The Magician's Assistant

The audience increased their applause, as if we might have some encore in store for them, but the two of us simply stood, smiled, and waved until the last of the spectators had finally departed.

The instant the auditorium was clear, Christine jumped off the stage and grabbed the gun.

I walked over to Gino's clothes and poked his trousers with my toe, examining what looked to be ashes spilling from the cuffs. "Where'd he go?"

Christine flipped her nimble body again onto the stage. "Hell. I hope."

I kicked the magician's crumpled black coat across the wood. "He's really dead?"

"Yeah. He's dead."

"How do you know?"

"You're back where you belong, aren't you?"

Still unwilling to believe it was true, I looked down again. "Yeah," I said with a smile. "I am." My eyes lost another tear as I looked back to Christine.

A droplet ran down her face as well, but it ran toward lips pushed into a purse rather than a grin. With a swallow, she looked away.

"What about you?" I asked. "Are you really Christine?"

The blonde shook her head. "My real name is Shirley." She closed her eyes, squeezing out a single droplet. "Shirley Hayes." She opened her eyes and brought them back to my face. "God, I can finally say my name."

Guilt overcame my glee and I shared her tears. "Why didn't you go back too?"

"It's too late," she said. "That necklace has done its job." She paused to swallow. This time, she neither blinked, nor wept. Her lips formed a hard line. "I'll never really be Shirley again."

She reached down and picked up a knife. "But I can free her. I'm going to kill the bastard that bought her. At least then my family will have their daughter back, even if it isn't me."

With my lips as firm as my resolve, I stooped and grasped a blade of my own. "I'm with you."

Shirley shook her head. "No. After I'm done there I'm going to find the rest of these monsters. Gino wasn't the only one, you know. Eventually, I'll fail, or the cops will nab me, but that's my life now. You have your life back. Go live it."

I spread my left hand. My eyes fell to my empty ring finger.

"Don't worry," she said. "I gave Thomas his ring back first; just in case I couldn't kill Gino."

Teeth clamped together, I passed several breaths through my nose. "Thomas deserves a bit more than his ring back."

Shirley nodded. "He'll get it. But not today. And not from you. Go home. Your family's waiting. I believe there's a boy waiting too."

Within my chest, my heart bounced, mimicking the motion of my eyebrows. "A boy?"

"Kinda skinny. Rusty hair. Freckles. Glasses. Bit of an over-bite."

"Ricky?"

Shirley nodded. "Yes. He seems really nice. You're so lucky."

I looked away, across the empty seats of the auditorium, in what I imagined was the direction of New Jersey. "Is he mad at me?"

"I don't think so. Just confused."

"What about Dad?"

"Oh Yeah. He's plenty mad, but only because he loves you."

"Wouldn't blame him for hating me," I said, turning back to Shirley, "what with me fucking a man my grandpa's age."

Her head fell to one side. "Fucking? I didn't fuck anyone."

Without a second thought, I thrust my hand downward, beneath the hem of my skirt and into my panties. I teased my entry with the tip of my finger before easing the end of the same digit inside, seeking and finding a delicate layer of flesh.

"Oh," I said as an elongated gasp. "Thank you."

Shirley smiled. "But I didn't do anything."

"Exactly! Gino lied."

Shirley grinned. "Imagine that. What about?"

"He came home one night with the taste of a woman on him. Said it was me." I pointed to myself. "This me," I continued turning my finger to her, "not that me."

She moved her shoulders in a single exaggerated shrug. "Probably some hooker."

My jaw fell. I gasped. "I know who."

"Who?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."

Shirley smiled. "If you say so, but speaking of hookers, I'm afraid your mouth isn't quite as virginal as the rest of you."

"What?"

"I had to get the gun. The owner of the sporting good store in Mendham is right fond of you."

To my own surprise, I giggled.

Shirley's brow dropped. Her head fell to one side. "What's funny?"

My giggle became a grin. "There's a hardware store clerk in Brooklyn that likes you too, but all I got for my whoring was a clamp and a candy bar."

We shared a bigger laugh, then she looked to my skirt and nodded. "Check your pocket."

I stuck my hand in and fished out a handful of bills. "What's this?"

"Ok," she said. "I blew more than one guy over the last few days. Sorry, but I had to, didn't know how much money I'd need."

"Last few days?" I muttered.

