CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
There was now less than twenty four hours before Severn was going to be whisked away to the other side of the world, out of my life possibly forever. So it seemed a tragedy to waste any of those hours sleeping. But that’s exactly what I did. In fact, I slept late and didn’t wake up till after eleven o’clock in the morning. With the Sunday show scheduled for four o’clock that meant four hours maximum before we had to get to the theatre for the pre-set, then another eight hours between the show ending and Severn’s flight taking off. I had slept away nearly half of our last day. Great!
I wandered bleary-eyed down to the kitchen in search of a cup of strong coffee to wake me up and met Severn in the hallway, coming out of Grant’s office.
“Come here,” he said, beckoning me into the office. “Come and see what I’ve done.” He walked over to the computer and sat in front of it.
“Look,” he said, tapping keys and clicking with the mouse, “I’ve set you up your own profile on Grant’s machine. If you log off from him (he showed me on the screen the steps as he was explaining them) you can log on again as yourself. Then, if you click this icon (he demonstrated again) you can connect to the internet and check your email.”
“I don’t have an email account,” I pointed out.
“You do now. I’ve set up a Hotmail account for you. As soon as I get to wherever I’m going I’ll set myself up and email you. Then we can keep in touch.”
“Fabulous!” I hugged him gratefully. “I’ll check it every day.”
“Umm, you’d better give me a week to get organised,” he replied, shutting the computer down as he spoke. “I have no idea where I’m going to end up. Actually,” a thought struck him, “this may be pointless. I don’t even know if this monastery place has electricity, let alone internet access.”
“It must have,” I reasoned. “Well, electricity anyway. Or the Reverend wouldn’t have been able to get help from them so quickly.”
“Yeah, right!” Severn didn’t sound impressed. I told him so.
“I don’t know if I am,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking. It’s all very well for him to come over now as the superhero who saves the day, but why did he wait this long? I’ve been with this lot for one hundred and eleven years. Sure, the first twenty or so were fun, a bit exciting, a bit different, but then things, or Seth and Olivia to be precise, started to turn nasty. For the last ninety years ... ninety years! ... my life has been hell. And last night I find out that he could have done something about it. That sanctimonious, pious little religious git has sat there, for ninety years, and watched me live through all kinds of abuse. And he’s done nothing to stop it. Nothing! A couple of days ago, when I thought he was just another downtrodden servant of Seth like the rest of us, I wouldn’t have, I hadn’t, thought anything about it. But to find out that he’s got all this power and influence and he’s sat there and watched, it makes me sick!”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, not really knowing what to say to diffuse his increasing anger. I was thinking of school and all those days when you hated being there, and how I couldn’t wait till the end of the year when it would be all over. Then I tried to imagine it going on and on and on for ninety years. It was way beyond my comprehension. “Yeah.”
“It’s bad enough for Seth to treat us like garbage just because he’s bored, sadistic and power-crazed, but for David to have the means to stop it and not to do so, because he’s playing his own little social experiment game on Seth, it’s too much!”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided. But I do know one thing – this is just the beginning. I took all that garbage from Seth because I genuinely thought there was nowhere else I could go. Now I know differently. I have alternatives. Other ways to live. And none of them involve taking crap from anyone. Not any more. But,” his tone changed abruptly as if he had flicked a switch in his brain and turned his anger off, “I don’t want to think about that at the moment. Let’s talk about something pleasant, like murder and death and headless dancers. You have a plan?”
“I certainly do. Let’s go to the kitchen and get coffee and food and I will explain.”
We wandered down the hall and while Severn made himself useful toasting hash browns, I spread the notes out on the table and explained my theory about Tasha’s killer, and my plans to prove it.
“Why bother?” Severn asked.
“Because,” I answered, stalling while I swallowed a mouthful of hash brown, “if I went to Detective Frostface with this, even if he believed me, there is absolutely no proof. They would just deny it. The police think you did it and it’s much easier to blame it on an outsider. I know from school, if something goes wrong the locals will always gang up against any of us ‘foreigners’. So who are they going to blame this time? One of the cast? Or one of those weird travellers who we don’t know enough about to trust? Anyway, just like you want to stick one to both the Reverend and Seth, I want to stick one to that cop. He’s horrible. He gets right up my nose and makes me angry and I want to prove a point.”
“What point?”
“I don’t know,” I shoved another hash brown into the toaster, “Any point! I want to get some proof then hand him the whole parcel, all wrapped up in a big Christmas bow.”
“And I thought Olivia was mad,” Severn sighed in resignation. “Ok, let’s go over this plan of yours again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
By the time the show broke for interval my plan was already in action. No stopping it now. This time it was my turn to pass a note, beautifully but anonymously typed on Grant’s computer and sealed in an envelope with their name typed on the front. I had waited till one of the big production numbers, when all the cast and dancers were on the stage and the crew were poised for the next quick scene change, before quickly pinning the note to the backstage noticeboard. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t found till the show finished, in fact, it was probably better if it wasn’t. We still had six hours between the show ending and midnight, which is when the note said to meet. Would they take the bait? I didn’t think I had left them much choice.
