Wheel of Fantasy

Luke signals for Arthur to rise off the bed.

Arthur obliges. The certificate in one hand and the key ring firmly grasped in the other.

The applause has changed to a dull roar and it is slowly subsiding. Simultaneously the current combination of lights is dimming.

A solitary spotlight now graces Arthur and Luke who are standing together.

They are now only surrounded by silence and darkness.

Luke: "Arthur Baynebridge are you ready to go on?"

Arthur responds timidly. More perspiration oozes from the pores on his forehead.

Arthur: "Yes Luke, lets go..."

Act Eleven - Round Three

Arthur's next nomination was no surprise

Arthur: "Alyandra..."

It was obvious! The menacing audience didn't even react. There was no need to complete the surname.

Arthur was surprised by the unexpected reaction.

Luke twists sharply toward the audience and avidly announces.

Luke: "Alyandra Popov."

Luke glares into the intimidating darkness as an expectant buzz begins to grow.

Luke: Accentuates his description with slow deliberate tilted nodding. "The raven haired Balkan beauty who captured your youthful fancy."

Arthur senses a strange emotion building inside. The earlier mysterious exuberance was deficient in this round.

Luke: Turning to focus solely on his guest's attention. "The woman who told you that she longed to build a hereditary realm with you."

An awry hum now fills the arena.

Luke: "The same woman who devastated you when she agonised over leaving you... citing infertility as her reason..."

Arthur now felt rage surging through his veins.

Luke: "The woman who is now..." Another theatrical pause... "...secretly bearing Steven Anderson's first son."

Dead quiet!

Luke turns back to face the audience as shock flushes through Arthur's entire being. Surely this was a devious deception. Stark realisation swells inside Arthur.

Luke faces Arthur once again.

Arthur looks back at Luke in disbelief.

Luke smiles revealing the slightest glimpse of perfect white teeth.

Arthur feels cornered. He knows what's coming.

Luke: "Ok Arthur, for your third and final spin of the Wheel of Fantasy..." This pause is drawn out to the limit of patience. "...please provide Alyandra Popov's opportunity for deliverance."

Arthur feels turmoil building within. The knot is tightening. It was one thing to betray Jack and Steve. But Alyandra. Arthur searches desperately from side to side.

A way out!!!

Any way out.

Suddenly Arthur becomes super sensitive to the dazzling lights. They're burning. They sting the exposed skin on his face and hands like the harsh desert sun.

He looks down at his hands. They're becoming sun burnt red.

Luke: "Arthur... We need your answer?"

Arthur looks up at Luke. He ravages his memory for the answer.

Luke: Again. "Arthur?"

In his increasingly desperate state Arthur grips himself and stammers. He struggles for breath.

Arthur: "It was... it was... a... a baby... but."

Luke interrupts.

Luke: "Is that your answer Arthur?"

Arthur shakes his head vehemently in the negative.

Arthur: "NO!"

Luke is taken aback. He tilts his head dangerously sideways and his angry eyes widen, silently demanding Arthur's instant answer.

The revelation shuddered through Arthur. Now the burning realisation was absolutely clear. He wasn't just playing his nominees. He was playing Luke. He had to sacrifice Alyandra...

Arthur: Whispering defiantly through gritted teeth. "Control!"

Luke: "Is that your answer Arthur?"

Arthur: Bowing his head he nervously continues to anguish. "No... I mean... that's not all."

The edge of Luke's mouth curls downward. He squints his eyes and the lights reflect a fiendish flicker.

Arthur: With his hand against his forehead he quietly concedes. "Supreme control."

Arthur gradually looks up at Luke waiting for ultimate judgement.

Luke glares back and the intensifying chant begins again.

Audience: "Luke... Luke... Luke... Luke... Luke..."

Luke turns toward the lights and steps forward. He raises his hands and humbles his audience's adulation.

The chant's intensity subsides.

Luke: "Arthur Baynebridge it's time to take your final spin..." He steps aside. "on the Wheel of Fantasy."

Out of the darkness the daunting mechanism re- imposes itself into the beam of a gradually illuminating spotlight.

The audience reaction erupts into a high-pitched spine-tingling frenzy.

The spotlight beam is intensely hot. It makes Arthur turn sideways.

The imposing cylinder stares down defiantly at the challenger.

Arthur finds himself alone with only his thoughts echoing inside him.

The wheel turns slightly betraying its position with two tell tale clicks.

