The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller

by Richard Brown

  It was almost ten o’clock before Isaac remembered to call Randy, although with the information he now had, it seemed pointless. He was already twenty-eight pages into The Immortal and did not want to put it down.

  The phone rang five times before the answering machine clicked on. “Hey man, it’s Isaac. Are you there?” He waited for a second but no one picked up. “Okay, I guess you’re not there. I’ll try and get a hold of you tomorrow. Bye.”

  He sat back down at his reading post and removed the folded dollar bill from the black book. Then he began reading from where he had left off.

  From The Immortal (pg. 28)

  Between 1870 and 1885, Lucius was on the road routinely performing shows all across the southeast, and although many of these shows would draw uncommonly large crowds, he hadn’t enough money to eat, not to mention that most of the money generated per show went to making the next show that much better. Being on the road all the time also provided Lucius no steady place of residence, forcing him to occasionally spend nights with many of his faithful followers.

  Many critics (and he had many) labeled Lucius as nothing more than a ruthless beggar, seeking only to use his growing popularity as a stepping-stone to self-charity. Yet, Lucius took great advantage of these stays to get to know his audience on a more personal level and dissect each of their fears one by one. Critics also quickly dismissed him as being an untalented hack, believing his performance was nothing more than a well-orchestrated scheme, however, most did give him some credit for being a superb showman. Indeed, a superb showman he was, though far from untalented.

  It was very common in that time (even in today’s world) for many so called ordinary people to hate something they could not understand, or find the words to explain, and Lucius was to even the most astute critic and fan, unexplainable.

  Over the years, this mystery only served to increase the illusionist’s popularity by great numbers, and at around the age of thirty, he finally began to reap the rewards of his hard, unexplainable work. The crowds grew larger and larger, each performance greater and greater. Before long, the illusionist could charge any amount of money he desired, and the stakes would rise that much higher. It was around this time that Lucius decided to give the audience what he believed they wanted—to be a part of the magnificence.

  The gift, as he referred to it, was at first distributed in small numbers. Only the most deserving fans got a taste of what the stage could offer. These people were handpicked from the crowd before the show and told nothing of what to expect, though most had followed Lucius from the beginning and knew exactly what to expect. Usually at the end of the show, Lucius would bring out these assistants and order them to perform various activities on the stage.

  In one particular show, Lucius had all of the women take off their clothes and stand at the foot of the stage, while the men, equal in numbers, were given scalpels bathed in opiates and assigned a woman. The show was a sick form of theatrical art.

  Once the stage was set, and the participants in place, the ceremony began. The men would brush the knife across the surface of the woman’s flesh, being careful not to cut too deep. There was no definitive pattern to follow or fashion to carve; the mind was open to create whatever it desired. After a moment, most of the women would dance in place, rubbing their hands across the serrated flesh. While their level of euphoria increased, the moans soon turned to cries. Then their hands, with the men’s, would begin to caress their genitalia, inside and out. By this time, if everything went well, the men would also be fully nude, fully erect, and no longer holding their paintbrushes.

  This group of assistants would then merge as one in the center of the stage and share their deliverance with one another. The orgy could last for hours depending on the night, and the partakers. By the time the act reached the climax, many of the women would be dead, leaving the men to finish the act on a corpse.

  Most of the crowd would leave the ceremony unable to comprehend what they had witnessed. Sometimes days would pass before anyone spoke a word of it, and even then, struggled trying to explain it. Once more, Lucius had done his job; they would be back next time, maybe even as a part of the show, with a few unsuspecting friends to share in the experience.

  Isaac set the book down for a second and glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to eleven. He grabbed the book, turned off the lamp, and headed upstairs to his bedroom. He tossed the book on the bed from the doorway then walked across the hall to Amy’s room. She was in bed watching television when her father opened the door.

  “Are you going to let me go to school tomorrow or what?”

  Isaac shut the door and sat down next to his daughter on the bed. “No,” he answered.

  “Why not? I’m fine, Dad,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

  “What do you think I'm worried about?”

  “Oh please,” said Amy. “Nothing’s gonna happen. I'll be surrounded by people.”

  “None of them me. You know most kids would be happy to get out of school.”

  “Yeah, but unlike most kids, I happen to like school. I like being with my friends. Not cooped up in the house all day.”

  “Why don’t you call them? I never said you couldn’t use the phone. But you’ll just have to wait till I get this case worked out first before you can run off on your own.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t. But I’m doing this for your own safety.”

  “Here we go again.”

  “Look, you can cry and complain all you want, but you’re just wasting your time. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Amy pouted. “Why do I have to be punished for mom’s death?”

  “Shut up. Okay. This has absolutely nothing to do with your mother.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not stupid dad.”

  “I never said you were stupid.”

  “This has everything to do with mom and you know it." She watched her father bow his head and take a long breath. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’m sixteen years old. All I’m asking is that you trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” Isaac said. He slowly lifted his head up and glanced over at his daughter.

