Strange Magic (15 page)

“Don’t stare at me like that, Susan,” Wilson said, shocked at the look on his wife’s face. “I didn’t actually murder him, for God’s sake! It was an accident…but I was the one who got blamed for it.”

“What happened?” Susan asked, relieved to hear her husband wasn’t a killer like she’d started to think.

“Well, our ride to stardom took a lot longer than we thought. We were still making headway and starting to make excellent cash but we couldn’t seem to get on televi sion like we needed to get national exposure. We were huge along the Eastern seaboard and in our home state of New York, but man it was hard breaking ground anywhere else.

“On top of that, Doug was starting to get pissed off I was getting the lion’s share of the interviews, publicity, and applause. He was a brilliant illusionist, but people seemed to want more and more escape tricks, where the thrills and potential for blood and excitement were better. It was completely unfair; Doug was a far better magician than me, but there was nothing I could do about it and to tell you the truth, my ego was growing along with my bank account and I loved it. There’s nothing
like the roar of crowd inside a packed house when you’ve defied death for another day, and everyone there is wondering how the hell you did it. The adulation from the fans and press was intoxicating…addictive even.

“I barely noticed Doug was sliding into depression, and I might not have cared even if I did. I was young, and far too busy having a good time living the dream, you know? He started drinking a lot more and it messed with his illusions. Slowed down his mind, and hands.

“I can still remember the first few nights the crowds started booing him, unimpressed by a drunk in a creepy mask who messed up most of his tricks. I tried to talk to him, get him to lay off the booze, but he wouldn’t listen. He started screaming at me all the time, nonsense stuff, or saying I was jealous of him and trying to steal all his fans. It wasn’t true, I still considered him my best friend, but the bridge between us was burned, the gap in our relationship widening by the day.

“Even with our act spiraling out of control, I had no idea how bad things had actually gotten for Doug. In my heart I’d always assumed he’d get past it, sober up, and we’d carry on as always. Wasn’t going to happen though. Doug lost his mind. It’s the only explanation I have; the only way I can understand what he eventually did.”

“What happened, Wilson?” Susan asked. “Did he try to hurt you?”

“No. Sometimes I wish he had though. It was the spring of 1988, March tenth to be exact, and we were on tour in Baltimore, Maryland. The Inner Harbor wasn’t as touristy as it is now, but we still used to pack in the crowds there. Locals, mostly, but I think people came from as far away as Washington, D.C., too.

“Before the show, Doug came into my dressing room with two mugs of coffee and said he wanted to talk. I took it as a good sign he was drinking coffee, not whiskey, but it was all a sham. He’d drugged my coffee and laughed as I slipped off my chair and slumped to the concrete floor. When I woke up, I was alone, my mask was missing, and I could hear the crowds cheering wildly out in the concert hall. Part of me knew what he’d done but my groggy brain was trying to deny it, hoping Doug wasn’t that stupid. I knew he wanted the cheers I’d been getting, but it wasn’t until I heard Alice Cooper’s ‘Welcome to My Nightmare,’ the theme music for the new escape I’d been working on, that I realized just how far off the deep end Doug had slid.

“The escape was called the Devil’s Drill Bit, and it was the most dangerous escape trick I’d ever attempted and even I hadn’t performed it live yet. In the trick, I would be chained and handcuffed to a thick wooden table while a huge six-inch-diameter spiral drill bit pushed steadily closer to me, aimed directly at my exposed chest if I couldn’t get out of the chains in time. The drill was real too. Nothing fake about it. Solid steel and sharp as a razor. Once activated, I’d have about fifty seconds to get off that table. If everything went well, I’d slip off the table just as the spinning bit chewed into the wooden table and drilled a massive hole clear through it. If I didn’t get clear of the chains, well…”

“Oh my God, Wilson!” Susan gasped. “Your partner was going to try it himself?”

“Yes. And Doug was a brilliant illusionist, no question, but he wasn’t an escape artist. He could slip a knot or get out of some simple rope and chain tricks, but he
wasn’t trained to do the things I could do. He couldn’t get out of the handcuffs, and I knew as soon as I heard the music he was in huge trouble.

