The Hanging Hill

71

All around him, actors were acting, singing, and laughing but Reginald Grimes wasn’t paying any attention.

It was nearly noon and he was thinking about his grandfather: Professor Nicholas Nicodemus. A brilliant man who had failed so miserably.

Hakeem had told him the story: how the great one had blundered when he’d attempted to throw open the doors to the underworld and had completed only half of the resurrection ritual before being hauled away by the authorities to live out the rest of his days in an insane asylum!

“From the top again?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you like us to take it from the top again?” the composer asked from the piano bench.

“Yes. Again! From the top.”

He’d work the cast hard today. Wear them out. Exhaust them with vocal gymnastics and grueling dance routines. He’d run this rehearsal like an aerobics class in a sauna! He’d tell Hakeem to turn off the air-conditioning, let the room fill with the unrelenting humidity of August’s dog days. After six more hours of strenuous exercise, every bone-weary member of this cast and crew would be too exhausted to venture back to the theater tonight and interfere.

Meghan and Derek he would dismiss early, as there was no pressing need to fatigue or drain them. Besides, the boy needed time to work on his new lines.

It was Monday.

That meant the theater would be dark. There would be no performances of Bats in Her Belfry. No audience. No uninvited interlopers.

In just over seven hours, Reginald Grimes would succeed where his forefather had ultimately failed!

The music stopped. The singing ceased.

“Lunch break!” said the stage manager.

“What?” said Grimes, sounding half-asleep.

“Lunch break, sir. You said you wanted to take an hour break at noon?”

“I suppose I did. Meghan? Derek? You two are done for the day. Go work on your lines.”

“Yes, sir!” said Derek.

“I will see you again at seven,” said Grimes. “The rest of you, be back at one. We will begin to choreograph the dance numbers. Be sure to wear your gym clothes. I want to see you sweat!”

“That’s one hour for lunch!” said the stage manager.

The cast and crew shuffled out of the rehearsal room.

“Hakeem?”

“Yes, Exalted One?”

“Turn off the AC!”