The Realm of Realism

by R M Gauthier

  He peers out into the audience, returning to the moment. Plastering a smile on his face, he places the bird in its cage and continues onto his next trick, even though all he wants to do is analyze the image he can’t seem to shake.

  3

  Aaron stands center stage, sans bird, ready to astonish this audience with the next part of his routine. His routine flows flawlessly, even as the image of the woman haunts his mind. He shifts his thoughts as he picks up a book from the table in front of him. He glances at the spine, the golden embossed lettering sparkles under the stage lights. His thoughts immediately drift to his second visit to the psychiatrist’s office and the bookshelf that houses the good doctor’s books.

  He squeezes his eyes shut to clear his mind.

  When his eyes spring open, he’s standing in front of a bookshelf, gaze fixed on the spines of the books lining the shelves.

  “So, how was your week?” Dr. Swanson inquires.

  “Good.” He spins around to face the doctor. “Have you read all of these books?”

  “Most of them. Yes.”

  “Impressive,” Aaron responds, as he turns and glances at the books again.

  He reaches out and pulls one of the titles off the shelf, holding it at an angle so the Doctor can see the cover.

  “Angels and Demons,” he remarks with a grin on his face.

  “Entertainment.” Dr. Swanson smirks.

  “So, you don’t believe?”

  “Believe in what?”

  “Angels, demons? Heaven and hell?” Aaron puts the book back in its place, then walks to the chair in front of Dr. Swanson’s desk and sits down.

  “Are you asking if I’m religious?” Dr. Swanson counters.

  “I suppose I am,” Aaron responds.

  “I’m a man of science, Aaron.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Aaron returns.

  “We’re not here to discuss me,” Dr. Swanson points out.

  “So, you don’t know?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you still haven’t answered the question.”

  The room grows quiet for a moment as the two stare at each other.

  “Are you a believer?” Dr. Swanson inquires.

  “I asked you first.” Aaron smirks.

  “You realize deflection won’t work on me, right?” Dr. Swanson responds.

  “Is that what I’m trying to do?”

  “I think so.”

  Another silence falls over the room.

  “Look, Aaron. I’d like to help you, but if you can’t admit there’s a problem, I’m afraid we’re wasting our time.”

  A shocked expression rolls over Aaron’s face. He never imagined the doctor would just give up on him.

  Isn’t it his job to help Aaron?

  Isn’t he supposed to pry his hidden problems out of him?

  Aaron truly has no idea what to say to Dr. Swanson’s statement.

  “Aaron, I’m here to help. But if you refuse to try—”

  “I didn’t try to kill myself,” Aaron blurts out.

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “I honestly have no idea,” Aaron whispers, dropping his gaze to his lap.

  “Well, that’s a start,” Dr. Swanson offers.

  Aaron closes his eyes, preparing for the onslaught of questions that will surely arise from his latest admission.

  Upon opening his eyes, he peers down at the book in his hands, then places it on the table in front of him. He suppresses any thoughts of the doctor and his sessions realizing now is neither the time, nor place for such thoughts. Losing his concentration during a performance is quite disturbing, given the fact it’s never happened before.

  He stares down at the deck of cards also displayed on a table. Red and black gleam off of each card. All suits are represented. His gaze flickers between the King of Spades and King of hearts, garnering all his attention as the two cards morph together and become one. The card is now black with a red glow around it.

  Aaron squeezes his eyes shut tight, attempting to will these visions away.

  When his eyes spring open, he’s flat on his back, the beautiful woman kneeling at his side, but now there’s a man hovering over his other side. He’s a large man, with long black hair, wearing a black leather outfit consisting of a jacket, pants, and combat boots. His entire outfit is trimmed in red. But, it’s his eyes that Aaron notices most. His irises are black, with a red tint around the edges giving him what most people would consider an evil appearance.

  Aaron’s gaze flickers between the two, noticing their mouths are moving, but he can’t hear their conversation. He strains his hearing trying desperately to catch what they’re saying, to no avail. He attempts to sit up but is unable to move. Every effort to move a muscle goes wasted as he remains completely still. He can only move his eyes from one figure to the other.

  Neither one of them is paying any attention to him, and he wonders if he’s really here, or if this is some sort of illusion. It’s like how others have described an out-of-body experience, except he isn’t floating. Instead, he’s flat on his back. He attempts to look around, but his gaze is stuck on the two above him.

  Fear grips him as he struggles to move.

  He snaps his eyes closed and attempts to clear his mind using a technique Dr. Swanson provided him.

  Deep breath in.

  Deep breath out.

  In.

  Out.

  A few more deep breaths and Aaron chances a peek.

  When his eyelids slide open the cards stare back at him; the black ones black, red ones red. The red glow is gone, and the cards are back to normal. Aaron peeks up at the audience, then back down to the cards. He picks up the deck, shuffles them quickly as he walks to the edge of the stage. He bends down and glances at the people in the front row.

  “I need a volunteer,” he calls out.

  Many audience members throw their hands up in the air.

