Chapter Five

Billy Winter’s face was death-wax white and his heart was beating like an out of control metronome. He was terrified when he stumbled back onto the stage. His appearance took Mickey by surprise, but Angela took it in her stride.

“So you changed you mind,” she said, with a told-you-so glance at Mickey, who was glad he hadn’t made the bet. He thought that somehow he would have lost more than the money in his pocket.

“Yeah... I got lost.” The fear had lent a tremor to his voice.

“How could you?” said Mickey in disbelief, “The stage door is just at the end of the passage.”

“I don’t bloody know.” Billy’s pitch was close to hysteria. “I took a bloody wrong turn that’s all.”

“Of course you did.” The soothing voice of a kindergarten teacher came from those diabolically sensuous lips. “But you’ve come back and it is almost time for the auditions so why not stay? Mr Thornton will be back at any minute now I’m sure, then we get started - and the sooner we get started the sooner it will be all over and we can move on to doing other things.”

Mickey caught a look of encouragement; Billy saw lust and a promise of vile pleasures.

“Sounds good to me,” enthused Mickey.

“Maybe,” muttered Billy, as he recovered a little from his attack of terror.

The conversation was interrupted then by the entrance of another woman. She brought a gasp from both the men. She was an eternal beauty, and yet everything Angela was not. She was tall, elegant, slim, and small busted. Her skin was pale as fresh milk... carved ivory... reflected moon. Her hair was red, deep auburn, the colour of chestnuts and fire. The eyes were sultry, and denied the coolness of her demeanour. They were also the same colour as her hair which was pulled back into a bun, neat, and efficiently held in place with ebony combs.

Mickey saw her Greek goddess features, blended into lineless perfection. Her suit, almost mannish, emphasised her femininity. Mickey wished she was wearing nothing but a man’s white shirt.

Billy wished she was wearing nothing at all, his mind seeing little but the imagined burning bush at her thighs.

When she spoke it was with softness, a whispered breeze, a lick of candle light. But it carried authority. She cast a quick, intelligent eye over the two gaping men.

“Thornton?” she asked.

‘Who needs him,’ thought Mickey. ‘There are two of them and two of us.”

The woman looked at him. The eyes x-rayed through him. “We need him,” she said. “Where is he?”

“He just stepped outside,” said Angela with a knowing smile, which the other woman acknowledged with amusement.

“You don’t have to protect old big-head,” cut in Billy eagerly. “He’s gone. He won’t be back. He don’t do auditions.”

Then Thornton almost ran onto the stage. Mickey stared aghast. His clothes were covered in grime, his face and his hand covered in filth. His eyes were wild and a line of froth covered his lower lip. He looked as if he’d just been to Hell and back. Mickey took his eyes off the actor and looked at Angela. His look was an appeal for help for the distraught actor. But there was no pity from the blonde. She froze Mickey with her merciless look

“I thought he’d change his mind,” said Angela.

Thornton fell to the boards, grovelling. “Help me.” It was the appeal of a man hanging on a cliff edge with one hand.

The women exchanged glances and closed in on Thornton. He shrank back, a foetal ball. A vein in his temple throbbed in time to an unheard jungle drum and his trousers were suddenly wet. He had experienced terror no-one could contemplate.

“Welcome back, Mr Thornton.” Diana’s tone was level, toneless. “I do hope you’ll stay.”

“Please,” frothed Thornton, “Help me. Let me go from here.”

“For God’s sake...” Pity wrung the words from Mickey’s mouth.

Snarls transformed the female faces. “No God can help him”, snapped Angela.

“No.” Diana’s voice was urgent. “He must help himself.”

“He’s bloody well scared out of his wits,” protested Mickey.

Thornton’s panic ridden eyes, unfocused, tried to find the voice of comfort, but a look filled with venom from Angela cast a pall of ice over Mickey. He shrugged. It was Thornton’s problem. The women made him well aware of that. He watched then with interest as the women closed in on the actor, but an undercurrent of apprehension sat under his belt. When would his turn come?

“So, Mr Thornton,” said Diana, conversationally. “What was it you wanted your God to help you with?”

Thornton, slowly unfurled his body. With a supreme effort he controlled the tremors that rocked his body.

“Was it something we said?” Angela’s voice was reproachful.