“I raced toward the stage, hoping I could stop things in time, but the loud buzz of the drill bit whirling to life told me I was going to be too late. When I got there Doug was still trapped in the chains, the handcuffs still around his wrists and ankles, and the drill bit was less than a foot away from bare skin. The secret to handcuffs is you have to be double-jointed, or be able to dislocate the lower joint at the base of your thumbs, or depending on where you’re cuffed, your ankles so you can slip them free. Houdini was a master at it, and I could do it too. He used to escape from straitjackets by dislocating both his shoulders. It hurt a bit popping the bones back in place, but it allowed a magician to do what seemed like the impossible. It was the only way off that table and Doug couldn’t do it. He was trapped, as the drill kept getting closer and closer.”

“What about your stage crew? Couldn’t they shut down the drill? Pull the plug or something?”

“No, they all thought it was me. Doug was wearing my mask, and everyone thought I was just hamming it up for the crowd, waiting until the last few seconds before making my escape. The audience was eating it up too, cheering exactly like Doug had always wanted. Over the howl of the drill I could hear him laughing, clearly out of his mind and enjoying the roar of his fans right up until the drill bit dug into his chest and chewed his heart out in front of two thousand shocked people.”

Wilson was about to say more but decided to leave it
at that. Susan didn’t need to know how the geyser of blood had sprayed everywhere, the high RPM of the drill spewing bones, skin, and other chunks of gore across the stage and more than twenty rows out into the crowd.

“Couldn’t you have helped him?” Susan asked quietly. “You knew he was in trouble. Surely you could have shut off the drill. Couldn’t you?”

It was a question that had haunted Wilson every day of his life since then, a question he’d asked himself a million times as he’d lain awake in bed shaking from yet another nightmare reenactment. Vodka had been the only way to shut down those dreams, to push back those awful memories at least temporarily. No amount of booze had allowed Wilson to forget though, or to forgive himself.

“I couldn’t, Susan. I don’t know why. I was terrified, I guess, and I just…froze. No other word for it. I just stood there and watched that drill shred him apart, but I couldn’t make my feet move onstage to help. You have no idea how many nights I lay awake wondering how my life might have turned out differently if only I’d done something…
anything
to try and help. Even if I’d failed and he’d still died, at least I could have lived with the fact I’d given him a chance. But I didn’t. I stood offstage and did nothing. I’ve never forgiven myself, and neither did anyone else.”

Susan took her husband’s hand. It was sweaty, but cold as ice. “That’s crazy talk, honey. No one could blame you. Doug lost his mind. He drugged you and tried an escape he wasn’t trained to do. How can that be your fault?”

“I said and thought the same thing, Susan. Doug basically committed suicide, but some of the crowd had
spotted me offstage and blamed me for not helping him. Right or wrong, our fans were fanatical and Doug had more of a following than he thought. People started screaming at me and pointing fingers and soon it was bedlam in there. Everything was covered in blood and people were crying and working themselves into a frenzy. They were heartbroken, shocked, and angry, and there was no one else to blame really. I barely made it out of that building alive. Wouldn’t have, probably, if not for the police and emergency crews that showed up on the scene.”

“But that’s crazy, Wilson. There’s no way any of it was your fault.”

“Wasn’t it? You sure about that? I could have saved him, Susan. Could have saved him easily…but I didn’t. I let my best friend die, and I’ve been on the run, paying the price ever since. Now it seems he’s come back from the dead to get his revenge. Part of me thinks I might even deserve it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Susan said, lifting Wilson’s chin to look him in the eye. “You’re a good man, and a good father, and we’re not giving up. No way! We just have to find out who this clown is. Obviously it can’t be your partner. The dead stay dead, Wilson. End of story.”

“That’s not what Harry Houdini believed. He always said if there was a way back from the grave, he’d find it and return some day.”

“Well, last I checked, Harry’s still dead too, so what’s that tell you?”

“It tells me the Heatseeker found a way back before Harry did. I’ve talked to him, Susan, on the phone. It was him. For sure. Somehow he came back. I don’t know how, but it’s true.”

“Jesus, Wilson!” Susan shouted, standing up to pace the room. “Stop it. That’s insane and you damn well know it. It’s impossible!”

“I understand that…honest I do, but there are things you don’t understand. Doug was into the occult. Hell, both of us were, but he was into it
deep
! Meditation, Ouija boards, séances, self-hypnosis, lucid dreaming, mind reading, telekinesis…you name it; he was involved. Both of us believed in the power of the human mind, in a great untapped resource within all of us, just waiting for someone to swing open the right door within our subconscious and walk on in. I think Doug found it.