I know you killed Tasha.
What price will you pay for my silence?
Backstage, midnight tonight.
That should get their attention. It’s not like I was actually going to bribe them, I just needed to make sure they came to the theatre. Okay, it was a bit over-dramatic, but I would hate to think all those theatre arts classes had been for nothing. I did need to get them backstage, not just because it was truly dramatic – scene of the crime and all that – but because I wanted to use the show’s microphones to record their confession. But, let’s face it, it didn’t have to be midnight. Any time after the show was over would have done. That was just me being melodramatic. Too many late night horror movies.
With the note safely delivered, I rushed to the scenery dock to get my piece of stage set ready for the end of the song. Finn passed me, going the other way, towards Olivia and Meredith who were already poised with their pieces ready in the wings.
“Cue forty seven,” he said quietly as he passed.
I dashed into the dock and checked my piece of set – a street lamp. Sure enough, I could see the edge of a manila envelope sticking out from under its base. I glanced as inconspicuously as possible back to Finn and noticed that he was distracting the girls’ attention away from me. I reached down and retrieved the envelope and stuffed it quickly into the waistband of my jeans, feeling the shape of the passport inside it, before hastily shoving and hauling my lampstand out of the dock and into place for the move. The assistant stage manager noticed I was late and waggled a reproving finger at me. Not that it mattered. I was still in the right place at the right time, even if it was only with seconds to spare. Hopefully the envelope would stay in place till I could sneak it into my bag at interval.
I nodded my acknowledgement to Finn as I trundled the street lamp back into its place in the scenery dock as t
he scenes on stage changed yet again, then practically forgot about the envelope stuck down my jeans as the show sped remorselessly towards interval. The rain truck was pushed into place and the crew unconsciously, as we had done every performance since last Wednesday, held our breaths until we saw the water was, well, water coloured. Last Wednesday! Only four days ago. It seemed like a lifetime.
The number ended and I moved forwards to take my part in hauling the huge truck back to its storage place at the very back of the stage. As I did so, I almost banged into Jason, who was dripping water and drying his hair with a towel as he hurried to his dressing room to change his clothes.
“Get out of my way,” he snarled rudely, pushing me as he spoke.
“Get stuffed!” I snapped back. “Bloody actors,” I added under my breath as I put my shoulder against the rain truck and began to push. “He’s a bit stressed tonight,” I said to Beth who was beside me, helping to push.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I’ve been watching him the last few days. It’s getting to him, this Tasha thing. In some ways, I’ve got to hand it to him, he’s done his part to keep this show together. When we restarted on Friday night, the atmosphere was terrible. It was pretty obvious that some people didn’t want to be here at all. Some of us were just plain scared. I mean, let’s face it, someone lured that poor girl back to the theatre and cut her head off. And it has to be one of us. It’s enough to give you the creeps. Somehow on Friday Jason found the energy, the professionalism, to go out on stage and give a really good performance, and then everyone else had to do the same. And he’s kept it up every show. Even if he does look like shit under the make-up. I wasn’t impressed by Jason Broderick when he first arrived, but I have to admit I am now.”
“Heads!” Seth’s voice commanded from above and we quickly ducked out of the way as he lowered the huge backcloth back into place, concealing the rain truck from the audience once again.
“That’s us done,” Beth said, rubbing her hands in satisfaction. “Coffee break.”
Finally, a chance to get rid of the envelope. Fortunately Mum and her friends were all away in the Green Room getting their drinks and their dressing room was empty, so it was easy to remove the envelope from my waistband and stash it at the bottom of my bag. Grabbing a can of coke, I followed them to the Green Room. I felt like some company but I didn’t fancy the alleyway. Not today. Not without Severn.
However, the Green Room was too small for the huge cast and was already overflowing with people. The smell of sweaty bodies and make-up was too much for me, maybe the alleyway was a good idea after all. I quickly turned away only to crash into Jason Broderick for the second time in ten minutes.
He snorted in exasperation, raising his hands to push me aside like he had done backstage. I held my ground and, dropping my accent back to its best Australian twang, which I knew would carry over the Kiwi vowels and penetrate the hum of conversation in the Green Room, challenged him to try it.
“Go on, mate, hit me again. I dare you.”
Jason stopped, his hands still raised. I carried on, moving towards him, pressing my advantage, aware that the conversation behind me had almost stopped and we were rapidly becoming the centre of attention.
“Look, mate, you were in the wrong before, not me. You came off the wrong wing. I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing my job. Do you have a problem with that? Or do you just get some kind of thrill pushing girls around? “
Jason muttered something unintelligible, his raised hands turning into a position of surrender. He backed away. I kept coming.
“Do you do it often, mate? Do you always push around girls who don’t do what you want? Bad habit, mate. You’ll do it once too often.”
As he cowered back against the corridor wall, I walked slowly and determinedly past him, my head held high. Shaking could wait till I found somewhere private. I headed for the ladies toilets and shut myself in a cubicle until I heard the stage manager call Act two beginners.