  “I don’t blame you, dad. I never have. I know in my heart that it wasn’t your fault. You’ve been the greatest dad any kid could ask for. I wouldn’t trade you for any mom in the entire world. When are you going to realize that?”

  Isaac’s tough exterior had suddenly grown paper-thin. Amy could see inside him when he couldn’t even see inside himself.

  “Let it go dad,” Amy cried. “Please, I’m begging you. Just let it go.”

  Isaac pulled her close to him. “I’m trying sweetheart. God knows, I am.”

  Isaac turned off the hallway light on the way to his bedroom. He shut the door and glanced down at the black book lying at the foot of the bed. He picked it up, opened the back flap, and looked down at the picture of Ms. Maples. Her beauty was truly breathtaking, and even though the picture was many years old, Isaac could see that age only ripened her beauty.

  He set down the book and walked across the room to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror for a minute, rubbing the scar on his chest, and then shaved his face. After he was done, he stripped down to his boxers. Then he grabbed the black book, sat up in bed, and removed the folded dollar bill.

  From The Immortal (pg. 42)

  Little is on record about Lucius’s birth parents. His mother and father were said to be of a modest upbringing, only caring for Lucius until the age of ten when they vanished one night never to be seen or heard from again, leaving their only child to face the growing world and all its great triumphs and troubles alone.

  Early on, many of the townsfolk believed that Lucius’s parents had left the country in search of riches, and that they had no doubt run into trouble along the way, excusing their lack of return. Although much later (after Lucius had received notoriety from his criti
cs), others came to believe that it was not the fear of raising Lucius that scared them away but the boy himself. Whatever the truth may be, this single event seemed to affect Lucius more than he would ever know, or ever come to admit, and he was never said to speak of them.

  By the time Lucius turned forty, he had grown tired of the traveling circus and longed to find a way to bring the people to him, and being that he was now a rather wealthy man, all the extremities his mind could desire—to no extent, were easily within reach.

  It was said that when he was a child, Lucius dreamed of a large sanctuary in the hills. Over the course of the next few years, years mainly spent persuading his followers for more and more donations, the childhood dream inched closer to reality.

  Isaac stopped reading to gaze upon the photo of the mansion at the bottom of the page and continued at the top of the next.

  Thus, in the winter of 1887, after a long tour of the southeastern states, Lucius finally made it back to his hometown of Elmwood. The illusionist was pleased with the progress of the estate. Every piece was falling into place, and much like a well-constructed illusion, no one expected a thing. The child in him had died long ago, as did the sentiment of the dream, all that remained was an older man tired of entertaining and ready to be entertained. This palace would be his final resting place, a place where his every impulse could be satisfied, every taste multiplied, and every sensation caressed. Lucius called himself immortal, and he believed it.

  Just before the completion of the estate, Lucius put on a show outside of Planket, a small farming village 40 miles west of Elmwood. It was ideally a modest show considering his popularity. However, it was at this show where he met Maria Overa, the woman who would soon become his wife.

  Maria was a country girl, growing up on the family farm. She was quite a bit younger than Lucius, but that didn’t sway her decision to leave the family and the farm and run away from the simple life, if anything it was a blessing. In his hands, she would be well taken care of. Lucius wasn’t like any other man she had ever met. He listened to her when no one else seemed to care. He didn’t argue, chastise, or suggest a solution, just listened. His heart was open to her and she dove in head first, with a chest unburdened.

  Lucius offered safety, not with his mouth, but with his heart. He brought handfuls of change, more than she could carry, but his love for her was as clear on the horizon as a golden sunrise, lifting her fears away, and she would be by his side until death part them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  1

  Isaac woke early with a throbbing headache. At first glance, the empty pot of coffee sitting on the bedside table was easy to blame. He had stayed up late, much later than he had wanted. The little black book was like a current that pushed him further and further away from reality with every page that passed, and even after he closed the book, as he laid in the silent darkness staring at the ceiling, the flood it brought continued to apply more and more pressure. The time of judgment drew near, no crafty amount of detective work could stop the inevitable, and the pain in his head was more than enough proof. No amount of pills would ease it.

  Amy lay in bed thinking about the argument she’d had with her father the previous night; how he had curled up into a tight ball at just the mention of her mother’s death. He had hardly ever spoken of that night before and only when she had asked questions.

  For many years, Amy felt as though something was missing in her life. In her early teens, she often blamed this emptiness on her mother. Why aren’t you here for me? It was an easy way to escape dealing with her problems. Many times, she would wake up in the middle of the night crying out for something that just wasn’t there. But last night, as her father opened up from his shell, she could feel the emptiness within him, and she no longer felt alone. She had shared his emptiness and now all the pain and tears made sense.

