Altered States (36 page)

A thirty-foot tall number ‘10’ illuminated above the stage and began to count down. The audience accompaniment grew louder with every second that ticked down, until by the time it reached ‘4’ the whole room was chanting the numbers.

No one knew what to expect when the countdown hit zero, but they assumed it would be wonderfully dramatic. And they weren’t disappointed.

The music that had been building as a crescendo cut to silence, and the room fell to darkness. The only illumination that remained was from the white lights that beaded the edge of the catwalk, twinkling through the dry ice fog that flowed over them.

There was a tantalising pause, then bang: a wall of sound. Then, a beat later, two spotlights burst into life. And there they were, Rubeck and Winters, standing on either side of the stage. The crowd erupted into a standing ovation.

The two stars beamed radiant smiles and waved at the crowd, soaking up the adulation as only stars know how. After a perfectly orchestrated period of time, in sync with the music, the couple walked toward centre stage and joined in the middle with a kiss. And as their lips met, flames burst from the stage behind them and the Igneous insignia shimmered into view.

The couple turned and started their journey down the catwalk. They were both dressed in white. Rubeck in a suit; Winters in an elegant dress. Not the usual apparel associated with Igneous clothing, but more than fitting for the occasion.

They walked hand-in-hand, each waving their free arm at the crowd as they passed. This was a royal visit, in all but name.

Everyone in the venue was thoroughly in-the-moment. Despite all the concerns, nobody felt the least bit uneasy that something unscripted may occur. Nobody, except maybe one ... or two.

As the couple reached half-way along the catwalk they stopped, and in a choreographed skit they played-acted a little quarrel. Then in time with a beat in the music they tore at each other’s garments and in a split second their haute couture was in tatters on the floor and they were standing there showing off the other star of the show: consumer fashion.

The onlookers whooped with appreciation as Rubeck struck a pose, now wearing jeans and a checked-shirt with torn-off sleeves; his arm around the slender waist of his wife, now wearing a little summer dress with a slim leather belt.

They held their pose for a moment before continuing their journey; one confident stride after the next. With each footstep a thousand flashbulbs fired, capturing another moment in time, another moment in the life of the camera’s quarry. With each pace forward the music cranked up a notch, the lights shone brighter, the beaming smiles got wider and the audience grew louder and louder, forgetting their place, their inhibitions.

And as the iconic couple reached the end of the catwalk, the cacophony peaked, everyone solidifying into a shared moment of adulation. All attention aimed toward one point in space and time, as if right here, right now, these two people were the centre of the universe.

That was when the two gunshots rang out.

Both bullets were on target.

What followed was screaming mayhem. Only a few in the right place would have known at that point what had just occurred. Those that had turned in the right direction would have seen a waiter standing in an aisle between the tables, facing the stage. They would have seen him standing in a pool of champagne and broken glass. And they would have seen him holding firmly above his head a silver platter, perpendicular to the ground. What they might not have seen was the two freshly-formed dents in the centre of the platter.

This image existed only for a split second. Then the chaos ensued. Bodyguards surrounded the shell-shocked celebrity couple within seconds and man-handled them off the stage. At the same moment, at the back of the room, a number of special agents were over-powering a woman with a gun.

The guests were not sure which way to run for the best, but were running all the same.

Only one man inside the building knew what was going down. The waiter with the platter. And he just, well, waited. He stood amidst the enveloping melee enjoying his own inner tranquillity. Of course, he was not a waiter at all. Just like all the other catering staff at the event, he was a cop. He knew that very soon he would be whisked away, by people who were rapidly trying to piece together what had happened here. Not that they would wholly succeed because what had happened here could not have happened. It was impossible. That was entirely the point.

Outside, the initial mood of hysterical terror transitioned to something quite different. When, slowly, details began to emerge, the raucous crowd died down to a point where they were virtually silent, staring up at the video screens. Each and every one of them felt they had witnessed something truly remarkable.

Inside the cordon where only members of the press were allowed, a reporter talked animatedly into a camera.

‘I’m standing outside Rock Hotel, New Meadows, which only moments...’ She was flustered and faltering as the events unfolded around her. ‘...which only moments ago was host to a remarkable scene. Information so far indicates that a woman fired two shots at the celebrity couple Rubeck and Winters. It appears from initial reports that tragedy was avoided in the most astonishing fashion.’

Scurrying reporters and camera operators bumped past the reporter, who was visibly ruffled. Holding a hand to her earpiece to block out the growing din behind her, she continued.

‘We understand that an undercover policeman, posing as a waiter, blocked the bullets with a silver champagne platter. The whole event was broadcast live across the world. Footage is being analysed to further elaborate details of the events witnessed here, but at this early stage it does appear that the assassination of Danny Rubeck and Sadie Winters was prevented by a policeman blocking the gunshots with a silver platter.’

The expected equanimity of her voice, instilled through years of training, had been overturned, replaced by disbelief and wonder. The camera she was addressing panned around to show the crowds as the reporter took a moment to collect herself. Then she continued.

‘The many thousands of fans who have been waiting here to wish the couple well are standing stunned but chattering excitedly. Many are already hailing this a miracle; an act of God.’

The reporter was distracted momentarily by a message in her ear and then started moving toward the hotel entrance.

‘I’m just hearing that the unnamed hero is about to leave the hotel now.’

A gaggle of reporters rushed to surround the entrance of the hotel and shortly afterwards a group of heavy suited men exited the building shielding another man dressed in a waiter’s uniform. The suited men formed a circle around the man and attempted to usher him to a waiting car, as reporters bombarded the new star with questions.

‘People are calling this an act of God. What do you say to that?’

Conner smiled at the suggestion but didn’t respond. He’d sooner believe in an act of silverware than an act of God, but he figured that was not what the nation was waiting to hear.