Once the work lights were off and the backstage area was plunged back into darkness, I felt a little more comfortable. I took up my favourite position in the wings where I could watch the action on the stage but not be in anybody’s way. I didn’t need another confrontation with Jason Broderick. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the confrontation I did have.
Not that I objected to it when it happened. I was facing the stage, not taking much notice of what was going on around me, so I didn’t hear him approach. First thing I knew, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around me from behind.
“Hi,” Severn’s voice whispered softly in my ear.
“Hi,” I spun around and returned the hug. “What are you doing here? What if Seth sees you?”
“What if he does?” Severn laughed. “He will have heard me by now, any way. They all will have. Hi guys.” I knew he was speaking to the other vampires, and I knew they could hear him, even though he was speaking barely above a whisper and they were stationed all over the theatre. “Yeah, it’s me, Seth.” He paused as if listening, which I knew he was, “No, Seth, I don’t intend to see you later. I don’t give a stuff what you want. Not now, not ever. Have a nice day!” Severn looked upwards to where Seth stood in the fly tower, smiled sweetly and raised two fingers in a gesture of defiance.
I giggled, but I was concerned. He seemed to be inviting retaliation.
“What are you playing at?” I hissed.
“A new way of looking at things,” Severn replied seriously. “I’ve been thinking about all the stuff David said. And Seth simply doesn’t bother me any more. It’s a power and knowledge thing. Seth had the power because he had the knowledge. Now I have the knowledge as well, the power shifts. Sorry, Seth,” he smiled up towards the flys, “You don’t scare me any more.”
I looked approvingly at the reformed Severn. The new look was more complete than I had realised. Instead of the scruffy jeans and crew T-shirt he had been wearing for the last few days, he was now clad in stylish black dress slacks and a matching black shirt that looked suspiciously like real silk.
“Wow!” I said approvingly. “Where did the clothes come from?”
“I got bored,” he replied, “I went shopping.”
“You what?” I was horrified. “With the police looking for you? You went shopping?”
“Yes, I did. Come on, Riley, the last place they are going to look for me is a shopping mall. Plus they are looking for someone scruffy, unkempt and sleeping rough, not someone in business clothes. It’s a great disguise. And I’ve had a lot of practice at not being noticed. Don’t stress. Haven’t you got a park bench due about now?”
“Damn!” I pulled away just as the lights on stage faded to a blackout, and hurried on stage to collect the bench. When I came back, Severn was talking quietly to Finn. I ran through to Mum’s dressing room, rummaged in my bag for the envelope containing Severn’s new passport, then dashed back and thrust it without explanation into his hand. As I turned away to get my next piece of set, I glanced at the noticeboard. The letter was gone. It wasn’t only the show that was heading for final scene.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Even though he was keeping a low profile, the news of Severn’s presence spread rapidly through the gossip network, so by the time the final curtain went down and the house lights came up, people were queuing to get a piece of him. The stage manager got in first, grabbing him by the shirtsleeve as he helped me stack away a set of chairs.
“Mr Jura,” she delivered him a determined, don’t-mess-with-me, crocodile smile. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.” The sarcasm dripped like vinegar. “Is this a fleeting visit, or are you expecting me to welcome you back with open arms and tell you it’s quite all right, I just love it when crew run out on my show with no warning. I take it that, seeing you’ve dared to show your face, you’ve already been arrested and charged and that, for some reason known only to a handful of rich lawyers, they have let you loose on bail?”
“Stop right there!”
Severn put up a hand to interrupt her tirade. “I have not been arrested, nor will I be.” The new, assertive Severn volleyed her anger and sarcasm straight back at her, his back straight and his speech pedantic. “I will apologise to you for missing the last few shows, however, I will also point out that I did not run out on the Wednesday show – I completed it and then I left hurriedly. My reasons were urgent – but they were also personal and I will not explain them to you. I can only offer my sincere apologies that I was then unable to advise you of my impending non-appearance.”
The stage manager was dumbfounded, as was the growing crowd watching the scene. Apart from Severn’s surly replies to the music director, I don’t think she had ever heard him speak more than a couple of words, and those were usually mumbled and deferential. Severn rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms in front of him, cocked his head slightly to one side and delivered a disdainful, take-it-or-leave-it look that didn’t need any more words to put across the clear message that Severn was not open to negotiation.
“Is this a fleeting visit?” Severn continued, repeating her words. “Unfortunately yes. I have to...”
“Severn!” Grant pushed through the crowd, grabbed Severn’s arm and began to haul him away. “I need to talk to you urgently, young man.” He tapped my shoulder with his spare hand and I followed them through the parting he had created in the audience, who were beginning to disperse as they realised the best part of the show was over. Once we reached the relative privacy of the scenery dock, Grant thrust his car keys into my hand.
“Get out of here now,” he hissed urgently. “Someone backstage has just phoned the police to tell them you’re here. Go now! I’ll put them off. Wait for us at the car.” Grant emphasised his words by physically pushing us towards the stage entrance. We didn’t need to be told twice. Clutching the keys, I grabbed Severn’s hand and we slid out the door and bolted down the alleyway.
Blood in the Wings Page 12