Arthur looks up. He scans the labyrinth of symbols for a focus point. He understands now that his choice is crucial.

Arthur carefully focuses on the perimeter of the wheel. He is careful to avoid the dark segment that now rests at the one o'clock position.

The harder Arthur tries to focus the less he absorbs.

He starts at three o'clock and scans in a clockwise direction. All the images are a blur.

He reaches the six o'clock position and still he can't discern any symbols or words. The heat of the lights now seems to infiltrate his skin.

Arthur moves closer to grasp the wheel with his left hand. His right hand still firmly clasps the glittering jewel of the first round.

His sight lines up to the nine o'clock position.

Nothing registers.

At the twelve o'clock position Arthur feels an uneasy compulsion to continue his scan downwards.

A magnetic resonance emanates from the darkened segment.

Arthur struggles hard to resist his cyclic scan towards the alluring number 66.

He attempts to look over to Luke but its no use. His gaze is moving to half past twelve.

Arthur grips the wheel with his free hand.

The audience draws a deep collective bated breath.

Arthur pushes the wheel up two clicks searching for a safe benchmark but still all the markings are just hazy swirls.

Arthur's sight strays dangerously close to the portentous segment. The naked woman etching comes briefly into focus.

Ominously the dark segment is crisp and unmistakeable. Arthur passes it quickly noticing that the next segment is still in focus.

The symbols are familiar. A staff wrapped in a spiralling serpent.

As he moves his view further the segment markings blur out of focus.

He is being reluctantly drawn back toward the dark segment.

Arthur desperately holds his sight at the strangely familiar staff. He resists moving into the compulsive black segment that is only a soft breath away from his face.

The white-hot lights begin to break down his resistance.

As his vision crosses over, in desperation, Arthur pulls violently down on the heavy decorated flywheel.

The drone of the wheel fills the dark arena.

His fate is now set.

Only Arthur and Luke stand illuminated by the lights. Both are hypnotised by the dark portion that signifies the rate of the mechanism's gyration.

Their heads roll fluidly with the position of the dark portion.

The clicks become distinguishable as the segment gradually draws to its resting position.

Number 66 enters its last circuit.

It moves downward through three o'clock.

The clicks become countable as it the segment begins its climb through six o'clock.

The cyclic motion is agonising as it draws up through nine o'clock.

Tension hangs heavily through the dark surrounds of the arena.

The ratchet begins to dampen the rotation.

Click... Click... Click reverberates in the otherwise silent arena.

Each click is incrementally further away in time from the previous.

The markings on each segment are now abundantly clear.

The dark segment climbs past ten o'clock.

At eleven o'clock there is a considerable gap between ratchet clicks.

An agonising click proclaims the segment with the familiar staff and serpent symbol's entrance into the ratchet.

The audience rises silently.

A second click declares life in the rotation of the wheel.

The ratchet lets out and eerie creak as the arm begins to rise to announce the arrival of the next segment.

A collective sight fills the arena.

Then the wheel rests with the ratchet arm delicately poised on the pin that marks the division of the two segments.

On one side of the dividing pin, mystery.

Doom on the other.

Finally a smile creeps onto Arthur's heat flushed face.

Luke's expression reveals a disturbing preoccupation.

Arthur senses danger, he focuses on Luke's gaze.

Through a devious stare Luke directs all his energy onto the wheel. It begins to vibrate.

Arthur realises that quick action is needed so he pulls the bull emblem key ring from his shirt pocket.

The humming wheel begins to waver incrementally.

Arthur drops the key-ring and Luke is momentarily distracted.

The wheel wavers back to the previous segment.

Arthur hunches himself to seize the moment. His back is facing the wheel.

As Luke realises that his concentration has been broken Arthur focuses all his willpower.

Then an unusual ridiculous clunk echoes into the arena.

Arthur and Luke look upwards toward the ratchet.

Euphoria radiates from the shadowy perimeter of the arena.

The ratchet is gently bouncing between the last two pins in the segment with the strange symbols.

The raucous celebration continues. Then a new intensifying chant starts to override the cheers, applause and wild whistling.

Audience: "Art... Art... Art... Art... Art... Art... Art..."

Luke stands back to let Arthur bask in his victory.

As Arthur stands defiantly in front of the imposing wheel he feels a tranquil notion inside him. Finally he has gained the control he craves.

This moment was as good as any he had ever experienced.

Arthur raises his free hand and the noise subsides slowly. He opens his other hand and now feels justified in holding this glittering fiery jewel. He now can claim a final victory.

