***
Old Town Hall, a building with an ominous central clock tower and slope shouldered roof, the location for the debate, was filling up rapidly. Even after it was full, a line snaked down the street, past the library to the bank below. The local Cable Company had set up a big monitor so those who couldn’t get in after the building had reached capacity could watch. The debate, for some unknown reason had become the hottest ticket in town.
Back stage, Grizzelda, her emotions already frazzled raw, each nerve open to the air, watched the people in the audience with terror. Her night sessions with Zuhayer Horwood in the mirror were getting very intense. She couldn’t stop, not even if she wanted to, and she did want to, more than anything. It was as though the more she gave, the more Zuhayer demanded, to the point that she didn’t have much left to give. It was then that the idea of losing the debate came to mind. If she did that, maybe, just maybe, this dream-turned-nightmare might go away. In her sweaty hands, she held her hope: a speech that would turn her into a pariah. She looked at Colin, Spike and Melissa and fought down the urge to give them a weak smile. After this was all over, she would make it up to them, but for now, she had to be strong.
From his position in the wing, Colin noticed Hugh Dundas, Rhea, and Mrs. Li on the other side of the stage. He waited, all the while worrying that Grizzelda might open up the paper to go over some of the lines and discover the rewritten platform. There was so much information whirling around in his head, and he didn’t know for certain which pieces were reliable. Then a feeling of sickness gripped him. What if someone was lying, leading them astray on purpose? It was becoming harder to tell whose side anyone was on. He was beginning to suspect that there weren’t any sides, only perspectives.
He noticed that Spike was oddly quiet. He had left with Sergeant Peary, full of energy, but now he seemed rather sad, melancholic, refusing to make eye contact with Colin. It was as though something or someone had drained all his liveliness away.
The Old Town Hall was giving him the creeps--he didn’t know why. He heard something rustle behind him, accompanied by a throat being cleared. Detaching himself from the shadows, Sergeant Peary became visible. He motioned for Colin, who excused himself from Grizzelda’s side.
“What do you want?” whispered Colin, still trying to keep an eye on Grizzelda who was fidgeting beside Spike. The debate was about to start.
“It’s about Spike. You need to know something.” The Sergeant’s rough face, harsh in the shadows, became mellow, almost sensitive. “We found Silverberry.” He ran his hand nervously through his stubby hair. For once the cigar stub wasn’t burning puckishly. It was nowhere to be seen. “Listen, had I known…I never would’ve helped him. Man, I’m in hot water. When the Union hears about this, I’ll be lucky if they let me hang around the living any longer. Remember your promise?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Colin impatiently.
“Silverberry,” he said intensely. “She’s not Spike and Melissa’s mom.”
“He thought she was his mom? This is going to get you into trouble? Finding out who she isn’t?”
“No, no, no. In the finding out who she isn’t, we found out who she was. I should’ve known! Promise me something, promise me you won’t ask.”
Colin’s mouth went dry. Silverberry left a burned image on his mind each time he saw her. He wasn’t sure if he could honor the request, but he forced himself, and Sergeant Peary visibly relaxed.
Grizzelda was taking a step toward the lectern in response to her introduction. The name, Horwood rang ominously in the hall.
Then he had a vision, different than previous ones because this one did not involve water. He felt the darkness grow around him, transporting part of his awareness into darkness so heavy he could feel its clammy breath on his skin. His surroundings changed, but strangely enough, he was still on the stage, in the wing, but instead of the lectern in the middle, there was a scaffold, complete with dangling noose and executioner. A crowd of people in the hall, silvery, semi-transparent figures stood still, their eyes riveted on the hooded figure sandwiched between two ghostly but burly police officers. They lead the diminutive form across the stage, up the steps of the scaffold to the waiting executioner.
Colin caught his breath. The executioner was Zuhayer Horwood. There was an eerie delight in his eyes. It was as though he was feasting on the abundance of fear in the room.
Maestro had said that time was like a river. That past, present and future weren’t fixed, that sometimes they mixed, making it hard to tell what had happened, is happening, or would happen. Colin never imagined this was possible, until now.
“Have you ever wondered about the future?” asked a voice from behind him.
Colin turned to find Grandfather Thunder standing there holding onto his staff. The head of the staff had turned into a bat, wings outstretched.
“What’s happening?” asked Colin feeling terrible.
“This place, the place we are in now, was once used to execute people. It was believed that execution was the only cure for chronic offenders. Unfortunately, it only exported the problem to another place--and of course there were mistakes made.”
“I don’t know whose side anyone is on anymore,” blurted out Colin, confused to the core, sorely missing the old man.
Grandfather Thunder motioned with his staff toward the scaffold. The prisoner had reached the platform and was now having the noose fitted around the neck. The victim was breathing hard, sucking in and puffing out the black fabric of the bag on his or her head. As though possessed of a flash of malevolence, Zuhayer removed the bag with a rough yank.
Colin gasped. Standing on the scaffold was the wasted form of his aunt. Zuhayer laughed and pulled the lever that opened the trap door underneath where she stood and...
...Colin, much to his relief was back. The scaffold was gone. He stared with trepidation as Grizzelda stepped up to the lectern and ruffled her papers, preparing to read. She had the same wild look on her face, as in the vision when Zuhayer had pulled the lever to hang her. Colin felt ill. What was the meaning of his vision? Had they condemned her by changing the introductory speech, or was she doomed no matter what they did?
“Ladies and Gentlemen of our fair town...” she began in a monotone voice, which hummed out indifferently. When she got to the part Dundas had changed, her eyes opened wide, filled with horror, but it was too late to adapt, to change her established course. Instead of throwing her campaign into the rubbish heap, she elevated it and herself to a viable candidate for Mayor. How Hugh Dundas had done it was masterful. He hadn’t changed much at all, but what he had done was reroute her focus, and her phrases, turned them so that they complimented instead of denigrated. Her legs shaking, still unaware of what had just happened, she returned to her seat behind the lectern.
It was Hugh Dundas’ turn.
Like an ancient prophet, Hugh lifted himself out of his chair, and shuffled up to the lectern. He fumbled a few moments, trying to find his glasses, slipped them onto his hawk-like proboscis, and just when he was about to speak, took a drink. Then he began.
Shakespeare once wrote, ‘I come not to bury Caesar, but to praise him.’ He wrote it, but I don’t expect you to know which play or which character said it, you bunch of miserable miscreants!” He paused letting the effect of his words sink in.
“Before me, I see good, upright, self-serving people. You people wouldn’t know a good thing if it slithered out from beneath a rock and bit you. But, I do the serpent a disservice in this, because had it indeed bitten you, any one of you, it would’ve died from poisoning. You have just listened to the opening words, a little contrived, but nevertheless honest words, of Ms. Horwood.” He held up his papers, the ones he had been disregarding, gripped them with his two gnarled hands, and ripped them apart. The torn papers fluttered down to the floor. I wouldn’t be your Mayor, even if I was commanded to be by a voice from a
burning bush. If I could, I’d withdraw my candidacy for the Mayoralty of this town, but according to the town charter, I cannot. So, vote for someone who cares, or vote for me.” He saluted Grizzelda, then padded off the stage and out one of the wing exits, leaving in his wake a sea of gaping, shocked people.