Slowly Thornton stretched into a sitting position and his breathing slowed. He felt the wet patch in his trousers, cold and clammy on his leg and was embarrassed. Then he remembered what he had experienced. He felt the throb of unbearable pain ebb and flow through his anus. He breathed deeply.

“What are you?” he whispered, “his handmaidens?”

Angela’s face clouded with a puzzled look that fooled Mickey and Billy, but not Thornton. “We are no-one’s handmaidens,” she said. “You should know that.”

Thornton did - instantly - and as he looked into her eyes he saw something else they mocked him as if they’d just played the supreme prank and he’d fallen for it.

“Mirrors,” he muttered.

“I wonder,” said Diana.

Angela leaned over. “Help yourself Mr Thornton,” she said. “You usually do whatever the circumstances.”

Thornton’s feeling then began to change. His sagging face showed his lack of understanding of the metamorphosis. He remembered, and yet he didn’t. The horror hovered but he had no true recollection. It flitted like refracted light, a rainbow of memories just missing. The terror that had gripped his soul was fading as was his memory of the cause of that terror.

“You always help yourself.”

Thornton then gathered his shattered wits and struggled to his feet. “If I must, I must,” he said, pomposity returning.

Mickey stared. With the return of the actor’s strength came a return to reality. Thornton stood, immaculate again, creased and dirty clothes were sharp and dry. He was poised and in control. Then Mickey was stunned at the transmogrification even before he heard Thornton’s voice. The actor’s power had returned. It was as if the scene just enacted had never been. Thornton stared down his nose at Angela and pretended Diana didn’t exist.

“Would someone kindly escort to the door of these confounded catacombs.”

Diana’s face lit up with beatific smile. She stretched out her arm and moved towards him.

“Belvedere Thornton,” the softness in her voice held a cache of awe. “I have been waiting a long, long time to meet you. Never have I wanted to direct anyone as badly as I want to direct you.”

Thornton drew back. He looked down on her and only his mouth spoke. “I allow no-one to direct me badly,” he said.

Mickey shook his head in bewilderment. The change was abnormal. But then, he had lost touch with what was normal and what wasn’t. The tension dissolved and Mickey laughed. “God he’s a gag a minute isn’t he? I wish there were more like him around the traps. I’d never have to worry about a gig.”

Thornton glared at him, but he felt no fear from the little comic, who looked in directly in the eye, giggling.

Diana lowered her ignored arm but maintained her smile. “You misunderstand me,” she said evenly.

“I misunderstand no-one, ever.” Thornton was thundering in great actor mode again. He paused for effect. “Some people,” he continued, “are vague, some are inarticulate. You seem to fit both categories.”

Diana’s smile grew wider. “My, we are touchy today aren’t we?”

Thornton raised a craggy, still-black eyebrow. “Touchy!” The voice then dropped to a menacing, controlled fury. Thornton enjoyed using his stage trickery in everyday conversation.

He continued: “I am asked to come to a theatre, and it turns out to be this decrepit flea pit. I meet these two miserable morons and when I try to leave I discover that someone has removed all the exits signs. I am not touchy madam, I am FURIOUS!” The final word rang in the rafters.

There was silence. Mickey’s bewilderment completely dissipated and he became amused at the great actors’ reluctant admittance that he had lost his way in the darkness. Billy was dumbstruck by the performance. He’d never seen anything so... big. Over the top, to Billy, would have been an understatement. Angela looked on eyes wide, eager with anticipation.

The silence was broken by Diana. In a voice dripping with more menace than Thornton could gather in months of rehearsal she said: “Then you must contain your fury. Emotions have no place in my auditions.”

“Auditions,” Thornton thundered. He paused and stared at Mickey and Billy. “This is the most grossly miscast production in the history of the theatre, and I don’t do auditions”

“Mr. Thornton,” Diana said. Menace hovered like a soaring hawk. “I have directed the greatest plays, many of the greatest stars and my casting is always perfect.” She cast an approving eye over Mickey and Billy. “And I do not make mistakes.”

Thornton felt his heart flutter. A peculiar sense of fear was seeping in, but he held his ground. “You mean it. You actually expect me to work with these ...” His mind could not focus on an utterance debased enough to express his feelings about his fellow auditionees.