Luke steps back into the limelight as silence returns to the arena.

Luke: "Well, well, well."

Shaking his head in disbelief Arthur sends a triumphant smile into the awestruck audience.

Luke: "Arthur Baynebridge..." Luke pauses and turns to the audience. "That's amazing... well done!"

Arthur waits expectantly for the description of his third prize.

Luke: "Arthur..." Again the deliberate hesitation designed for maximum impact. "...your third prize is something else."

The suspense is stifling. Arthur expected the victory to bring some relief. But the energy in the air seems to gain intensity.

Arthur wipes the perspiration from his brow.

Luke: "Arthur Baynebridge I'd like to introduce you to Doctor James Edmington from The Harvard School of Medical Excellence." Luke continues his exceptional introduction. "Doctor Edmington heads the most successful of surgical fertility team in the world..."

Arthur draws and holds on to a deep breath.

Luke: "Yes, that's right Arthur... With the help of Doctor Edmington and his illustrious team of specialists... your dream of creating your own domineering bloodline for generations to come... is still a imminently plausible."

A huge roar erupts from the audience. The silhouette of the grand mechanical wheel steals into the shadowy background.

All of a sudden a flickering projector beam lights a large screen hidden in the shadows behind Arthur.

Luke steps out of the limelight.

The oversized face of an elderly academic gentleman comes into focus on the screen.

The man at the image coughs nervously then begins to talk.

Doctor Edmington: "Welcome Arthur..."

Arthur is amazed at the live cross to such a distinguished figure.

Arthur: Nervously replies. "It's an honour to meet you Doctor Edmington."

Doctor Edmington: "Let me assure you Arthur the honour will be ours..." The distinguished medico turns away briefly to let out another short cough. He regains his composure. "My team is very keen and very confident that we can provide you with the assistance you need to procure your future."

Arthur: "I'm..." Arthur can't find appropriate words. "I must thank you sir."

Dr Edmington: "Arthur I look forward to seeing you here at the Harvard Medical Centre of Excellence in the very near future. Rest assured that though I've come out of retirement, no expense or effort will be spared to ensure you have the very best medical intellect and skill that is available on this planet."

As Arthur repeats his humble thanks, the image on the screen starts to fade. The last few frames show the distinguished academic waving gingerly.

As the projector audio fades out an unusually reserved round of applause fills the arena.

Luke steps back into Arthur's spotlight.

Luke: "Well Arthur there's only one thing left to do."

Arthur cautiously acknowledges Luke's statement.

Arthur: Whispers a question. "One more thing? I don't..."

Luke: "Yes Arthur..." Answering his query. "Its now time to decide whether you want to take your prizes and confirm your nominees... or..."

Arthur: "Or what?"

Luke: "Or do you choose to return to your former existence with no bond to the Wheel of Fantasy."

Arthur's eyes plead for more answers.

Arthur: "Bond?"

Luke: "Your nominations and prizes lapse..."

Arthur: "Oh!"

Arthur pauses pensively to contemplate this instruction.

Luke: "Arthur we'll be giving you some time to think about your final decision."

On those words two backlights gradually intensify. They illuminate two beautiful hand-carved wooden doors.

With the radiant heat still burning his exposed skin Arthur finally remembers what Luke said before entering the arena. The last chance in Wheel of Fantasy had finally come.

Act Twelve - Thinking Time

Arthur's decision wasn't really difficult.

Or was it?

Luke steps close to Arthur. Their chests almost touch.

Luke: "Arthur the two doors behind us represent your choices."

Arthur nods his acquiescence.

Luke: "One door is the gateway to realising your fantasies..." Luke keeps his focus solely on Arthur. "...the other is the safety of what you already know."

Arthur: "Ok."

Another backlight illuminates a bright clock face above and between the two doorways.

Luke: "Arthur..." Luke uses another pause. "You have one minute to decide which door you want to take."

The clock begins the longest minute in Arthur's life.

A pulsating ticking.

Tick... tick... tick...

Arthur looks over to Luke and feels more pressure building.

The burning lights radiate out a pounding rhythm.

Time was agonisingly slow.

There wasn't a decision.

A world of fantasy and all he had to do was offer three people who had betrayed and abandoned him.

They would also get the chance to get as far as he did.

The pyramid would just get bigger.

Arthur directly faced the two illuminated doors. They seemed to approach him.

His choice was obvious. He could feel the alluring attraction to the left hand door.

