The Method
Twenty eight days in.
Andrew sat at the back of the tour bus. Alicia had done her best to get him to sit with the rest of them, but he was here to work, not arse about with three kids fresh from college.
“Come on Andrew,” called Miller. “What animal would you be, if you could choose?”
Fucking Miller. Prick of an understudy. Anytime Andrew so much as coughed, Miller was there, the picture of solicitude, all the while desperate to jump into dead man’s boots. As if he had the skill to do what Andrew did night after night.
“Your time would be better spent learning your lines, Miller,” he sneered. “Oh, that’s right - you haven’t got any.”
Miller flushed.
“He’s just trying to be friendly, Andrew. No need to be a prick.”
“I’ve got better things to do than play games, Leo.”
Leo shrugged. “Suit yourself. Ok let’s play I spy. I’ll start…”
The next venue was in some dreary nameless town the same as the fifteen other nameless towns they’d played that month. Andrew had insisted on his own dressing room and no one had argued.
His was undoubtedly the most challenging role in the production. He needed to inhabit the personality of Isaac, the condemned man, drench himself in the fear the man would have felt as he approached his bloody end.
A tap at the door. Sodding Alicia.
“What?”
“We’re having beers in Leo’s room if you want to come?”
“Unlike you, I take my work seriously. I need this time to prepare. So please can you fuck off?”
Alicia hurried away as if he’d struck her.
Then a voice from the doorway made Andrew start.
“No wonder you’re still doing shitty tours with graduates like us when you’re pushing what? Fifty? I can see why no-one else wants to work with you.”
“Go and drink your beer Leo. Nothing is likely to improve your performance tonight anyway.”
As the show reached that night’s climax, Andrew prepared to relive Isaac’s final moments for the sixteenth time.
This was his moment.
Even his two fellow actors seemed to be taking their own parts more seriously tonight. The stage seemed to crackle with tension. The scene finally felt alive.
The last thing Andrew saw was Leo’s dark eyes staring at him with intent as he hefted the rubber blade and walked towards him. Strange, how, tonight, the rubber seemed almost to glint in the stage lights…
Andrew felt a sudden, cold sting against his neck, caught the trace of a bloody rope arcing through the air.
The lights cut.
End scene.
“We were blown away by the show tonight,” called the journalist. “Isaac’s death was so very real - we’ve not had word of that from any other venues on the tour. Can you give us a hint of how you managed it? We were almost relieved when all three of you appeared for the curtain call!”
Miller stepped forwards, reaching to his knees to wipe his red-stained hands on the trousers of Isaac’s costume. It was just a little too big for him, but nobody seemed to notice.
He smiled winningly for the camer.
“Ahh you know that if we told you how we did that, we’d have to kill you!”