Then came Scene 6, in which the plan evolves to have Kronstein disguise himself as Frederick to announce the marriage to Maria, which will unite Waldmont and Borovnia, and turn Kronstein, who has taken Maria as a mistress, into a power behind the throne. Wallace Drummond nervously chewed the scenery so thoroughly that most in the audience despaired of any return to balance for the remainder of the show.
And while Wallace Drummond was singlehandedly attempting to provide thespian pyrotechnics enough for two, Ann was in Dennis's dressing room, standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders as he looked wearily into the mirror. "You have to bring it out, Dennis. It's there – you just have to reach down deep enough."
"I'm trying," he said, his voice hollow as an empty stage where the echoes of past performances have long since died away. "I reach, but there's nothing there. I can't feel, and I can't pretend to feel – it's too late for that. It has to be real. And it won't come."
She steeled herself. The last thing she wanted to do was to humiliate him, but she had no choice. "Can you think of how you look to the audience then? Does that make you feel? Feel… ashamed, even. If you do, maybe that's a place to start."
"Of course I feel ashamed. But it's not enough. It's just not enough. So much of it is knowing that he's here – and not being able to do anything about it – not being able to confront him – that makes it worse."
"Dennis," came Curt's soft and steady voice over the squawk box, "fifteen minutes."
Dennis pressed the red button on the top to acknowledge the call. "The last scene," he said. Ann leaned down, put her cheek against his, looked at the reflection of his empty eyes. "Find it, Dennis. Make it live.
"And make him die."
Several minutes later, Wallace Drummond looked at his own face in the mirror, and wondered if he had gone too far in that last song. He had always prided himself on being a very natural actor, but in "Take What Is Mine," he thought he might have gone just a tad overboard. Dan Marks's eyes had widened a bit as Drummond sang the song to him, but maybe it was just something new that Dan was doing as Kruger, trying a little bit harder to make up for what was happening to Dennis.
Holy hell, Drummond thought for the hundredth time that evening, what was wrong with him? Drummond had acted with stiffs before, but the caliber of Dennis's performance wouldn't have been acceptable in a bad high school production of Bye Bye Birdie. He had heard of actors getting burned out from playing a role too long, but this was more than burnout, it was mind-rot.
Drummond couldn't help feeling sorry for Dennis. He seemed like a nice enough guy, a little distracted maybe, but Drummond had noticed that a lot of people with a lot of money got distracted easily. He hoped that when he finally made it he'd have sense enough not to let the money run his life.
Okay, he thought, forget it. Think about the show now.
He could hear the chorus singing, and knew that he had about five minutes before he had to go on for the final scene with Dennis. Dan, with whom he shared his dressing room, was singing his solo now, haranguing the crowd on the necessity for an imperial heir, goading them to call on the Emperor to set a wedding date. Drummond rattled through his lines and Dennis's, and thanked God that there weren't a lot of them before they got into the duel and he was slain. It would be a mercy, he thought, not to have to do any more lines with Dennis. "Kill me now, Lord," he whispered, stood up, and looked in the full-length mirror that hung on the bathroom door.
The imperial uniform hung well, and the false beard and moustache that made him resemble Dennis seemed secure and straight. Surely a mob of peasants and merchants far below would not notice the imposture, he thought, beginning to slip into character. It looked better than ever before.
Damned, he thought as Wallace Drummond, if it didn't look better, and he blinked his eyes in confusion. If he hadn't known it was him, he would have sworn that there was a doorway there instead of a mirror, and in it stood Dennis Hamilton in full regalia as the Emperor Frederick. There were the blue eyes, painful in their intensity, the jutting chin, the imperious stance. Drummond had resembled Dennis somewhat, but never before like this, and, curious and amazed, he stepped closer to the mirror.
The glass shattered as the Emperor's hands came through it, impossibly strong hands which grasped the front of Wallace Drummond's jacket and pulled him into the mirror. The broken shards tore through Drummond's high collar and licked his throat until the blood came.
~* ~
(THE EMPEROR drops the lifeless body, takes a paper towel, and daintily wipes a spot of blood from the back of his hand. Then he turns and looks at what he can see of his reflection in the broken glass.)
THE EMPEROR
(In his own voice) "You've returned too early, Frederick." No. Not quite it. Let me see… (In Wallace Drummond's voice) "You've returned too early, Frederick." (He smiles in satisfaction.) Much more like it.
CURT
(On squawk box) Five minutes, Drummy.
THE EMPEROR
(Holds the button and speaks in Drummond's voice) Thank you, Curt. I'll be there. (He releases the button, then takes Wallace Drummond's saber from the dressing table and draws it from its scabbard. He goes into the en garde stance, and thrusts it into what is left of the mirror. The glass breaks and rains down on the body of Wallace Drummond, as THE EMPEROR salutes .)
Scene 11
The last scene. The last time he would appear on stage.
The last chance.
Dennis Hamilton stood in the stage right wings, clutched the hilt of his saber, and waited for the music to end, for the darkness to come, that deep smothering darkness of a black stage, relieved only by the scantiest exit lights, that darkness in which the chorus would scurry off stage, Dan Marks would come past him and around onto the stage again, Wallace Drummond would ascend to the center stage balcony from which the disguised Kronstein would lie to the people…
Lie to the people.
It was, Dennis thought, all he had ever done, and now, when he wanted to show the truth, he was unable.
And he knew why. The Emperor. The Emperor was there somewhere, hiding, but able all the same to draw his strength, his emotions.
"Where are you?" he whispered into the darkness that suddenly surrounded him. "Where are you?" he said again, with as much bitterness as he could summon.
Bodies moved past him, brushed against his, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the human flood to ebb, for the lights to come up, waited for his final entrance.
Why did the Emperor not show himself? Was he scared?
Scared. That was absurd, wasn't it? Scared of Dennis? Scared of a man who could not even feel anger for having his soul stolen away?
The lights came up, the scene went on, Kruger telling Kronstein of his triumph with the mob. "`They're hungry for a wedding,'" Dan Marks said, "`absolutely starving for one!'"
"'Then,'" Dennis heard Wallace Drummond's voice proclaim, "`we shall give them one.'"
It was Dennis's cue, and he strode on stage, glanced up toward where Kronstein was supposed to be standing, but his energy level was so low that he could scarcely lift his head that high. Somehow he got out his line, "`What in God's name are you about?'"The delivery was pitiful.
Still, Marks gave his reply. "`About to announce your future, your majesty.'“
“You've returned… just in time, Frederick," said the voice of Wallace Drummond.
"'Just in time?' Oh shit," whispered Curt Wynn, high overhead in the control booth, to the electrician running the light board. "Now Drummond's going up on his fucking lines. This show ends without a major disaster, it'll be a miracle."