Still in his mind the three names reverberated.

Jack Cartwright...

Steven Anderson...

Alyandra...

Tick... tick... tick...

The second hand drew close to the bottom of the clock face.

Arthur turns to Luke who reciprocates with a devious unnerving smile.

As the second hand begins to climb that smile begged the question.

Arthur: "Who?"

Luke's smile becomes dangerous. He shakes his head.

Luke: Mouthing the words. "I can't divulge that..."

Tick... tick... tick...

Arthur needs relief from the searing heat.

He looks directly at the right hand door. Then back at Luke.

Unexpectedly apprehension clearly runs through Luke's eyes.

Arthur takes a deep breath.

The choice between heaven and hell.

Tick... tick... tick...

Arthur turns to face Luke. The second hand is three quarters through.

Now a wide beaming smile graces Arthur's expression.

Revelation at last!

Arthur now knew he held control.

Control that he had never known before.

The names of his three offerings echo inside his head.

Jack.

Steven.

Alyandra.

Tick... tick... tick...

Little did they know the Damoclesian sword he now held over them.

Arthur looks back at Luke with peaceful resignation in his eyes.

Luke is unnerved. His eyebrows rise anxiously.

The clock reaches the end point of its agonising circuit.

Tick... tick... tick...

Luke steps forward into the light. This time his normal composed confidence seems shaken.

Luke: "Arth... Arthur... have you made your decision?"

Arthur smiles sympathetically at Luke.

Arthur: "Yes Luke."

Luke steps aside for Arthur to make his selection. The audience draws a deep breath for the last time.

Arthur moves closer to the tall elegant doors. He stops and turns toward Luke.

Arthur: "It was vengeance, wasn't it?"

In an unnatural reaction Luke concedes by bowing his head and nodding slowly.

Arthur: "I'm sorry Luke." Arthur reaches out and touches his shoulder. "This time you won't win."

Arthur turns back toward the doors and draws a deep peaceful breath. The heat of the arena drives his desire to get out.

Luke raises his head and signals his dismay with a slow deliberate shake.

Luke: Whispers quietly to himself. "What waste."

Arthur looks hard at the left hand door. It is the door that would unleash a life of unknown unimaginable pleasure.

To his right is the tranquillity of what he knew and what he now knows

He takes the ultimate step to his right and opens the door.

A cool draft greets him.

Arthur looks inside but he can't see anything.

It was the right choice.

The tranquillity is overwhelming.

He enters the doorway and is pleasantly surprised by the cool darkness that engulfs him.

Once inside he turns to look back through the door. He sees a forlorn Luke joined by Carmela and Alexia at his side.

The door gradually closes behind him.

As darkness closes in Arthur thoughtfully smiles at Luke.

Through the narrowing remaining slither of light Luke accepts Arthur's gesture.

Luke returns it with another devastating smile.

This one worthy of a respected opponent.

Blackness...

Act Thirteen - Ashes to Ashes

Exterior clattering, crashing and loud stomping boot-steps momentarily break the peaceful tranquillity inside a black lightless room.

The crackle and static of a two-way radio set interrupts the peaceful blackness.

Radio Voice: "Hey Jonesy how far are you two? Over."

The tell tale wheeze from supplemented breathing equipment accompanies the reply.

Jonesy: "We're at the door of the apartment, over."

Radio Voice: "How's access? Over."

Another masked heavy wheezing voice enters the broadcast conversation.

Other Voice: "No problemo Jock. All footholds strong. Over."

Jonesy: Adding. "Never seen so much ash though. Over."

Other Voice: "It's as black as hell up here. Over."

Radio Voice: "Are you going to get in the apartment? Over."

Jonesy: "Yeah. Just give us a minute. We're going to have to break in. Over."

More clattering movement noises filter into the darkened room.

Then respite. A few seconds of complete silence.

Suddenly an almighty echoing boom pierces the blackness from outside.

A sharp perforating crack lets a tiny beam of light penetrate the darkness. Thick stirring dust particles do their best to kill the illumination.

Another deafening crash and daylight floods in through the jagged gaping hole now in the front door.

With two more violent blows little but stirred dust remains to obstruct the alien creatures that want to enter.

Heavy wheezing breaths accompany the invaders.

The first entrant climbs through the gaping hole. Once imbedded in the thick floating dark grey particles he coughs and gasps.

Jonesy: "Shit! There's so much..." He coughs and splutters again. "...fucking ash floating around in here Charlie."