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I don't know why, but my necklace just fell off. At first, I thought it meant the magic was done, but then I realized I could still remember. Soon enough, I discovered I was free."

I smiled. "Thursday just before noon?"

"What?"

"Did the necklace fall off Thursday, just before noon?"

"How'd you know?"

"That's when I got mine off."

Her eyes dropped to my throat. "But...?"

My fingers leapt to the band still encircling my neck. "Oh," I began, "this is a fake. I broke the real one."

"You broke it?"

"Yeah. Sort of, anyway. If you break the diamonds, it breaks the magic. You don't have to take it off."

Shirley looked into the distance and nodded. "Of course. So simple." She snapped her eyes back to the money in my hand. "That should be enough to get you home. Take the subway into Manhattan and call your dad from there. Tell him you gave Thomas his ring back and you just want to come home."

We just stood for a couple seconds.

"That's it," I said, bringing my eyes back to Shirley's face. "Goodbye?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The less we're seen together, the better."

We exchanged one long hug. Then I just turned and walked away.

* * *

I never saw Shirley again. The week before Christmas, I received a box via special delivery. At once, I recognized the address of origin, a Brooklyn apartment that had once been my prison. Inside the carton, I found stacks of hundred-dollar bills beneath a handwritten note.

Merry Christmas Megan,

From Gino's books I've learned more about him than I ever wanted to know. Magic is the ultimate power, and the ultimate corrupter. Fortunately he trusted magic more than banks. You'll find enclosed a little over twenty thousand dollars. That's what Thomas paid for you. Seems fitting you should have it. I know it's no fortune, but it should buy you a nice little house somewhere. Enjoy your life. For both of us.

Farewell,

Shirley

P.S. Burn this letter. And the box.

On the first Sunday of January, while I was in church a hundred miles away, Shirley killed Thomas Collard. At least, I assumed she did; the newspapers reported his 'grisly murder' the next day. Afterwards, I never had the slightest hint of what became of her.

By Groundhog Day, I grew tired of waiting for Ricky to make the first move, so I asked him out. We were engaged by mid-spring and my father gave me away on the last day of June.

Though I already carry Ricky's child, I wonder if I will ever be the wife he deserves. I love him dearly and still enjoy the physical aspects of sex, but too often when he arouses me in an intimate way I think of the magician and weep. I tell my husband they are tears of joy, but I have my doubts that he believes my word.

Even so, my memories of Gino are not my foremost concern; I beat the magician in life and, given time, I will also defeat him in death. Already there are days when he does not cross my mind. There is another specter, however, that visits me every night, one that causes me to wake in a cold sweat screaming a pair of words. I tell Ricky it is my father I dream of and, considering the two words I cry upon waking, I am not surprised my husband accepts this story.

But, of course, it a face other than my father's I see in my sleep. This other haunting visage draws me on a chilly autumn afternoon to a Yonkers cemetery and the grave of Mary Alice Simmons. My eyes are wet before I've finished reading her name. The date on her tombstone is wrong, but I'm not surprised. I'm the only one left alive that knows when she died, and how.

I sit with her for longer than I knew her; crying, mourning, remembering, reading her name time and again, trying to think of something to say. Only two words come to mind.

Sniffing back tears, I use my garden trowel to dig a small hole in front of her headstone. Into the earthen cavity I drop my tears, a few flower seeds, and a necklace; the last of these a once-magical band that was instrumental in the taking of her life, and the saving of mine.

"I'm sorry," I mumble over and over as I fill the tiny hole, praying with each breath that she will forgive me, and that I will forget enough of her to keep some of my sanity. I've had enough prayers answered to believe these will be too, though I have little hope it will be anytime soon.

With a final sniffle, I rise and walk away, back to what is left of my life, still unsure which of us is truly the magician's last victim.

THE END

L'Assistente Del Mago

Copyright 2005 by Penelope Street

Posted with permission at Literotica.com

All other rights reserved.

Special thanks to Sarah and Rob for their editing assistance.

In an effort to add flavor to the tale, I used a simple online translator to produce the non-English phrases. Kindly forgive me if the translations are less than ideal.

This is a work of fiction. To the best of the author's knowledge, none of the events depicted ever occurred. All characters are the author's creation. Their views, opinions, and experiences are invented as well and are not meant to promote anyone's personal beliefs or agenda.