Until the end of last year, Chester brought his acting work into real life. Call this ‘living in a fantasy.’ Call this ‘just a dream.’ Chester had always been labelled as ‘crazy’ for his idealistic views and inability to stop playing characters when the curtains had closed. When he was thirty, his girlfriend was the latest to call him crazy – she needed a partner who was grounded in the real world, able to commit to a work life and a relationship.
People knew Chester’s personality, even if he tried to mask it. Well, he decided, if they won’t accept him no matter what he does, he might as well do whatever he pleased. He’d always wanted to bring his villainous roles into real life. Ditching his real name, he was usually found intercepting radio and television broadcasts, leaving hidden messages in sports matches, or stopping tourist groups.
Until last year – his fiftieth year. He needed money one day. He pushed himself into a suit of armour and trudged into a castle, waiting for the latest tour group. Tourists were gullible – none of them saw the creeping metallic arm reaching into their pockets, while they continued upstairs, into the daylight.
Light blonde hair hid behind the dispersing crowd. A woman in her late thirties stayed in the room. Her eyes were on him as the room emptied. When he saw her eyes search him, and a smirk twist her lips, he knew everything was over for him. He thought he couldn’t breathe, and not because the chunks of metal were burying themselves into his skin.
‘The name’s Evelyn,’ she said when she approached him. ‘Something tells me you’re not working for the tour company. You’re not here to add to the atmosphere, are you?’
He said nothing.
Evelyn reached up to his helmet. ‘You’re the Devious One, aren’t you?’
Chester, as the Devious One, removed his helmet and tutted. ‘You should be afraid. I’ve disrupted many holidays.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to pinch a few quid off the tourists. You should set up a fundraiser. People would support you trying to get into power. They won’t help if you steal from them.’
‘Defeats the purpose of being evil.’
‘Anyway, you’ve got weird ways of trying to get into power,’ Evelyn continued. ‘Most people just go into politics.’
‘Tyranny’s more fun.’
Evelyn snorted. ‘Well, don’t take anything from me. You know, I’m a strong leader. How about you show me one of your schemes? I’ll help, how about that? You could become the next famous thing, you know. A tourist attraction, maybe.’
A week later, Evelyn – under the name ‘Layla’ – and Chester became a duo. Chester wasn’t convinced about the idea of ‘being a tourist attraction’ while still exerting power over others. However, acting as more of a comic-book villain was a lot more fun than maliciously demanding money or interrupting broadcasts for the sake of it. Most of Chester and Evelyn’s attention was on the outdoors, tourist sites, and cities. Evelyn couldn’t join him all the time, but she had swayed his priorities towards having more fun.
A couple of months passed. They had climbed up the outside of a clock tower. Seeing the view once they reached the top, Chester decided to speak.
‘Go on a date with me.’
Evelyn dropped her mask. ‘What?’
‘Oh, don’t make me say it again… I mean, will you?’
‘…I’d love to, but… we’d have to be careful.’
Evelyn gulped when Chester’s hood fell.
‘My father. Maybe you should see him from a distance,’ she murmured. ‘He wants me to get married and inherit his farm. He’ll destroy us.’
‘You chose to join me as a “tourist attraction,”’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t he disapprove?’
‘Yes, but there’s having fun in disguise, and there’s going back to the real world as yourself. I have a two-week curfew – that’s why I keep taking time off. He’d hunt me down otherwise.’
‘He doesn’t trust you?’
‘He’ll only marry me to someone he deems worthy – that’s why I’m not married,’ she said. ‘Tell you what – I’ll pay for a date tonight. You choose the restaurant. You don’t owe me anything, other than some defence against my father.’
‘I’ll try,’ Chester said.
Mr Bailey, Evelyn’s father, had set up cameras around the high fencing of his farm. Her father had called the police once to declare her missing when she didn’t come home. She’d been celebrating her birthday and had missed her curfew by a few hours. As the sun set, Chester approached the gates alone.
‘Wait on the hill,’ Chester told Evelyn. ‘I want to see him.’
‘Don’t do anything crazy. You can’t.’
Chester zoned out after this. He ignored the cameras – it was dark, and the cameras shouldn’t pick up more than the outline of his dark coat. Chester’s eyes followed the older man as he strutted around the fields. Mr Bailey’s silver waistcoat shone in the clear night. His back was turned to the house.
Chester planned to watch him, of course. Maybe he could take a few things from the house. His jaw tightened when Evelyn bounded towards her father, her bag caught in her hair and wrapped around her head.
‘Hello, Pa.’
‘My Evie,’ he drawled, dropping the shovel. ‘You came home earlier than I expected. Usually, you try to drag out your time away from here.’
‘I-I needed to speak to you, that’s all, Pa.’
‘Good. Your father is always here for you. Have you found an heir to this farm, or would you like to hear my suggestions on who you should marry?’
During the brief silence, Chester took the ladder and ascended the house. He lay flat on his stomach, in the centre of the roof. A top floor window was open, but not within reach yet. This window faced Mr Bailey, making detection likely if Chester were to climb through it.
‘It’s not about that,’ Evelyn whispered. ‘It’s not a confrontation, Pa. I want to ask something.’
Mr Bailey shook his head. ‘I don’t like the sound of this.’
‘I need more time in the city,’ Evelyn said. ‘I need more freedom. I’m sorry. I’ll help my future husband here, of course, but—’
‘Running a farm is a joint effort. You won’t be leaving your husband to his own devices,’ Mr Bailey bit out. ‘Your curfew is more than fair when there are people around here who need to be fed.’
