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The Face of the Dummy continued. The face that haunts me almost twenty years later; the face that stared up at me, cold yet victorious, with the knife still sticking in his chest. My lawyer advised me to plead guilty but with diminished responsibility. In other words pretend I didn't know what I was doing ... that I was mentally disturbed, crazy! So I did ... and the jury believed me!! For twelve years I stayed in their prison. Behaved myself, did what I was told, followed their rules. I had to prove I'd recovered my sanity and was no longer a threat to their society. While I was in jail, I met an old pro who'd been on the stage in his younger days. He taught me all he knew about ventriloquism. How to throw my voice; keep my face impassive; act the stooge to my own dummy. I entertained the other prisoners ... performed at the Christmas show. They even gave me permission to go round the hospitals, doing shows for the sick and the pensioners. That's how the media first noticed me. A reporter for a national newspaper came to one of the shows and thought it would make a good Christmas story. 'Convict spreads good cheer at Christmas' ... that was the headline. And then the television boys took it up and asked me to appear on an amateur talent show. I was scared, terrified of making a fool of myself in front of millions of people. Frightened of being booed for what I'd done in the past. Strange how the public can either take to you or not. I was a bit of a freak. They switched on to see the murderer but stayed to enjoy the entertainer. My fame spread like wildfire. They released me from prison early and I got a spot on a radio show, which led to a weekly appearance on television. For the first time in my life I felt I'd achieved something. I'd done it all myself and there was no one there to ridicule me or make me feel insecure. Never again would I have to face contempt from my father or anyone else. But I was wrong. I know that now, and so does Charlie. He's been biding his time, fooling me into believing I was in charge of my own destiny ... that I could control both him and me. It can't be, I realise it now. As long as I live he'll haunt me, taunt me, then destroy me. There's only one escape for me ... for both of us. Tomorrow they'll find us hanging from a beam in the centre of this room ... two stiff, inanimate puppets on the ends of our strings, our faces blackened and contorted by the tightened rope. Charlie and his stooge. the master and his puppet. Perhaps then they'll know ... will understand ... will look closely at the two bodies hanging side by side, and will see the inescapable resemblance ... the face of my father and the face of the dummy! ************* Copyright James Wood 1993 All copyrights reserved |
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