  Aaron’s gaze travels along the front row until his sights settle on a woman with long blonde hair and a pair of piercing light brown eyes, which are staring up at him.

  “You.” He points his index finger at the woman, then hooks it in a ‘come here’ gesture.

  The woman jumps up from her seat and within three strides is standing in front of Aaron.

  Aaron fans out the deck of cards toward the woman.

  “Pick a card. Memorize it, then put it back in the deck,” Aaron instructs.

  The woman reaches out and picks one of the cards. Keeping it well guarded against herself, she slowly glances at it, then quickly shoves it back into the deck.

  Aaron stands up.

  “Thank you for your help. You can return to your seat.” He smiles at the woman.

  Aaron shuffles the deck on his way back to the table. He places the deck back down, before reaching for the book off to the side. He pulls the book closer, then returns to the deck of cards. He fans them out on the table and pulls a card from the stack. Keeping it facedown he reaches over and flips the cover of the book open. He holds up the card so the audience can see what it is, then glances at the woman who picked the card.

  “Is this your card?” he calls out.

  The woman stands up, glances at the card and laughs.

  “Yes,” she answers, astounded.

  “Thank you, again.” Aaron smiles, then places the card back in the book. He picks up the book, showing the audience all sides. The light catches on the golden embossed lettering on the spine, capturing all of Aaron’s attention.

  He closes his eyes from the glare beaming off the book.

  When Aaron opens his eyes, the bookshelves behind Dr. Swanson’s head are staring back at him.

  “Tell me about your mother, Aaron.” Dr. Swanson inquires.

  Aaron shakes his head and returns his attention to the doctor.

  “What do you want to know?” he responds.

  Dr. Swanson sighs, while steepling his fingers under his chin as he rests his el
bows on his desk. Aaron’s been playing this game for weeks and Dr. Swanson’s patience is wearing thin. He glares at Aaron.

  “She’s a mom. A great mother. Loves me dearly and there’s no one I respect more,” Aaron finally replies.

  Dr. Swanson raises an eyebrow.

  “What?” Aaron asks.

  The doctor sits back on his chair and he continues to glare at Aaron while remaining silent.

  “Fine. She’s the reason I’m here,” Aaron confesses, hostility in his manner.

  “Do you think there’s any rational to her request?”

  “Without having all the facts, I’d say yes,” Aaron replies.

  “What are the missing facts?” Dr. Swanson inquires, his eyebrows knit together.

  “I didn’t try to kill myself.”

  “Aaron, you took a bottle of pills. Are you telling me it was an accident?”

  “No,” Aaron responds, his eyes dropping to his lap.

  “Then, you intentionally tried to hurt yourself?”

  “No.” Aaron stands from the chair, wanders over to the bookcase and runs his finger along one of the spines.

  “You need to be honest with yourself, Aaron. Something happened, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know what happened.” Aaron spins around to face off with the doctor. “I was happy. Loved my career, my life—everything. One minute I’m getting ready for my show, the next I’m waking up in a hospital bed with my mother crying over me.”

  Dr. Swanson scribbles something on his notepad, then leans back on his chair.

  “So, you can’t recall the events of that evening?”

  “No.”

  “What do you remember of that day?”

  “I was home. When I have a show, I try to stay home. Relax. Maybe have a nap. But that day I was too wired.” Aaron walks to the window and stares out. “I’m not sure why. There was nothing unusual. Nothing going on, but I couldn’t sleep.” Aaron moves from the window to the chair and resumes his seat. “I practiced a bit. But then, I—” Aaron stops talking as his gaze drifts to the window.

  There’s silence for a moment as Dr. Swanson stares at Aaron, while Aaron appears lost in thought.

  “Then, what?” Dr. Swanson inquires, leaning forward on his seat, placing his elbows on the desk, and chin on his folded hands.

  “I don’t know,” Aaron whispers as he turns his head slowly and gazes at the doctor. “I can’t remember.”

  His focus shifts past the doctor’s head to the bookcase. To the line of books on a particular shelf, all with golden-colored, embossed text along the spine. He is enraptured by the sparkle the light creates when it shines on the books. He loses all focus and blinks his eyes to clear his head.

  When he opens his eyes, he’s peering at the spine of the book in his hands, and it takes a moment to realize he’s in the middle of a show. He peeks up at the audience and snaps back to reality. He quickly moves into position for his next trick.

  Performing is his life and he needs this night to go flawlessly to prove he’s back, and better than ever. He should be more in this moment, but for some reason his sessions keep interrupting his concentration. He’s at a loss for why this is happening. But, one thing is for certain—he refuses to let that night affect anymore of his life. He’s put it behind him and moved on. And, that starts with this show, his comeback show, which he’ll perform flawlessly—or die trying.

  4

  After his trick is complete, the stagehands creep on stage setting up the next trick, while Aaron entertains the audience with stories.

  “My father was a magician. One of the greats who taught me everything I know. He was taken far too early, but he’s been with me in one form or another ever since. This next part of my routine pays homage to him.”

