Love Me To The End

Chapter 3: The Death of Steve

Maise and I cuddled together against the back wall of her bed, our  legs outstretched with her laptop sitting across our thighs. She'd taken  off her tuxedo jacket, revealing the angular art deco shapes of her  tailored dress shirt, her black silk bow tie undone and hanging rat-pack  style from her neck. I was wearing a skirt for the first time in years  and was still tingling across the middle from our sawing. Maise placed a  USB memory stick into the slot and waited for it to load.

"I borrowed this from the same person I got the sawing kit from," she  explained. "It was a special favour that I was allowed to take it, on  the strict condition no copies would be made and I would return it as  soon as possible. These videos are shot for practical and personal  purposes only, it is vital that they never go viral."

I nodded.

"Basically you're about to watch a snuff movie," she added.

"A snuff movie starring Steve?"

"You wanted to know how he died."

I didn't comment on "Steve" being right here watching it with me.  This evening had taught me a lot about going along with a good  narrative.

The video had been taken from a static camera in what looked like a  small warehouse or barn. There was a group of people with their backs to  the camera, facing an array of equipment set up on one side of the  room.

Raised scaffolding was built up against the wall, with an industrial  concrete mixer set up at the centre fed by a hopper accessible from the  top platform. A cement delivery chute extended from the drum of the  mixer to a point in front of the platforms, either side of which were  two plexiglass tanks, reinforced on the outside with iron rebar. Inside  each was a metal stool. The two tanks faced slightly inwards at  forty-five degree angles.

There was a spattering of applause as a masked man in an expensive  looking suit stepped into the staging area. The sound quality was such  that I couldn't make out what he was saying as he addressed the crowd,  so Maise provided running commentary.

"This is the game I mentioned, or one of them. We call that guy Uncle  Morbid, he set up this place with a couple of associates. He's a  special effects wiz that worked on a bunch of indie horror flicks, then  started making interactive death experiences for a private members'  club. Sometimes they get done as mock executions or roleplays, sometimes  we have contests like this. This was the final of a knockout  tournament, the winner got to design their own custom death scene for  the crew to put together."

The contestants were being introduced. First out was a figure in a  pink party dress, a wig with stylized bangs and a mask resembling a  porcelain doll.

"That's Didi," said Maise, "Steve's opponent."

"Is that a guy or a girl?" I asked.

"Go with how they're presenting," said Maise. "The thing with the  characters and the masks serves two purposes. One is discretion – we're  revealing our innermost dark fantasies here, while it's all fun and  consensual and no-one's actually getting harmed, it's not the sort of  thing you want to advertise about yourself. The other is it's how we  keep up the intensity.

"The members of our club are referred to as 'spirits', inhabiting an  avatar that lasts up until it gets killed off. Once an avatar is dead  they stay dead, you then regenerate into a new avatar and do it all  again. Death's only fun when you get to control it and come back  afterwards, but without finality there's no passion, no meaning."

And then there she, or he, was. Maise/Steve came on wearing the same  tailored tuxedo I'd loved with a white mask in the style of the Phantom  of the Opera. Her dark hair had been tied back in a flowing ponytail,  topped with a silk top hat.

"Tell me you still have that hat," I said, squeezing her hand. Maise just smiled.

Both contestants sat down in the tanks, Didi on the left, Steve on  the right. Hooded stagehands came to bolt the doors shut. While the side  walls of the tank were covered with rebar grids, the front doors were  constructed with three steel crossbars, allowing a proper view of the  inhabitants. Seeing Maise (sorry, Steve) sat there awaiting their  obvious fate was incredible.

The host led a countdown and the game apparently began.

"It's a word association game," said Maise. "We each have to quickly  say a word connected with the last without pausing or hesitating, if you  get caught out the cement chute swings over to your tank. After three  minutes, the cement flows and it's game over."

"Actual cement?"

"Special cement. It looks realistic, feels gritty and sets hard quickly, but it won't burn you like real cement would.  Then there's something they do to it to make it crumble back into powder. Incredible stuff."

"I'd like that recipe."

There was a sudden commotion as Didi looked flustered. A chain was pulled and the cement chute swung directly over her tank.

"Love fifteen," said Maise.

The game continued. After a couple more errors Didi managed to send  the chute over to her opponent with visible relief, only to get it back  almost immediately.

"How do we know how much time is left?" I asked.

"We don't, that's part of the fun. The first hint we get is when the  mixer starts to tip, then you have until it flows to the end of the  chute. Once it starts pouring it's all over."

The play was fast and furious now, with the chute swinging back and  forth every ten seconds or so. Then a klaxon sounded and the first drops  of cement began flowing down the chute, which was currently poised  above Didi's tank. Even knowing the outcome, I could feel the tension.

Then, with the cement flow centimetres from the end of the chute, it  happened. Steve had made his last, fatal mistake! The chute swung over  to his tank at the precise moment the flow began to pour downwards. As  the cement hit the top of his hat, I saw him grab at something invisible  and put it in his mouth.

"Breathing tube," said Maise. "Steve drowned, I didn't."

The cement cascaded into the tank, crumpling the top hat and filling  up at a rapid rate. Within seconds the cement was closing over  Maise/Steve's lap. I pulled Maise close as I watched the cement rise up  past her waist, her chest and over her shoulders. I saw the face of my  lover consumed, until the flow finally abated, leaving just a ruined top  hat floating on the surface as evidence of Steve's cement tomb.

"Nice touch with the hat", I said. "Did you know it would float?"

"I hoped it would. But of course I couldn't tell whether it had until I saw the video."

Didi the Doll was released from her tank and celebrated her moment of  victory. I vaguely wondered what she ended up choosing for her prize  death scene. Then all eyes turned back to Steve's tank.

The stagehands set about dismantling the sides, leaving an oblong  block of dried cement with a wrecked hat set into the top. The block was  manoeuvred onto a dolly and wheeled off out of shot.

"Holy crap, are you still in there?" I asked, amazed.

"Yup. Like I say, when your avatar dies, they stay dead. It wouldn't do to pop out at the last second."

"So what happened next?"

"We have an area in the back we call Limbo. They broke me out there, I discarded Steve's mask and came up with a new avatar."

"Is that the same suit you're wearing now?"

"No, that one was ruined. But when I had it made I had the tailor cut  a couple of spares. I love that I've found another reason to wear  them."

"Maybe so," I said, slipping my hand inside her dress shirt. "Much as  I like you in that look, you can't go wearing the clothes of a dead  man, can you?"

We locked in a deep kiss as Maise set the laptop aside and we set about undressing each other eagerly.

"What is that place, anyway?" I asked between kisses.

"That's the Mortal Masquerade," she replied.

"Take me."

"Oh, I plan to."