Curtain Call

Sloan always found it pleasant having a crowd to herself.

The clattering of forks against plates and the echoes of soft conversation flooded Sloan’s ears. It was hard to focus with this much noise, but she enjoyed the ambiance. She liked listening and observing, alone and unencumbered.

Sloan took a bite of her rice pilaf and looked up to people-watch for a few moments before returning to her book. At least twelve people were sitting at a long table in the middle of the room with many smaller tables surrounding it. They were jovially laughing, a few of them clearly having enjoyed their late-afternoon wine. A few less rowdy patrons sat with their backs against walls that were covered with a deep burgundy and gold printed wallpaper from decades before. Many of these people were having quiet, private conversations within their small parties lit dimly by the votive candles seated next to salt and pepper shakers. Some people, like Sloan, sat alone at small tables lit harshly by the chandeliers above them which made the white tablecloths nearly too bright for the space. A couple sat so that they could see the lazy, nearly barren city street through the wide open French doors spanning the length of a long wall.

Sloan took another bite and got back to her book, turning to the next page. Before she could reach the second paragraph, she heard a muffled cry from the hostess’s podium and quickly turned her head to investigate.

Sloan’s throat slammed shut. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers, similar to the ones from which she had been eating, as she took in the group walking in: nine or ten well-dressed men with knives, three men with cameras, two men with microphones, and one in a three piece suit with his hair slicked back. The latter was all too recognizable to not only Sloan, but the whole nation.

A chill ran from the back of her neck down her arms as she began shaking in her chair. She flicked her eyes toward the other patrons. Most had not noticed yet. The ones who did, however, were not faring well.

The hostess, having tried to stop them, was no longer standing. She was sitting on the ground, back leaning against the closest wall, with her throat cut.

One woman seated near the entrance abruptly stood, thoughtlessly following her feet, and met the same end as the hostess. One man muttered, “No, no no no no” as the crew found him hiding behind a large fern. One man made it out the door, and a member of the group broke off to chase him. Sloan heard him being pulled back inside, a clamor followed by a faint cry not a moment later.

All this in mere seconds.

What Sloan feared, however, was not how quickly this was going. It was how slowly the rest would surely follow.

“Good afternoon, fellow patrons,” called the man in the suit. They looked up at him. Tension fell over the room while the realization set in. “I am sure you have had the privilege of being our audience many times before. Now, you have the honor of being the show! Our players!” He clapped his hands together in celebration. The cameramen moved throughout the space collecting the reactions of the crowd. They gathered shots of a husband squeezing the hand of his wife until his knuckles turned white. A mother smoothing her daughter’s hair as she began to cry. An aunt picking up her infant nephew and holding him tightly to her chest. A businessman keeping his eyes shut as tears rolled down his face, murmuring his prayers. A waiter standing with his back to the kitchen doors, not allowing any of his fellow waitstaff to walk onto what was now, clearly, a set.

“Thank you all for choosing today to enjoy the fine food of this prestigious establishment. I hear the borscht is absolutely excellent,” the suit said grinning from ear to ear. “Now that I have your full attention, I would like to formally introduce myself as your host, Calvin Connolly. It is truly an honor to be here, as always. Now I will quickly remind you - our players - and our audience back home of the rules. As you have surely seen previously on our program, we seek to honor our fellow citizens by generously providing them the opportunity to provide for their families. The pledge you make today will provide one family member of your choosing with all assets under your name,” he nodded to the crewman on his left, who promptly began passing out little cards and pencils. “Once you receive your card, please specify to whom you wish to pledge your benefits. When you have all completed your cards, we will proceed," he finished, clasping his hands behind his back in a gentlemanly fashion.

Sloan attempted meeting the eyes of the crewman placing a card next to her iced tea. She felt as if her irises were screaming for any hint or any advice he might be able to give her. She pursed her lips to keep from yelling at the back of his head as he walked away. She looked at the card in disgust, picking it up gently with shaking hands.

“May I also remind you, kind folks, of the honor in stoicism. Should you make your pledge courageously, the recipient of that pledge will receive formal recognition from the highest officials of our great nation as well as praise from their neighbors, colleagues, etc. Truly, you can provide the recipient of your pledge with a fresh start. A change. A chance. The possibilities they will be offered are endless. Some of you here today may have been the beneficiary of someone else’s pledge. You, there,” he gestured to the businessman praying. He waved to the camera crew and boom operators so that they would come closer to the man. “We have it on good authority that you were once a pledge recipient. Who made their pledge to you?”

