All That She Can See(83)

‘It’s me who couldn’t save you.’ He stumbles forwards, steadying himself against the black painted walls but her smile stills him.

‘Oh, but you did, my love.’

She takes a deep breath and makes her entrance onto the stage. He doesn’t want to watch but the force that had dragged her to this place now has a hold of him too. It gently pulls his body to the spot she had just left. He dodges the props with much less grace but eventually he is manoeuvred into the same position that he takes up every year. Her dress ripples around her young, curved frame and her transparent skin still glows in the light but quickly that light turns blue and cold and the floor becomes slick with a thin layer of dry ice.

‘You were never supposed to find out this way,’ she says, her voice sultry and low, no longer her own.

‘You didn’t do well to hide it,’ snarls a snide voice from the shadows. A figure steps into the blue light, tweed clad around his slight figure and smoke billowing from the cigar in his right hand. His thick, waxed moustache twitches against his powdered cheeks as his pale blue eyes drink in her beauty.

‘Leave her be, god damn it.’ Another man appears in a tuxedo, his hair slicked back, jaw chiselled but his eyes are hollow and don’t appear to focus on her or the man in tweed. He isn’t as present as she is, just a recalled memory, destined to rewind and repeat, year after year. He’s on his knees, his lip bleeding. She runs to him and tries to help him up but his body is heavy.

‘Please. Go back inside. Go home. Go anywhere but here.’ She looks behind her and lets her eyes settle on the figure in the wings.

He watches the three of them on stage. This night was meant to have been a night of triumph. A night of life for their love and a night of death for all that stood in their way. The woman he’d met in the dressing room only moments ago had been replaced by the woman from years before and he wishes that he had seen then the signs that something had been so utterly wrong. She, so usually full of light and hope, so young and oblivious, looked like a woman who was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. He didn’t see it then but he could see it now in this cruel memory. He can see it in the way she’s holding herself and the dullness in her eyes. If only he had noticed all those years ago, he may have been able to stop her but his twenty-two year old self had been so blinded by love and the eagerness to escape to a new life with her, he just hadn’t seen it.

‘Yes, Larson. Do as she says.’ The man in tweed smiles, taking a long drag on his cigar, the smoke billowing from his lips as he speaks. Larson stays put.

‘Please, Lars. Not here.’

‘She’s not yours,’ Larson hisses through gritted teeth and he mouths the line along with him.

‘Actually, Lars … I am.’ She holds up her left hand and reveals a large engagement ring that sends slivers of light dancing on the black stage floor. The ghosts of the audience gasp and a few let out audible sobs.

‘Eliza … no.’ Larson whispers. ‘NO!’ Larson pulls out a gun from his inside jacket pocket and aims it at the man in tweed. She jumps back, out of the way.

‘Oh, Larson.’ The man in tweed sighs and taps his cigar, ash falling to the floor. ‘When will you learn? It doesn’t matter how well you scrub up or how many lavish parties you sneak yourself into. It doesn’t matter how many of London’s finest you rub shoulders with or even how many wealthy women’s beds you wheedle your way into. You will never be good enough.’

‘Please don’t listen to him, Lars. Just go back inside.’ She is Eliza now, immersed in her role. She puts her hands on Larson’s arm and tries to lower the gun but Larson holds strong and steady.

‘Do you love him?’ Larson asks, not daring to glance away from the other man. Eliza looks at Larson, her eyes filling up but her face unchanging. ‘Do you?’ he demands again.

‘I fear you’ll kill him either way.’

‘Eliza,’ he breathes. ‘If you tell me yes, how could you think that I would kill the man you love and put you through that misery? No, Eliza. Should you say yes, I will turn this gun on myself and the bullet will be destined for me.’

More sobs erupt from the auditorium.

‘Must we have all this drama? It’s terribly dull. We all know you don’t have the gall to shoot a rabbit let alone a man. Just put the gun down, Larson.’

‘Do … you … love … him?’

‘I …’ She hesitates and, back in the wings, he feels every nerve ending fizz. That wasn’t her line then and it isn’t her line now. He had wondered then if maybe she’d forgotten but she had never forgotten a line in her entire professional life. Was this the moment she was having second thoughts about their plan? He had wondered all those years ago what could possibly have stopped her from saying the line but today he was watching events unfold while knowing exactly what was running through her head. And he was still powerless to stop what was to come.

‘I …’ A tear rolls down her flushed cheek. Her chest rises and pushes against the fabric of her dress. ‘I … do not,’ she says and what happens next is a blur.

The trigger is pulled, the sound of a gunshot rings out, the lights go out and the gasping audience is plunged into darkness. All of this is as it should have been.

‘Bring up the lights! The lights!’ shouts the man playing Larson. There is panic in is voice. Real panic.