“There were things he could do, Susan…some illusions he pulled off that just weren’t possible. Disappearances, mind-reading abilities, levitations. Things he wouldn’t tell me about, things I just couldn’t explain. You know that new magician people are raving about lately…Criss Angel? He’s really good, but there’s something about him that just isn’t right, if you know what I mean. He’s tapped into some power outside of this world. Can do things no one should be able to. Doug was like him, but even better. He terrified me sometimes, especially the more he started drinking. With magic…nothing’s impossible, Susan. Nothing! He believed that, and so do I. He’s alive, I know he is, and he’s out there somewhere coming for me.”

“Stop it, Wilson. You’re scaring me now.”

“We’ve got a lot to be scared about. I know you don’t believe me, but you have to trust me and there’s only one way I can think of to prove to you I’m right.”

“How?”

“I know where he was buried. It’s in Jamestown, New York, near where we trained at Lucius Barber’s house.
Less than three hours from here. I never went to the funeral, but I know where he is. It’s time I went back. If he’s there, you win, and I’ll call the cops or do whatever you want about this guy who’s threatening me. Deal?”

“Okay. And what if he’s
not
there?”

Wilson had no answer.

It ended up being after lunch, 2:10 P.M. by the dashboard clock, before Susan backed the Honda out of the driveway and she and Wilson began their trip to the Jamestown cemetery. They’d taken Amanda out of school early and left her over with the Hendersons, although she’d kicked up a hell of a fuss, wanting to come along on what she thought was to be a fun family outing. If only she knew the truth.

“Did you bring a shovel?” Susan asked.

“I brought a few tools, but no shovel. We won’t need one where he’s buried.”

Susan had no idea what that meant but decided to let it go. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, still not convinced they weren’t about to make a big mistake. Not only was this idea slightly crazy, but also potentially illegal if they were caught tampering with a grave site.

“Yes. I need to know, Susan. This is driving me nuts and I have to know what we’re up against…man or monster.”

“Monster? Come on, Wilson. Surely you don’t believe—”

“If the Heatseeker has returned from the dead, what
else would you call him? I have to know for sure.
We
have to know. Right?”

Susan didn’t answer. She didn’t have it in her to argue with her husband but there was no way she was buying into his theory about who was threatening him. No way. Someone was out there, and from everything Susan had seen and heard, they were highly unstable and dangerous, but whoever it was, he was a man. Maybe a jealous ex-friend or a deranged fan, but there was no way the Heatseeker was Wilson’s old partner, Douglas Williams. This was the real world and no matter how much Wilson had convinced himself he knew the truth, Susan wasn’t going to accept it. She’d only agreed to come to help Wilson accept the truth and to keep him from getting in trouble. After that, they could start figuring out what to do about their
real
problem.

They rode most of the way in an awkward silence, something quite unusual for them but perhaps for the best. The tension was thick between them today; the stakes higher than they’d ever known and neither really knew how to deal with it. Wilson badly wanted a drink, of course, but pushed that thought as far away as his stressed mind would allow.

There are more important things in the world than alcohol, right? Right?

Jamestown wasn’t far away, distancewise, but Highway 62 North onto 17 West, the route they traveled to get there, took forever to drive, the traffic crazy and the roads twisting and turning more like a roller-coaster ride than a proper highway. Still, they made decent time, uncertainty and fear urging Susan to drive faster than normal, pulling into the city limits bang on five o’clock.

Jamestown was an old industrial city that had a small-town feel to it. It had once been tagged with the lofty title “Furniture Capital of the World,” but those thriving days were long gone, leaving behind a quaint, family-oriented community that was neither fast paced nor particularly boring. It walked a fine line between past charms and modern conveniences and would likely be described as “just right” by most of the 35,000 people who lived there.

Unfortunately, Wilson didn’t share their enthusiasm. It had been twenty-two years since he’d last been in this city, but there were no warm feelings about returning, no nostalgic thoughts about better days gone by. No, all Wilson wanted to do was confirm his worst fears, convince Susan he hadn’t gone completely loony, then get the hell out of this shithole as fast as they could. The sooner the better as far as he was concerned. In, out, gone.

“Where we going?” Susan asked.

“Lake View Cemetery…it’s easy to find. Just head for the high ground. Take a right on Main Street. Should be a couple lights up.”

Susan followed Main Street north, heading uphill until Wilson directed her to hang a right on Buffalo Street, then a quick left onto Lake View. The cemetery sat on one of the highest spots in town, and it was easy to see why it had been given its name. Looking directly west, the dark blue waters of Chautaugua Lake filled their vision, looking stunning under a late-afternoon sun that was slowly diving into the deep end of the lake and setting the cloud-covered horizon ablaze. Susan parked the car in the empty gravel lot and shut off the engine, but they hesitated getting out. Both knew there
was no turning back now, but were stalling the inevitable.

