Q. So you didn’t tell him to storm out of the bar that night? You didn’t tell him to make a scene? You didn’t tell him a plan that included him calling the Quigley House, acting obsessed, all in exchange for bringing his new girlfriend to America?
A. No. Do you realize how insane that sounds?
Q. Mr. Forrester, you spend hours choreographing each cell, is that right?
A. I do. Along with my team.
Q. And how often do your actors practice?
A. It depends on our schedule. During the season, every day, for at least a couple hours.
Q. But this was an off-season tour.
A. Yes.
Q. So how often did the actors practice?
A. I treated it like regular season. They practiced every day, for at least a couple hours beforehand.
Q. In fact, they practiced more than that. In fact, they practiced for this particular tour for three hours, five days per week for two weeks. Is that right? I’m going by your own payroll hours.
A. If that’s what payroll says.
Q. But why would they have to practice more than regular season? What was so important about this off-season tour?
A. Every tour is important. We practice for safety reasons. It’s important. One slip-up can be bad.
Q. But again, why was this particular tour so important?
A. It wasn’t. I mean, not any more important than the others.
Q. And yet the actors were required to practice longer hours.
A. We had some hiccups. Really, you’re reading into something that’s not there.
Q. I see. Mr. Forrester, can you describe how you and your staff choreographed Cell Five?
A. Of course. Cell Five is our largest cell. It has four individual jail cells with iron bars. It’s completely dark. The actors wear night-vision masks and guide the contestants away from the walls, making sure they don’t hit their heads.
Q. And how do they guide them?
A. Shock wands.
Q. So if a contestant gets too close to the wall, they get shocked?
A. Essentially, yes. It’s for safety.
Q. But what’s so unsafe about walls, Mr. Forrester?
A. We don’t want them running into them.
Q. I see. Go on.
A. After three minutes, the actors grab the individual contestants and drag them to one of the four jail cells.
Q. And how large is each jail cell?
A. Ten by twenty.
Q. Feet.
A. Yes, of course.
Q. Enclosed on all four sides?
A. One side is metal bars.
Q. And yet you were afraid of contestants running into walls?
A. It’s a more enclosed space. Less damage if they do.
Q. Strange logic, but go on.
A. We have two actors per jail cell. They split duties: one taunts, one observes. The observer makes sure nothing gets too out of hand.
Q. And yet, on April 27, Jaidee Charoensuk gave Craig Sanford a black eye.
A. Yes, that was unfortunate.
Q. Okay, Mr. Forrester. So all four contestants are in their jail cell getting taunted, as you say. How long does this go on?
A. It goes on for as long as it goes on, until time runs out or one person yells reprieve.
Q. So they’re just getting shocked and hit and terrorized in these cells?
A. I suppose. The contestants can fight back in this scenario. They sort of have to. The envelopes are in the actors’ pockets.
Q. So actors can expect things like black eyes here.
A. It happens. It happened. Everyone knows what they’re getting into.
Q. So you said that it goes on until time runs out or someone yells the safe word. Why, then, did Bryan Douglas’s jail cell unlock prematurely?
A. I don’t know. I told you, we’d been having technical glitches.
Q. But during your planning, you’d arranged for Bryan to be in the southwest jail cell, the cell with the “technical glitches.”
A. Yes. But it wasn’t purposeful in the way you’re suggesting.
Q. And my client, heading straight for Cell Five after he broke in, knew somehow that one person would be free from their jail cell.
A. I don’t know what Leonard Grandton was thinking.
Q. Well, let’s take a look again at the footage. Here’s the cell. Jaidee’s in the northeast jail, Jane’s in the northwest, Victor’s in the southeast, and Bryan’s in the southwest. Let’s fast-forward a bit. Okay. There. Bryan’s now out. He’s the only one. And your actors, Mitch Slattery and Corbin Quick, they’re checking the jail locks instead of rushing after him.
A. They were puzzled. You’ve already heard from them.
Q. And then the door opens. And look, Mr. Forrester. Leonard just stands there, as if waiting for someone to come to him.