Diana moved closer to Thornton. The big man felt power, an unearthly power, and an almost overwhelming power. He began to sweat. “Mr Thornton,” she said softly. “For years I have waited for the right vehicle for you and now I have it. I don’t call anyone for audition unless they are right for me.”

Thornton was mesmerised by the auburn glitter of Diana’s eyes.

Angela crossed to him and stood close. Again there was the power and Thornton could feel the life being drained from his body.

“What do you want from me?” It was a plea for mercy.

Angela spoke. “Performance Mr Thornton. That’s what we want, performance from the best in their field; superb performance, performance that will have an opening night audience leaping to their feet and the critics searching through the thesaurus for new words of praise.”

“It’ll have to be something bloody good to get that reaction,” said a sceptical Mickey.

Diana fixed her uncomfortable gaze on the comic and he dropped his eyes immediately.

“It is indeed that bloody good,” said the red-head. “It has high drama, comedy, tragedy, and music and it comes from the pen of a writer with an impeccable pedigree.” She paused. There was silence, a silence that screamed with suspense. Mickey couldn’t stand it.

“Well?” he burst out. “What is it?”

“It is,” said Diana, “a new play by William Shakespeare.”

“He’s dead,” said Billy. “How can he write a new play?”

“It’s a newly discovered play,” added Diana hastily.

Thornton lost his fear suddenly and he burst into laughter. “A newly discovered play by the bard?” he said. “What rubbish. You’ve brought all of us here under false pretences and I shall see you don’t get away with it. Fraud is a serious business.”

“It’s no fraud,” said Angela lightly. “Trust me.”

Billy snorted a laugh. “What are you, a doctor?”

Mickey greeted the joke with a snigger.

“It is as authentic as Hamlet or Caesar.” Diana‘s voice cut through the hilarity. “It is documented beyond doubt.”

Thornton recognised sincerity when he heard it. His curiosity was aroused. “Fully documented you say? Might I have a look at the script?”

“Not yet, Mr Thornton, our backer, Mr Joshua Lucy, has the script and it on his insistence that this little meeting has been arranged. As you might imagine, security is tight. We can’t allow a word of this project out until we are ready to go.”

“Hence this outlandish little place!” said Thornton. “Where is your Mr Lucy?”

“He prefers to stay in the background.”

“He stays in the background all right,” muttered Mickey. “I haven’t seen a soul apart from you two.”

“Oh, you’ll get to meet him,” smiled Angela. It was the hot smile. “He likes to see where his money goes.”

“He’s invested heavily?”

“Indeed he has Mr Thornton,” said Diana, with overly deep sincerity. “This production will never be short of funds.”

“Does this mean I get the chance to go ligit?” Mickey’s interest was strong.

“You’ll get the chance to use all your talents, Mr Finnegan.” Mickey enjoyed the way Angela said that. It was a sentence full of promise. You can teach an old dog new tricks then.

“I’ve always wanted to go ligit,” said Mickey, “do a straight play, act.”

“What, in that suit?” Billy laughed. “The only thing you can do is act the fool - and you don’t do that very well.”

“And what part will you play, you skinny bean pole?” Mickey retorted. “How will anybody hear you without an amplifier? With a voice like yours you wouldn’t even get to sing in the chorus.”

“Gentlemen, please.” There was gentle reproach in Diana’s voice. “There is a perfect role for each of you - each one a lead too. Now, I’d really like to get to know you all better.”

Thornton sighed impatiently. “Can’t we just get with this... audition? My time is valuable you know. I need to rest between performances; Othello is a very demanding role.”

“Othello is nothing compared to the complexity of your new role.”

It was uttered as a simple statement of fact, which Thornton took to heart. “I suppose the star must be accommodating,” he pronounced as he swaggered to the grey table and pulled out a chair.

He sat. Diana looked at him. She said nothing, but Thornton shot to his feet and moved to the row of ancient seats to the side.

“Just a minute,” Billy found voice. “How come the old Queen gets top billing? I’m a bigger draw than him. I can fill a football stadium with fans.”

Diana looked at him with cold detachment. “You’re so young,” she said.

Angela looked at him with longing. “And so talented,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” boasted Billy. “I’m the biggest star in the world.”

“Believe me,” said Diana, “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

Billy somehow couldn’t accept the words. There was something there, in the air. He couldn’t quite place it, tantalisingly it peeked from the back of his mind, giving teasing glimpses, but never fully revealing itself. Like memories of the last gig, fragmented, unreal. “Who are you?” was all he was able to say.