“Ready?” Wilson asked, touching his wife’s hand. He noticed his hand was trembling far more than hers.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

Wilson leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then got out to meet her at the front of the car.

Lake View Cemetery wasn’t huge, by city standards, but it sure wasn’t small either. Hundreds of rows of headstones spread out around them to the north and west, a seemingly unending pattern of marble, stone, and brass dominoes just waiting for the first gentle push to begin the chain reaction of destruction that would topple the lot. Finding one specific grave in this endless field wasn’t going to be easy.

“This will take forever, Wilson. There must be ten thousand graves here. Maybe more.”

“True, but you’re forgetting something. Doug was pretty famous. Not everywhere, but here in Jamestown he was. If you go down to city hall, you’ll find a picture of him on their wall of fame. This cemetery has a special section reserved for town founders, public officials, and other influential people who’re buried here. We’ll find Doug’s grave…” Wilson paused to look around, then pointed to where a dozen aboveground concrete mausoleum-type crypts were grouped together. “Over there! Let’s go.”

The Stranger parked his borrowed truck several houses down the street from Susan’s place on Derby Hill, pausing to wipe his sweaty forehead with the tail of his untucked shirt before climbing from behind the wheel. He wasn’t feverish with sickness; no, it was the sweat of
pleasures promised running down his cheeks, of soon-to-be-realized dreams, of unbearable anticipation. The waiting game was nearly over now and his excitement was building by the minute, making the tall man want to jump out of his skin and scream at the top of his lungs. He wouldn’t do that, of course. He would stay in command of his dark desires, in control for as long as he needed to.

He’d taken a hot shower and was dressed much more appropriately today, having found half a closetful of men’s clothes in the house he’d taken over. The clothes might have been Kathleen Pruit’s dead husband’s or perhaps just a former renter’s leftovers; who knew, but they fit his tall, lanky body fairly well all things considered, and faded blue jeans and a beige button-down shirt wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as his black leather outfit did.

Stepping away from the pickup, the Stranger began calmly walking toward the front of Susan Kemp’s home, the madness and rage within him contained, but just barely. He forced a smile on his pallid face as he passed a neighbor outside watering her front flowers in what looked like her best Sunday dress. The young woman nodded and smiled back, then pretended to go about her business but the magician could see she was still watching him closely out the corner of her eye.

Seeing that Susan’s car wasn’t home put a dent in the Stranger’s plans and he almost decided to call it off and return to his truck but he was sick and tired of playing this game of cat and mouse. The trunk of secrets might be enjoying the fear they were stirring up in this little community, but he just wanted to get his hands on the ultimate prize. Today was the day he’d been dreaming of
for a long time, and nothing, not even a nosy neighbor, was going to deny him what he was owed. Seeing as he was already here, he may as well check to see if anyone was home. Maybe he’d get lucky. After all, it wasn’t Susan he was here to see. It wasn’t Wilson either.

The tall magician rang the bell three times, his anger building to volcanic proportion when no one came to the door.
Damn it!
They’d slipped by him again. He was close to putting his fist through the front screen when a woman’s voice spoke from behind him.

“Excuse me,” she said. Not surprisingly, it was the well-dressed nosy neighbor who’d been watering her flowers. “Are you looking for Susan?”

The Stranger cranked up his fake smile and turned on the charm. “Why, yes. I’m an old friend of Susan’s husband and I’m new in town. My, you look awfully pretty today. Love that dress.”

The neighbor took the bait, grinning sheepishly. “What, this old thing? Thank you. Didn’t I see you dropping off Susan’s little girl the other day? Not that I make a habit of spying, mind you, but I just happened to look out when you pulled up to let Amanda out.”

Sure you don’t, you gossiping bitch
, the Stranger thought.
I’ll bet there isn’t a thing happens on this street you don’t know about.
“That was me, all right. Like I said, I’m an old family friend. Say…you wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you? It’s kind of important I find them.”

“Actually, I’m not sure where Susan went. She and Wilson took off together a few hours ago, but I did hear her saying they had to pick up Amanda at school and drop her off at the babysitter’s, so maybe the Hendersons can tell you where they went.”

“The Hendersons?”

