Mime Spent Apart

Part 3

The sand felt pleasingly cold to the mime as he picked up a handful in his free hand and let it sift down to the ground. He brushed his hand off on his slacks and sauntered down the beach being careful not to swing his suitcase too much. He smiled at parents and their children as they walked past holding beach buckets and little spades. The parents guided their children to take a wide arc avoiding him. His smile was possibly a little manic this night. No matter. Eventually he saw the building he was looking for, a plain square, grey building with "Academy For The Dramatic Arts" written in a military typeface across the top. There was a light on in an upper floor. The mime smiled a wry smile, there was always a light on when it was dark. Yet it always looked abandoned during the day. He hurried towards the grey rectangle, being careful not to slip in any holes in the sand then slowed his pace to a regular saunter once he got to the boardwalk.

The mime came right up to the building and looked at the door in the front. No visible keyhole or handle. No hinges either. In fact, there was no door at all. It was just a series of planks set into the brickwork that had been painted to resemble a door. The mime remembered lessons at this "door", lessons that had ended with his head being rammed repeatedly into the wood fresco, every time he got an answer wrong, every time he made a sound when he should have stayed quiet. Silence above all. Silence to dodge the music. He was getting carried away with him memories. He traced his finger along where he remembered his blood staining the fake entrance, they must repaint it after every student learns that lesson. He shook his head of the nostalgic cobwebs and went around the corner.

Here he could see a stretch of grey concrete along the side, with a drainpipe about halfway down the alley climbing up the side of the building to an ancient looking gutter. He walked directly up to the drain pipe, counted four segments up, grabbed hold of the pipe there and pulled as hard as he could. He felt at that moment the pipe 'click' just faintly in his fingertips. He shifted his weight, bent his knees slightly and then pushed the pipe up. It slid over the segment above it, the back of the segment having folded behind to allow it room. Once the section of pipe was out of the way, he pushed the small black rectangular button that was now exposed against the wall. There were a few muted grinding sounds and then the section of wall to the left of the pipe slowly swung back, leading to darkness. The mime's fear of the dark had long been overcome and replaced with a menagerie of things much more worthy of fear. He stepped boldly into the dark and was filled with inexplicable joy at the sound of the concrete door shifting and sliding shut behind him. There was no escape. At least, none for those he had come for.

The mime reached into his pocket and snapped one of the phosphorous tubes in his pocket, bringing it out and bathing the room in a green glow. It was much stronger than the usual 'raver sticks' that some of the lower class clowns on the beach strip would sometimes play with to entice children to come and buy their cheap tricks. Or something they would use them just to entice children close enough to their dark corners to bundle them into sacks and sell them on the black market. Of course, that was happening less these days with the tourist trade and the police charging more to turn away.

In the glow of his light stick, he could see the trap door he was looking for. He walked over and looked at the padlock that was holding it shut. Hmm, it wasn't the usual numeric lock that he was expecting. This was an old-school cast iron lock that looked like it had been brought there from the 1800's. He lifted up his stick and stood to sweep the rest of the room. It appeared bare save for the plain door in the back. The mime walked slowly towards the door. As he did a flood of memories further assaulted him. His dinner being on the other side of a brick wall that he had to scale using only his fingertips. The metal cage with the rusty nails strategically inserted into pits in the bars so if they scratched, the scratches would puff up and burn for weeks later. The exotic pets the taskmaster kept to roam and make sure the children were where they were meant to be. He shuddered slightly but regained his resolve. He hadn't come this far to be held back by childish memories. The mime came forward and opened the door.

Once again, darkness. Once again the mime put the light stick in front of him to scan the area. To the far left he could see the edge of a workbench. Tools! He went up to the bench quickly and scanned the surface. Screwdriver, hammer, saw... bolt cutters. Yes, that would do nicely. He tried not to think about what the tool had been used on last, most likely it was not for something as pedestrian, albeit illegal, as what he was about to use it for. He quickly rushed back to where the trapdoor was, crouched down, placed the suitcase carefully next to him and positioned the jaws of the bolt cutter around the padlock. He positioned himself for maximum strength and squeezed. With a loud snap the lock popped in half and at the same time the phosphorous stick went out and the mime was in complete darkness with a faint tinge of green as an afterglow in his eyesight.

The mime quickly reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around another light to snap. As he curled his fingers around, a familiar smell drifted into his nose. Cinnamon? The donuts? No, this was different... this was... minty. This was... familiar. A feeling of dread came over him and he spun around, swinging the bolt cutters as he did. He felt them connect with something. "Argh!" There was a thump. He felt for the suitcase, grabbed it, and scuttled back. He could hear nothing now. He quickly broke the stick in his pocket and pulled it out to hold it in front of his face. He could see a slumped figure on the floor near the trapdoor, seemingly covered in carpet. It was who he had feared, but he seemed badly hurt. At least, he was pretending to be. Keeping his eyes on him, he turned the suitcase to the combination and popped the locks. He opened it up, noted the gelignite in there was ever so slightly agitated, and set the 'kid's first alarm clock' in there to thirty seconds. He closed the briefcase again and slowly inched towards the trapdoor holding the briefcase in one hand and the bolt cutters in the other. He got within poking distance of the carpeted torturer from him past and reached out with the bolt cutters to poke him. No reaction. He swung his other arm, holding onto the briefcase, near the trap door, then grabbed hold of the iron ring attached to the door and pulled it open. It made a satisfying creak. He swung the briefcase over the cavernous black, pushed the little button near the left latch that set his timer in motion and dropped it in. He could hear the loud ticking from the toy alarm clock dissipate in volume as it dropped. OK, time to get out of here. He slowly straightened up and rushed towards the door he entered with and felt along the wall for the switch. He found the slight depression and pushed his finger into it till he heard it catch. Got it! His current light stick chose that moment to go out but it didn't matter as he could see the door swinging open. He slid through the crack as soon as it was wide enough and ran back down to the boardwalk, where he kept up a lively powerwalk as he moved away from the building. He couldn't resist a look over his shoulder though. Miming a regular "walk against the wind" vignette, he swung himself around 360 degrees and saw a couple of the windows light up that were previously dark. Then followed the intense smell of sulpher. That's weird, he thought, shouldn't there be a ban... the sound was so loud the force of it caused him to drop to the ground. He saw the bottom level of the building blow out, showering the air above him with bricks as the roof simultaneous was launched up a full five feet above the structure with a burst of white light. He couldn't say it hadn't gone as planned. He squinted at the structure. There seemed to be a shadow rushing away from the building, in the opposite direction to the boardwalk. Hmm. He hoped it wasn't the carpet-clad monster that still haunted his nightmares. He really hoped he had stayed there, unconscious, to burn.