“Diana Verdilet,” she said, “production manager.”

“That’s a funny sort of name,” mused Mickey. “Are you from overseas?”

Diana smiled. “Citizens of the world, an international production team, I suppose you could call us. Wherever there’s a challenge we accept it. The harder the play, the harder we try.”

“Have script, will travel eh?”

“That just about sums us up.”

“I expect you’ve trod the boards as well,” added Mickey.

“No,” said Diana, “not exactly, but I have had the honour of acting as Master of Ceremonies for some very important occasions.”

Her eyes had what Billy Winter saw as a demonic gleam. He had a flash of déjà vu.

“Ceremonies, eh?” he said. “I can guess what sort. You’re going to have a Black Mass. I know about you lot. I’ve been to a few parties with your friends. They were wild nights all right, really wild nights.” He looked round at the bleakness of the stage and at the brightness of the lights. “You’re going to hold a black Mass!”

There was a silence that screamed until Billy broke it, giggling. “Where’s your altar?” he said. “What you going to sacrifice, a chicken, a pig, a baby?”

“Shut up!” Mickey’s voice, tinged with hysteria, rang out sharply.

“They’re going to try and raise the devil,” shouted Billy.

“Don’t talk stupid,” screamed Mickey.

“I’m not,” said Billy. “I know their sort. They’re going to do it.”

“Who in their right mind would want to do that?” asked Mickey.

“They would.” Billy pointed to a smiling Angela and Diana.

“Why?” asked Mickey, unconsciously crossing himself in a Catholic salute.

“Any number of reasons,” said Billy, “money, power - to force us to do what they want.” He paused. “They are going to do it.”

“Well they can do it without me,” said Mickey with conviction, “that stuff’s for crackpots and deviants. You’ll not get me at those things. I won’t even go to a fortune teller. You can keep your supernatural. Superstitious rubbish anyway.” There was less conviction in his last statement.

“Interesting.” Thornton’s modulated tones cut in. “Such ceremonies can be of use to advance a career. I’ve seen them work. Don’t write the idea off so quickly.”

“Did you sell your soul to the Devil then?” asked Billy. “Is that how you got to the top? You couldn’t have done it on talent.” He was still verging on hysteria.

The men were concentrating so hard to protect their individual egos that none of them saw the looks exchanged by Angela and Diana. They were looks of dark amusement and fathomless eyes gleamed with malicious laughter.

They had this trio of defeated misfits exactly where they wanted them. Soon they would perform in perfect harmony. Dance to the already orchestrated tune.

“Gentlemen,” it was Diana’s swamp-oily voice that stopped the bickering. “We are here simply to audition. Time is wasting. Can we please get down to business?”

The men stopped talking, chastened.

With those words she swayed in a graceful walk to the computer bank. She sat on the chair and pulled her legs under the table. She flexed her fingers and set to work on the keyboard, rapidly typing in a code. The computer blinked, and whirred. She studied it carefully and smiled, giving beckoning glance to Angela.

The blonde moved gracefully across to the terminal. She sat on the edge of the table. She crossed her legs and they were very visible. She watched as Diana clicked on a keyboard. She leaned in, showing more leg as rows of words appeared on the screen.

Billy and Mickey slowly moved to the other seats and sat, leaving space between them, waiting, no-one willing to be the first to break the silence.

Diana lost the slight frown that puckered her flawless brow and addressed herself to Mickey.

“Mickey Finnegan, the highest paid comedian in Australia; a master of timing and rarely a blue joke.”

“Not in public anyway.” said Mickey, preening at the praise.

“You’ve been the business a long time haven’t you?”

“Forty-five years.” Mickey was proud of his achievement, “and most of it at the top of the heap.”

Diana perused the screen then moved the mouse, which was coloured black on a red mouse pad. She clicked it and the printer began to warm up. There was a hum and a single page glided from the end. Diana stood and moved to the printer. She picked up the sheet and read it again, before looking directly at Mickey.

The comic threw a puzzled smile at his co-auditionees.

“You started out as a scene shifter with the Boy Scout Gang Show didn’t you?” said Diana.

There was a subdued snigger from Thornton and Mickey felt the embarrassment creep up from his collar. He didn’t know he could still blush.

