So this is how the curtain falls — ankles bound, arms chained, submerged in a tank full of water? I thrash and gesticulate, as I do for every performance and, oblivious to my genuine plight, the inverted audience is riveted. Mouths gaping. Purses emptied. I would hear a pin drop if it wasn't for the inch of glass and fog of anticipation between us.
I’m magnificent. The undisputed master of misdirection. But I’m nothing without my faithful assistant, Marco. He has kept every secret and learnt the intricate details of my act, to ensure it plays out without a hitch. Most importantly, he knows when to step into the wings so that I receive the adulation I deserve.
That is, it appears, until tonight.