The businessman’s lower lip quivered, and he slowly opened his eyes. “My mother,” he whispered.

“Oh, his mother,” Calvin appealed to the room. “How sweet. To choose to sacrifice oneself for one’s own offspring. Incredible.”

“She chose nothing, you son of a bitch,” he cursed, voice stronger now and eyes lighting up with rage.

Calvin Connolly raised an eyebrow and faked a frown. “Come, now. Would this make mommy proud?”

The businessman lunged across the table, grabbing the host’s silk tie and attempting to strangle him with it. It was no more than ten seconds before the businessman was slumped over his table, blood pouring out of his neck and mixing with the soup he had been enjoying for lunch.

The host straightened his tie and smoothed his hair back into proper position. He picked up the businessman’s card and wiped the blood off of it before returning to the front of the room. “Selfish man. He has provided for no one today, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, raising the card for all to see. “Blank. Not only was this man a coward before this entire nation’s eyes, but he provided for no one. He died for… nothing.” Calvin began walking through the tables slowly. “A pity. A shame! The only good that will come of this will be his funds which will promptly be escheated to the state. Still, what would his mother think of him,” he whispered, the boom leaning in closer to catch his words. “What will his neighbors think of him? His friends? His children? God forbid if he left his own children penniless.” He made eye contact with the mother and shook his head. He squatted down to make himself eye level with her. He murmured, “You would never leave your little girl with nothing, would you?”

The woman gritted her teeth and lifted her daughter into her lap.

“And you, princess. You would want your mommy to be brave, right?”

The little girl looked up at her mother in confusion.

“And you want to be brave, too?”

The mother’s grip on her daughter tightened as she spat in Calvin’s face.

Calvin stood and wiped his face dry with a silk handkerchief that he pulled from his breast pocket. “It is a sad day when a mother and her innocent child care nothing of their family’s honor. Madam, you should be ashamed of yourself. But little one,” he smiled at her. “Where is your daddy? At work?”

She faintly nodded.

“What does he do?” He was met with terrified little eyes and no words. “Well, you have an opportunity to make your daddy so proud of you. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

Calvin Connolly stepped back to the front of the room as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck. He announced, “I will give you all a few brief moments to complete your cards without distraction, starting now.”

Sloan listened as silence set in before a few timid scribbles popped up across the room. She watched people pick up their pencils as if they weighed one hundred times their weight. A few people moved quickly, their expressions grim and bleak. Sloan left her pencil exactly where it was.

“Now that you have all carefully selected a deserving beneficiary, we will continue. Please form a single file line with you all facing me.”

Slowly but surely, they all did as they were told.

“At this time, we have removed our men from all doors. You have the option to stand here and provide for your families, as well as the option to walk out. You heard me - you may leave. We will not stop you, as up to this point you have not interfered with the integrity of our show. But a warning must be issued: you may walk out, but you may not walk for long. You may be hunted. You may be stalked. We will do nothing to protect you if you exit the premises. We will do nothing to prosecute anyone for what they see fit as punishment for abandoning your role, your family, and your pride. If you are identified and caught, you may meet a worse fate than you will meet by our hands today. Our nation is not one to show compassion toward the cowardly. And, more than anything, your families will be denied anything you could have bestowed on them today, and they will be ashamed of you. That will be the only thing you leave for them, shame. Once you exit the premises, they will have nothing, and you will have nothing, for I promise you: it would be unwise to return home.”

Sloan peered behind her, judging which direction of the street would have the densest crowd. She was third in line and felt the people on either side of her quivering. She took a calming breath in preparation for the next scene.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present," Calvin Connolly looked into the camera, smiling humbly, "Curtain Call."

He made his way to the first person in line. He opened up his hand in the direction of the camera crew, and one of them placed a sharpened knife in his hand. He gained a comfortable grip on the handle and held his hands behind his back to speak with the first player. “What is your name, sir?”

“D-David Johnson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Johnson. To whom have you pledged your benefits?”

“My sister, Sarah.”