“I won a TV talent quest,” said Mickey hotly. “That’s what got me started. Okay, I was in the scouts and I did work in a Gang show - one, that’s all, when I was 11. I got my break on TV. I earned my success.”

“It was a long time until you went back to television, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t stupid. I had a good act. A good act can last for years in the clubs and halls, but when I did go back to TV I went back as a star. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. It was my style see, it was new.”

“It’s bloody well old now,” said Billy, sniggering.

Mickey threw him an angry glance. “Not many made the transition from stage to TV. I’m proud of what I did.”

“And all thanks to the Gang Show?”

“What are you talking about?” The exasperated Mickey shot to his feet. “I keep telling you, I won the talent quest.”

Diana stared at Mickey and he felt her eyes pierce his brain. The blood drained from his face. “How did you know?” he gasped. His legs wobbled and he slumped back onto the chair. Only instinct stopped him from dropping the ukulele, which he was holding in a knuckle whitening grip.

Diana smiled the smile of a Snow Queen. “Research,” she said.

There was silence; until Thornton’s huge voice broke it. “Well, Madam,” he boomed. “Aren’t you going to let us all into his nasty little secret?”

“Shall I tell him, or shall you?”

Mickey avoided her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say.” He almost whispered. “But it’s not true.

“If it’s nasty, I’ll bet it is,” snapped Thornton. “Please do tell us.”

“Mickey’s young friend in the Gang Show also had a talent didn’t he Mickey? The comic glared silently. “He also became a comedian. And then one day, Mickey stole his whole act and took it to the TV station.”

“That’s a lie.” Nervous tears hovered behind Mickey’s eye.

Thornton enjoyed Mickey’s discomfort. “Sounds about right to me, you sleazy little man,” he boomed, “Gang Show indeed.”

“Were your beginnings any grander?” Thornton was caught in the blaze that was Angela’s eyes. He faltered, ego deflated.

“I climbed to my position at the top with dignity and sheer talent,” he muttered.

“Did you?” purred Angela.

“Yes I did,” said Thornton, peering, trying to achieve full focus on the girl. “Who are you anyway? You seem somehow familiar.”

“Probably an acolyte from one of your Black Masses,” said Billy. “You depraved old bastard.”

Thornton ignored the singer manfully. “Who are you?”

“My name is Angela Caduti.” she said, with a renewed air of innocence.

Thornton paused, thinking, reaching into his mind for the relevant information he sought. He sifted, sorted, and then located it. “Caduti. If my memory serves me correctly, Caduti, in the original Latin, means ‘falling’ does it not?”

Angela and Diana exchanged an amused glance. A wicked, knowing glance. Mickey shuddered. Pictures slid in to his mind, images of the Spanish Inquisition, a flaming torch, kindling, a woman screaming in pain. A dead witch. Maggots.

Angela spoke and thankfully cleared his brain. He was sweating cold sweat

“Almost, Mr Thornton,” it was the cat’s purr again. “The literal translation means fallen.”

“Fallen,” Thornton pondered then laughed out loud. “Angela Caduti. Fallen angel. Where on earth did you get name like that. No-one is called Fallen Angel.”

“No-one is called Belvedere Thornton either.” The comment came as a blast of Arctic breath from Diana.

“Except me,” countered Thornton.

“You started life as Harry Williams.”

“True.” Thornton appeared unfazed. “But I became an actor. I needed a stage name. I chose a rather splendid one too didn’t I? Belvedere Thornton.” He savoured the words. “It has quite a ring to it, you just admit.”

“So does Angela Caduti.”

Thornton eyed the blonde thoughtfully. “So you are an actress. Maybe we met in Hollywood? You must have been to Hollywood.”

Angela laughed it was throaty, marshy and dark. “Hollywood, yes,” she spoke like a faraway trumpet, muted brass, “and Rome, London, Paris, New York. Just about every place there is - and some that probably aren’t.”

Mickey and Billy caught the mystery of her words and exchanged a puzzled glance, but Thornton heard nothing. “Hollywood, it was. We must get together, talk over old times.” For a reason inexplicable to him, Thornton rammed his hand into his pocket and found a photograph. It was there, and so was the memory. “How did you come to choose such a poetic Latin name?”