A. I have no idea what was going through Leonard’s mind.
Q. And almost as soon as Bryan gets to Leonard, the lights come on, and Bryan’s momentarily blinded.
A. It looks that way.
Q. Talk about choreography!
A. Yeah. Okay.
Q. But Leonard’s not blinded, because he hasn’t been in the dark all that time. So he can overpower someone who he clearly wouldn’t be able to overpower if things had been equal.
A. I know what you’re implying. It’s absurd. And you know it.
Q. Do I?
A. I wasn’t there.
Q. And it looks like you didn’t have to be.
A. You’re really grasping for straws here, aren’t you?
Q. Mr. Forrester, I’m going to ask you a series of questions now, and all you have to do is answer yes or no. Okay?
A. Fine.
Q. Does the Quigley House have prosthetic necks, moldings that go over someone’s real neck?
A. Yes. We have prosthetic everything.
Q. And are these prosthetics filled with fake blood?
A. Yes. Usually.
Q. Do the prosthetics feel like real skin?
A. Yes.
Q. And did you tell Leonard Grandton that Bryan would be wearing one of these necks?
A. Of course not. I never told Leonard anything.
Q. Was Bryan wearing one of these necks?
A. No.
Q. Okay. Do you know how long it takes to get from Leonard’s apartment to your house?
A. No.
Q. Have you ever been to Leonard Grandton’s apartment?
A. No.
Q. Have you ever driven from Leonard Grandton’s apartment to the Quigley House?
A. No.
Q. Do you know where Leonard Grandton lives?
A. No.
Q. Please look at this photo. Do you see your car in it?
A. Yes.
Q. And where is your car?
A. It looks like the corner of Fifty-Third and Orchard.
Q. Can you read the date on the photo?
A. Looks like March thirtieth.
Q. And once again, you aren’t aware of where Leonard Grandton lives.
A. No.
Q. Interesting, since he lives at Fifty-First and Orchard, just two blocks away, and we have no record of your car anywhere near that vicinity on any days before March thirteenth, the day you met him at Pete’s. We also don’t have any record of your car near that vicinity on any days after April twentieth. Why is that?
A. I have no idea. I drive a lot around Lincoln, obviously.
Q. So you’re saying it’s just coincidence.
A. I guess.
Q. So many coincidences, don’t you think?
A. Life is a big coincidence, isn’t it?
Q. Mr. Forrester, what’s the future of Quigley House look like?
> A. Unfortunately, we’re closing.
Q. Why?
A. Really? You have to ask?
Q. Oh, because of what happened?
A. Yes.
Q. But weren’t you considering closing before?
A. No. Not sure where you heard that, but it’s false.
Q. Right here, in this Fright Night article dated December 12, 1995. Can you read the highlighted lines?
A. Of this cheap trash tabloid?
Q. Please, Mr. Forrester.
A. Fine. “The Quigley House had their worst season yet, and John Forrester, the proprietor, has decided that if next season doesn’t bring in major revenue, he may shutter his doors forever.” I never said this. These media hounds twist every damn word.
Q. But it’s true: the Quigley House was struggling, right?
A. “Struggling” is harsh. We were going through a small slump. Not a big deal. We remained successful by industry standards.
Q. But according to your quarterly earnings statements, you’d been losing money steadily for the past three years.
A. As I said, a small slump. Three years is nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Q. Mr. Forrester, you’d mentioned earlier that you were concerned with legacy, that because you had no children to bequeath the house to, you decided to develop this attraction, to make the legacy the house.
A. Yeah, I said that.
Q. And isn’t infamy a way to continue on a legacy?
A. This house was my life. You don’t understand what you’re talking about.
Q. So you must have some strong feelings about closing.
A. It tears me apart to leave it like this. But how can I continue? How can I run a business knowing that it was the scene of a horrific injustice? A white man killing a Black man in cold blood.
Q. So you think this was racially motivated?
A. I have no idea what was going through Leonard’s sick head. But anyway. Yes. I’m leaving the business. I’m not heartless. I think of the Douglas family every day, and Kendra. Kendra was family. It’s not right. I can’t stay open. And I’m offended that you’d suggest that any of this is for personal gain. You don’t know what I’m leaving behind.
Q. You’ve announced that you’re donating money. You’ve announced it very publicly—newspaper, radio, everywhere.