  The guilt her father felt was no doubt unbearable, but how deep was the hole of emptiness and how long would it take for him to climb out? Even after the traumatic events of the other night, lying in bed reflecting on her life, Amy felt at peace with herself and with her mother. The feeling of emptiness was gone. Now she wished her father would find that peace as well. Everything happens for a reason and there doesn’t have to be someone to blame, however, often forgiveness can be easy to give others and difficult to give yourself.

  Isaac scanned the refrigerator for any breakfast related food but only came up with one egg and a couple of dried out slices of bacon. He tossed the bacon out and removed the single egg from the foam carton, gently placing it on the kitchen counter so it wouldn’t roll off.

  The egg didn’t look all that appetizing but with so little a selection, it was better than nothing. Maybe an egg and a few slices of toast could tide him over for a while, at least until Amy got up. Later, they could get groceries at the store just around the corner.

  The egg was almost done frying before Isaac realized he would have to forget about the other half of the meal. A loaf of bread was just another item to add to the already lengthy grocery list compiling in his head. He removed the egg from the burner and turned the knob to off.

  Amy entered the kitchen. “Did you feel bad for not letting me go to school today so you decided to cook me breakfast?”

  Isaac shook his head and smiled. “Good luck getting breakfast, that right there is the last egg,” he said, pointing down at the stove. “And to answer your first question, no, I don’t feel bad.”

  “I know, Dad,” said Amy. “I was just teasing you.”

  Isaac flipped the egg from the pan to the plate. “Well, at least it’s good to see you’re not still mad at me.”

  “Why would I be mad at you?”

  “For snapping at you last night.”

  “No, I wasn’t mad at you then and I’m not mad at you now. It’s just sometimes...I don't know."

  “Sometimes I don’t give you enough space, right? I go out of my way to protect you.”

  “I know you have your reasons.”

  “No, you’re right. I am overprotective, and I do have my reasons. But that doesn’t make those reasons right.”

  Even with sixteen years of experience, being a good father was still the toughest job.

  “Why don’t we go out for breakfast? I’ll let you pay.”

  Isaac smirked. “I bet you would.”

  “Please,” Amy pleaded, grinning deviously up at her father. It was a look only a daughter could give and a father could not ignore. He had a sweet spot and she knew exactly where it was.

  “Well,” said Isaac, turning to look down at the plate next to him on the counter. It was an easy decision to make; in fact, he had already made it, the thought of choking down a cold scrambled egg only made it easier. “Okay, get ready.”

  “Sweet.”

  Isaac pointed down at the plate of cold eggs. “You didn’t really think I was going to eat that, did you?” He snatched the plate from the counter and watched the eggs roll off into the trash.

  Bye-bye.

  2

  Isaac had managed, with a little help from his daughter, to keep his mind off of the case and The Immortal for most of the morning. Breakfast was a good idea, it gave him a chance to relax and spend some quality time with Amy. Ever since her meeting with the deputy a few nights ago, he could sense that she needed it, and he needed it, too. A vacation still sounded nice, but for now it would have to wait. Amy had a junior year to finish, and Isaac still had a case to close, as best he could.

  Nevertheless, afternoon came fast, and it seemed the harder Isaac tried to ignore the book, the more he wanted to pick it up. Finally, at a quarter past one, he gave in to the temptation and was again washed away by the current.

  From The Immortal (pg. 76)

  The twelve iron cells formed a U around the study, four per section. The steel locks on the doors were identical, so it would have only taken one person with a key to free all twelve prisoners. Unfortunately, Lucius was the only person, prior to his death, that knew
of the chambers below the mansion. He had the only key.

  It was possible, however, that Maria could have found out about her husband's secret underworld and kept her knowledge unknown to him, even though she was never allowed to be a witness to any of his shows. It was also equally possible that at some point Lucius could have pulled this knowledge from her, or simply seen it in her, making her unexplainable death much easier to explain. These are just theories though, as to this day Maria’s death still remains a mystery.

  There were four oil lamps hung per hall, serving as the only light outside of the study. The study was believed to be a room Lucius specifically built to gain secret entrance into the cellar, and because of its unique position in the chamber, it allowed Lucius an easy view of any one of the prisoners at any given time.

  The cells were made up of three walls, a set of iron bars, and a cement floor. There were no beds, sinks, toilets, or any other necessity of a modern prison. If a prisoner had to use the bathroom, they would have no choice but to use the floor, then have no choice later but to sleep on it. No doubt, the stench in the chamber could become sickening, and it’s unlikely that Lucius would clean up after the slaves. Lucius liked to keep his prisoners as weak as possible, which also meant very little food, anything to better further his studies.

  It wouldn’t be hard to imagine that for the men and women who did time in the prison, death would come as an answered prayer, an escape from the hell they had become buried in. Of course, each of their deaths is what Lucius ultimately wanted too, but he wanted their death to be of his will. So, he watched each of them very carefully and made sure to give the gift just before God could step in his way. More often than not, Lucius was the perfect timekeeper, but every now and then God would reach down from above and manage to snatch one from the illusionist’s arms.