  Aaron steps back and holds out his hand. A man places a piece of neatly folded black fabric on top of his outstretched palm. Aaron steps closer to the edge of the stage and unfolds the velvet with a shake.

  “Magic has roots,” he informs the audience as he shakes the fabric again, holding up both sides and covering himself from neck down. “Deep roots. Magic goes back centuries and has been a form of entertainment for as long as man’s been walking the earth.”

  He lowers the black velvet, showing himself in full view, then raises the cloth with only a view of his hands holding it up. Two seconds later, he wanders out from behind the curtain, while his hands remained attached to the material.

  The audience gasps as Aaron strolls from one side of the stage to the other.

  “Not everything is as it seems,” he announces as he halts in front of the black velvet. “Sometimes we can’t believe what we see.”

  He yanks the curtain to reveal the emptiness behind it. He holds up the tapestry again, flipping it from one side to the other, before he throws it to the side of the stage.

  It hits the birdcage that’s been sitting there since he performed that trick, which is unusual as his helpers always clear the stage between illusions.

  Aaron glances at the cage and notices a feather floating toward the ground. It’s moving in slow motion, inducing Aaron into a trance, rendering him helpless. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, attempting to break from its influence.

  When his eyelids open, his vision is filled with whiteness. Aaron tilts his head from side-to-side but can still only see whiteness as far as the eye can see.

  Suddenly, a woman is standing beside him, peering down. She’s beautiful, with long blonde hair, piercing golden eyes, dressed all in white with gold trim covering her. But, the most brilliant parts of her are the giant white wings, fanning out from behind her shoulders. They have golden tips and sparkle as if diamonds are scattered throughout the feathers.

  Aaron swallows as all thoughts drift from his mind.

  “Am I dead?” he asks.

  His eyes close as he shakes his head slightly.

  His eyes snap open.

  “You ready?” A voice infiltrates his trance.

  His gaze shifts to the stagehand, noting the concerned expression crossing his features. He shifts his attention to the audience who sit quietly staring at him. He returns his focus to the stagehand spotting the object he’s holding out toward him.

  “You okay?” he whispers to Aaron.

  “Yeah. Fine,” Aaron replies, then reaches out and takes the offering. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  The man nods his head and wanders off stage.

  Aaron returns his attention to the people who paid to see him perform. He’s a professional and must put delusions aside so he can give the audience what they came to see. He needs to amaze them with his talent and put on a show they won’t soon forget.

  “Upon entering the theatre tonight, you were all given a card that you were asked to sign and place under your seats.”

  Aaron pulls a card from his pocket, holds it up to the audience and flashes both sides. One side bares his signature and the other is blank.

  “Would the person with seat number 225 please stand up.” Aaron searches the audience as if he doesn’t know where the seat is located.

  A man stands up, raises his hand and shouts out. “That’s me.”

  “Good. Now, Sir. Did you put your card under your seat?” Aaron questions.

  “Yes,” the man yells back.

  “Good.” Aaron raises his card, flashing it for the people once more. “And you signed it?”

  “Yes.”

  Aaron holds his card against his forehead and closes his eyes for a dramatic pause. He rubs it back and forth, then his eyes spring open.

  “Does your first name start with an A?” Aaron asks.

  “Yes,” the man calls out.

  “And does your last name begin with an S?”

  “Yes.” The man laughs.

  Aaron glances at the man but can’t see him clearly because of the spotlights.

  “Grab your card and bring it on up here.” Aaron gestures with his arm for the man to
join him.

  The man bends down to collect his card.

  With his card in hand, he then makes his way through the row of people and down the aisle. He climbs the steps up to the stage.

  Aaron attempts to get a good look at him but fails until the man stands beside him. Aaron stands as still as a statue staring at the dark-haired man.

  He has long black hair falling past his shoulders down his back to his waist. Dark eyes are centered in a beautiful face with sharp features and a strong jaw.

  Aaron recognizes this man but can’t quite put his finger on where from. His eyebrows pinch together as he takes a closer look.

  He closes his eyes, runs through the Rolodex in his mind in search of a name, but comes up empty.

  Aaron opens his eyes and peeks up at the two figures standing above him.

  On one side of him is the beautiful golden-haired woman dressed head-to-toe in white. Large white wings with gold tips sprout from her back. An angry expression contorts her features. She’s staring at a man standing on Aaron’s other side.

  He’s a large man with long black hair, black clothing and huge black wings with red tips spread out from behind his shoulders. His expression, clearly amused.

  “Shit. I’m dead.” Aaron struggles to a sitting position, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Aren’t I?” he inquires, peering up at the two standing above him.

  Both heads snap to Aaron ogling him as if he’s some sort of a miracle happening before their eyes.

  “He’s awake,” Fallen shrieks.

  “Don’t you think I can see that,” Nevaeh snaps at Fallen. “Dispatch, we have another problem.”

  Fallen glances at Nevaeh. “How is he awake and speaking?” He waves his hand in Aaron’s direction.