Angela licked her lips and cast a flickering lizard glance at Diana, who shook her head imperceptibly. Angela slid back in her chair, a pout forming on her lips.

“Come on darlin’, tell us.” Billy called out.

Angela looked at her, pleading. A little girl smile. Please?

Diana smiled. “You have an audience,” she said. “How could I come between you and an audience?”

Eagerly Angela leapt to her feet and advanced on the three men. “When I was a baby I had white blonde hair and a fair skin, which is why my mother called me Angela. Later I developed a flair for acting - the cameras loved me.”

The picture of Angela formed in the minds of the men. She was beautiful, with a hint of mischief behind the baby blue eyes. There were men, men fighting to be close to the child. Paedophilia! Touching, being touched. The pre-pubescent child and the mother turning her back; the horror soared through the linked minds of the trio. But the horror was worse as they saw the face of the girl.

She laughed. Her eyes glazed with lust. A baby, a sprite, a demon sent to lure men? Impossible!

She grew taller, the hair kept baby blonde by the bottle. Her breasts grew. The girl was breathtakingly beautiful and there were still the men, different men, men who had not been driven to suicide or confession by their sins.

She played, teased, and pleaded with them, driving them to uncontrollable passions until they attacked her, raped her. Afterwards, passion spent, they stared in horror at the fragility of the girl and her tears. What they didn’t see were her eyes as they ravaged her. They were gleeful, masochistic, and indulging in every fantasy. Then she cried, the men screamed in remorse, but they couldn’t let go. The returned again and again, sinking deeper and deeper into a pit.

It was a silent horror movie.

One day the mother broke into the hotel room. The man was a famous actor, the naked girl was fifteen years-old and her head was being forced... down and she suddenly began to scream. Then there were the police, the trial, and the verdict. The actor jailed. The girl sobbed and was comforted. Then malevolence crept into her eyes, evil as she stared triumphant at the convicted man who howled at realisation of the trap he had willingly rushed into.

“My folks wanted me to quit then. Leave the business.” Angela’s voice slowly penetrated the images. Mickey blinked his eyes, Billy sniffed. Only Thornton stayed unmoving. “But I had other ideas - and so did a very ambitious producer, despite the court case. You see, during all the fun, I’d also been sleeping with him for more than a year. A little while after my other man went to jail, the producer’s wife caught us having a little fun. He enjoyed his pain.”

She sighed reminiscently. “So there I was a little fallen angel with all my credibility shot. Anyway the producer and I ran off to Rome and for me it was the beginning of great things. The producer - and the notoriety - helped me to get a wonderful start as an adult. I made many films, mostly X-rated. The Angel of Sin, they called me, and life was a wonderful downhill slide from then on.”

She went back then to her chair and sat, legs, trembling lightly, crossed and revealing. She smiled at Diana and the men sat in silence, still stunned by the graphic images of depravity they’d experienced.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Are we ready to continue now, my dear?”

Angela hung her head. “I’m sorry, Diana. It’s this place. It’s cold. Too far from home, that’s my problem.”

“You’re a nymphomaniac, that’s your problem.” Billy’s mouth was the first to click into gear.

Diana’s eyes locked in on Billy, a smart bomb, right on target. “What about your problem?”

Billy returned her stare. “What?”

“Your addictions.”

“Crap.”

“Heroin, cocaine, angel dust. You’re the king aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m the king.”

“I always thought Elvis was the King.” Mickey broke in.

A mouldering look from Angela shut him up.

“King of the narcotic cocktail; leaving no turn unstoned in your search for the ultimate trip. It means more than the music now doesn’t it Billy, more than life itself.”

Billy leapt to his feet. “I don’t have to take this crap. I don’t owe you nothing. Let me out of here. What are you up to? Where’s Genghis ?”

“It’s all right Mr Winter.” Diana’s voice became as soothing as whale song. “Your problem won’t affect your suitability for the role.”

So why bring it up then?”

“It’s part of the process.”

“What process?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Angela’s words cut through the whale song like a cracking iceberg.

Diana cast a reproving glance at Angela. “The roles you... gentlemen will be playing are complex. By helping you to look inside yourselves this process will sift out the inner power each of us possesses and lift it to the surface to help you give performances you could only dream of.”

Mickey sniffed. “Sounds a bit hocus-pocus to me.”