“Wonderful. Sarah will be immensely proud. Now, please Mr. Johnson. Your final bow."

He slammed his eyes shut and bowed from the waist.

Slash.

David slumped to the floor. Calvin wiped his blade on a towel provided by the crew. He moved on to the next person in line.

“What are you called, madam?”

"Ana Hernandez."

Sloan knew the rules. She had seen this show before. She had seen this show many, many times.

Slash.

Sloan knew that she would rather run to her death than wait for it.

She looked straight ahead as the elderly woman, Ana, crumpled to the floor beside her like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. She stared at Calvin Connolly’s gelled black hair as he cleaned his blade and stepped in front of her.

“And you, miss? Your name?”

Sloan stared at his eyebrows.

“Miss? Your name?”

Sloan did not budge.

“It appears we have a stoic here today. Not even batting an eye,” he laughed as he gestured to the camera. “Well, if you will not share your name, might I have the name of your beneficiary?”

The corner of Sloan’s mouth drew up as she lowered her gaze, finally meeting his. Calvin Connolly’s eyebrows stitched together as Sloan turned on her heel and headed back to her table. She grabbed her purse off her chair and swung it over her head to rest across her body. She stuck her hands in her pockets and walked out the open French doors into the street. She heard Calvin fuming at the cameramen for only a moment until the crowd engulfed her.

Sloan had seen this show before. Over and over, the players made the same mistake. They ran. They screamed. They fought. They panicked. They begged.

They never walked.

Sloan walked down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd. The blood pumping in her ears dulled the cacophony of city life to a faint mumble. Her feet were aching to run, but running in this crowd was the fastest admission of guilt she could give. She trained her mouth into a neutral line and walked for as long as she could.

She would make it out of here alive if she could just make it to the town square nearby. There was a large fountain surrounded by the chaos of running and screaming children, vendors waving flags, jugglers juggling, and, most importantly, access to at least ten different streets and alleys perfect for disappearing into.

She was as good as invisible as long as she made it to the fountain.

Sloan had walked this street many times before. She loved the cobblestone road and the aromas of delicious food wafting out of restaurants. She used to beg her mother to take her into the antique bookstore at the top of the hill. She had dreamed of what the bars would be like on game day once she was big enough to join in on the raucous fun. She loved splashing her feet in the fountain with an ice cream cone melting in her hand. She equally loved splashing her boots in the puddles that littered the street on rainy days. She had so many fond, perfect memories of this place.

Sloan had forgotten one thing about it, however. The street wound downhill to the fountain, sure, but she also had to pass glass storefronts with televisions broadcasting the latest news.

She learned in that moment that Curtain Call was not technically a live broadcast. It was delayed by a few minutes.

In the television screens on both sides of the street, she saw the image of herself staring into Calvin Connolly’s face. She saw the shock at her audacity consume him after she had spun and left. She wished that she had looked even calmer, but she appeared as poised as one could in that situation. She saw the scene cut into an announcement from Calvin Connolly himself, an announcement that everyone on the street stopped to watch.

“As you just saw, we have a runner.”

Sloan moved to the middle of the street, making her way as subtly as possible. She found no obstacles there, and she willed that no one would turn around to look at her.

“We have a young woman, in her mid- to late twenties.”

She picked up her speed by a half step.

“Brown braided hair, deep skin.”

She could see the dancing tips of the water coming from the fountain.

Not yet.

“Wearing a brown coat and dark jeans.”

She casually removed her coat and wound it around the strap of her bag, tying the sleeves so it would not fall. She rolled up the sleeves of her ocher button-down.

Hold on.

“Approximately 5’7”.”

She took the hair tie from her wrist and put her braids into a thick bun at the nape of her neck.

So close.

“Hey, is that her?” A vendor whispered behind her.

She was maybe fifty yards from the edge of the town square. She moved her bag to rest on the back of her hip and tightened the strap for a snug fit.

Save your energy as long as you can.

She stretched the sides of her neck calmly. Her feet were screaming at her to run.

Not yet...

“That’s her!”

Her steps were becoming unconsciously higher and higher, her stride wider and wider. She fixed her gaze on the ever-approaching fountain.

You can’t look back. They always look back. They always get caught-

“HEY YOU, STOP RIGHT THERE!”

She ran.