‘People are hailing you a hero,’ shouted another questioner. ‘How do you feel about that?’

Conner shrugged coyly as he was jostled along.

‘Can you explain what happened?’ came another question as a microphone was thrust in his direction. This time his entourage had stalled momentarily and he had time to turn to the questioner with a knowing glint in his eye.

‘Magic,’ he beamed.

As Conner was bustled down the sweeping flight of steps outside the Rock Hotel he happened to look out over the heads of the throng in front of him. Across the street he saw a man he recognised, sitting on a wall. The two men exchanged smiles. Then the moment was gone.

‘Do you have anything to say to the viewers watching?’ called one reporter as Conner passed by.

Conner considered this for a moment and decided that this was one question he needed to answer. He shook free from the grip of the bodyguards and stepped back toward the reporter who had put the question to him. One of the suits put a firm hand on Conner’s shoulder, but he shook it off. Orders from above must have allowed Conner his moment because the hand didn’t return and instead the heavies formed a neat barrier around Conner in his new position.

‘Yes I do,’ Conner said to the reporter, in a raised voice to carry over the din. He turned to look into the lens of the accompanying camera. It was a message for everyone, but in his mind he was only talking to one person. And he hoped she understood.

‘The greatest lesson to learn from all of this,’ he began, ‘is that fashion is not worth losing a life over. And it is not worth living your life
by
.’

As Conner spoke, the frenzied swarm of onlookers in the distance grew too much for the law enforcement. The barriers finally came down. The horde pushed through the cordon of police and flooded toward the hotel entrance.

Conner tugged at his shirt. ‘These labels we are supposed to bear, these
brands
we are supposed to flaunt, they are just that; as if burnt into our skin from the branding irons wielded by our would-be owners – the corporations that want to tell us who to be. And when we succumb, what we are left standing in is nothing but another restrictive uniform. Like the one we wear to work, consumer fashion is nothing but a uniform for our leisure time –’

The bodyguards spotted the impending danger of the manic crowd rushing toward them and started to manhandle Conner away. As he was jerked backwards he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. He shouted back to the camera as he was dragged off.

‘Sometimes we have to take off the uniform that dictates who we are. We have to take off our uniform to allow our other self to see the light again.’ And with that, just as he was bundled into the back of a black car, he threw his police badge high in the air.

It was time to allow his other self to see the light again.

Magic

I watched with some pride from across the street from the Rock Hotel, having sweet-talked my way into the press area. I’d met Conner some weeks ago in BlueJay. He needed my help and I took him on as a project. Although, I couldn’t possibly have imagined all of this would follow.

The plan fell into place when I was at the Bayliss residence. I needed the Zack and Tanya show to end once and for all. Tanya Scarlett in particular was using her power for her own titillation, as well as being on the bung from corporate sponsors.

I saw her invitation for the Igneous event on the mantelpiece and knew it offered the perfect opportunity to bring Tanya Scarlett’s reign to a spectacular close. So I told her in no uncertain terms that bad things were going to happen at the event. I told her that I was going to be there, dressed as a waiter and that I was going to shoot Rubeck and Winters. And she knew I could do it. She knew if there was anyone on the planet that could get in there with a gun, it was me.

Scarlett was deeply in the neatly-styled pocket of Igneous Clothing and they were looking to her to protect this gig at all costs. So I knew she’d be there and I knew she’d be on edge. I also knew that although she wouldn’t be allowed in with a gun – being officially only a PA – she would arrange to get hold of one inside from one of her agents.

So, then it all came down to my exquisite knack of persuasion.

I hesitate to use the word ‘hypnosis’ here because this term no more describes a specific method than the term ‘magic’ does. Consider the variation between a performer making someone act like a chicken on stage, and a therapist helping someone overcome agoraphobia. Nevertheless, the word’s brevity serves a purpose.

You will have heard that you cannot hypnotise someone to do something against their will, something that they don’t want to do. This is not strictly true. As you will also have heard of sane normal individuals being brainwashed by cult leaders and religious fundamentalists to commit suicide and murder innocent people. And brainwashing is just another form of hypnosis.

It
is
true though that this sort of extreme behaviour cannot be induced during a mere stage performance, or during an hour in somebody’s living room. So how did I get Tanya Scarlett to fire a gun at Rubeck and Winters? And how did I orchestrate the whole thing so perfectly? Well it really wasn’t that hard.

Things are not always quite what they seem. Some things, in fact, are quite the opposite. You have to look at things from a different point of view; flip things on their head. Ask yourself, which is cause and which is effect?

Amidst all the pandemonium following the incensed gunshot attack and the divine silverware intervention, there was one crucial point that everyone missed; and will forever miss. When Scarlett fired her gun at Rubeck and Winters, she was not aiming at
them
.

She was aiming at the
platter
.

When I was in Bayliss’s living room – whilst the man himself
was still accommodatingly blood-staining his upholstery without complaint – I spent a little time with Scarlett.
Using as a prop the silver tray bearing Bayliss’s scotch, I
embedded what some might call
a post-hypnotic suggestion, though she was never in the trance-like state that people associate with hypnosis. She was too resistant for that. But there was no need for it. The intense confrontational nature of the encounter lent itself nicely to my cause: associating that silver platter with me, with my promise to destroy her big day; defining it as a marker of things turning bad for her. For once, I won’t explain the details. Let’s just say I got inside her head.

On the day, all Conner had to do was stumble into her path, make a little commotion and thrust the tray into the air; and Scarlett would be popping bullets into it before even she knew what was happening. And because Conner was in a line between her and the stage, to everyone else it looked like she was aiming for the stars and that the waiter had somehow stopped the bullets with some divine inspiration.