“Yes. Edith and Earl. Really nice older couple. It was me who introduced Susan to them, actually. They live over on Milberry Lane, about three blocks that way. Can’t miss their place; it’s the big stucco house on the corner.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” the Stranger said, the smile on his face genuine now. “You’ve been a huge help. More than you’ll ever know.”

“No problem. Make sure you say hi to Edith for me.”

“Oh, I will. You can count on it.”

Although it was still early, only 5:30 P.M., the sunlight was starting to fade as Wilson took Susan by the hand and led her toward the mausoleums. Wilson’s grandmother on his mother’s side, Annie Wilkins, bless her miserable old soul, had lived to be ninety years old, spending seventy of them living next door to the graveyard in North Tonawanda they eventually buried her in. She used to tell Wilson when he was a kid that night always falls faster in a cemetery, so he’d better keep his eyes on the sky and his wits about him or he’d end up lost in the dark with a bunch of dead people. Annie was crazy as a bedbug by then, of course, and Wilson had tried his best to ignore everything she said, but looking at the rapidly darkening sky tonight he thought maybe the old bird wasn’t far off the mark with that one.

Murky clouds the purple-black color of fresh bruises were settling in over Jamestown for the night, threatening rain soon. Wilson hoped they’d hold off until they’d at least had a chance to check out what they needed to. The wind was picking up a little too, a chill in the air
just enough to remind everyone that summertime was officially over.

Together they walked, slogging through deep emerald green grass badly in need of cutting, stirring up the late-season mosquitoes into a feeding frenzy around their feet. There were also freshly fallen leaves underfoot that cracked with the sound of pulverized bones, but none of these things bothered Susan and Wilson. Not the clouds, or the wind, or the bugs, or the leaves—they had their minds on the task at hand, both silently wondering what they might find in the next few minutes.

But first they had to find the Heatseeker’s grave.

As it turned out, the small mausoleums containing the remains of Jamestown’s elite unexpectedly held more than one body. They were bigger than they’d first appeared from the parking lot too, each memorial the size of a large backyard shed and holding upward of a dozen people, all interred within their own concrete slots in the walls. On the outside four walls were the brass or matching concrete doors identifying the person inside. These small doors were sealed shut once the caskets had been slipped into their final resting place and that was how they were intended to stay. Susan and Wilson decided to split up and walk around each building, checking all the nameplates individually. Wilson spotted the one they were looking for long before he was close enough to actually read the name on the door.

“There it is, Susan. Over there, bottom row.”

“How do you…” she started to say, but then saw what Wilson had already spotted. Fear closed off her throat and wouldn’t let her finish her sentence.

On the bottom row of the next mausoleum to their left, one of the nameplates said:

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN:

DOUGLAS ADAM WILLIAMS

1962-1988

The door was slightly but noticeably crooked, the seal around it broken at some point in the past. When Wilson and Susan walked nearer, they could see someone had shabbily repaired the damage, and tried to reseal the crypt, but even to their untrained eye, it was obvious the mortar used around the door was different than all the other doors, a different shade of gray and much fresher, and the person who had applied it had no idea what they were doing.

“Someone opened this wall up, Wilson,” Susan said, her voice quiet but still loud in the silent graveyard.

“Yeah. Definitely. They weren’t careful about it either. Smashed the crap out of it and half-assed fixed it later. I’m gonna need my tools.”

“What? Why? You’re not going to do what I think you are I hope?”

“You have a better idea? We have to know if he’s still in there, Susan. There’s no other way to know the truth. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Wilson you can’t…wait!” Susan tried, but before she could argue, Wilson was running back up the hill toward the parking lot and digging around in the Honda’s small trunk. He returned a few minutes later, out of breath and white as a ghost, with a crowbar and a mini sledgehammer.

“Don’t do this, Wilson,” Susan pleaded, her hope that this trip would put an end to her husband’s fears all but gone now. “You’ll end up in jail, for God’s sake!”

“I have to know the truth, damn it!
We
need to know, so stand back. This won’t take long.”

Wilson moved in close and it only took three smacks of the sledge for the steel bar to work its way deeper into a crack in the seal. The ringing noise was loud, but not as bad as he’d expected. He set the hammer aside and, using all his weight as leverage, pulled down on the crowbar. The crack along the top edge of the door split farther. Wilson worked the bar loose and repeated the same steps on both sides of the door as well, and the fourth time he threw his weight against the bar, the seal broke and the small door snapped open. Instead of falling to the ground as Wilson had thought it might, the door lay down flat on hinges set into the bottom edge.