‘You never gave me a choice of whether I want to own the farm.’
‘You are my only child,’ he spat. ‘You don’t get to choose.’
‘I’m still working at that café on weekends,’ Evelyn said, ‘and I’ve taken up a… new job, with tourists.’
‘You work on this farm. Earn as much as you want; I hold all your wages, Evie. Your life is mine.’
Chester glared and started to descend. Evelyn nodded.
‘Honestly, it’s people like you who end up causing havoc with those protests. They should fire you; you haven’t managed to stop that Devious One either, have you?! You’re supposed to keep the public safe!’
‘Maybe he should just go!’ Evelyn hissed, side-glancing the roof. ‘It’s not our fault, Pa.’
‘Don’t take that tone with me. If you’re here to argue, I’d suggest taking a walk and returning when you feel better. Your work is going nowhere.’
Evelyn said nothing as she left. Chester waited on the hill behind the farm – where Evelyn was supposed to be.
‘Don’t,’ Evelyn muttered when she saw Chester.
Chester glared. ‘Why? I was going to watch him. I was going to grab a few things from him.’
‘He would’ve seen you. He’s no fool; he’s got alarms everywhere. I… I guess I’m a masochist at this point. I always return to him.’
‘Can’t we leave together? We can figure something out.’
‘Forget it, Chester,’ she said, and he stared at her. ‘We’d be like outlaws, on the run for the rest of our lives. He’s clever, and I can’t afford to leave.’
‘Evelyn…’
‘Look, I’ve had an idea anyway,’ Evelyn said. ‘I’ve got a neighbour that Pa knows well. She has a son. I’ll talk to him. Maybe he can help me.’
She took his hands and kissed his cheek. ‘All I want you to do is enjoy yourself.’
‘I don’t need my cash,’ Chester said. ‘I’ll earn what I can, and we’ll get out somehow.’
‘What? No, that’s your money, you can’t—’
‘You won’t stop me. I’ll help you, and we’ll turn him in.’
‘…Then I’m sorry that I can’t repay you, but I will soon.’
Chester spent more time on his schemes and saving money. He spent more time alone, part of him wondering if the neighbour had become her real husband – it had been months since Chester had seen her. Wearing a masquerade mask, he waited outside the Bailey Farm and called Evelyn. Chester gawked at the sight of her – skinnier, covered in dirt, and wearing a torn summer dress.
‘Didn’t think you’d ever come back here,’ Evelyn said. ‘I thought we were meeting at the café tomorrow.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was worried about you.’
‘I’m sorry. Pa thinks the neighbour is my husband… We’ve been working on the farm every day. Why are you here anyway?’
‘I want to give up acting. Messing with tourists. Everything.’
‘What?’
Chester swallowed. ‘A new life in the countryside. Your father can’t find you if we go far enough. I’ll pay for everything.’
‘A simple life, huh? I never thought you’d be the type for that,’ she breathed with a smile. ‘I’d love that. I’ll… have to get Fraser out of here first.’
‘Your neighbour?’
Evelyn nodded. ‘He’s already married, and I’ve dragged him into this… I feel terrible.’
‘Don’t. I should’ve stood up to your father. I should’ve been on the farm instead of you and him.’
‘You’re very caring, you know? That proves you’re no villain,’ Evelyn teased, though her smile belied the croak in her voice.
‘I might be devious,’ Chester murmured, ‘but Mr Bailey is the Devil.’
Evelyn turned away. ‘I’ll meet up with you tomorrow, love. We’ll go to that café and talk about this more. I’m sorry.’
She fled back into the house.
‘Evelyn Bailey, 39.
Beloved daughter and wife.
At peace with nature.’
A choir surrounded the new gravestone. Each singer wore thin black robes, and none of them shivered. Drops of snow circled them, lingering in the air as if they were reluctant to touch the headstone. The choir sang in Latin and held out their music sheets, trying to share them with Evelyn.
Evelyn tried to keep her promise to go to the café. The wreckage of her car was found on a motorway ten minutes away from the city.
Chester stood out of view of the other – few – guests, with his hood over his head and his coat doubling as a cape. He glared at Mr Bailey, who stood tall and showed no emotion as his daughter was lowered into the ground. After the song, the attendants shuffled away. Chester did not move until the Devil – who only now had the nerve to apologise to his only child – sauntered out of the cemetery.
Chester’s eyes burned at the sight of the gold engraving. He opened his jacket, unveiling one of his favoured masquerade masks, and one of Evelyn’s masks.
‘I told you I’d give that life up, love,’ he murmured, the words almost startling him as the last of the choir’s echo died. ‘I’m not a hero. I should’ve done more. I…’
His already untidy black and grey hair slipped down his forehead.
‘Are you Chester?’
A thirty-something year old man wandered, hands in his pockets, behind Chester. Chester took a breath before facing him.
‘Yeah, I am.’
‘Fraser,’ the man said. ‘The neighbour. Evelyn’s friend.’
‘I… I owe you an apology.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet you before,’ Fraser said. ‘Evelyn wouldn’t stop talking about you. Your escapades as “villains…”’ He paused when Chester tensed. ‘That was an escape for her.’
‘I should’ve done more.’
‘Don’t think like that,’ Fraser said. ‘None of us saw Evelyn’s death coming. You couldn’t have known she’d get in a crash.’
Chester kept his face out of view. ‘How did you cope with Mr Bailey?’
Fraser swallowed. ‘I couldn’t. All I could do was allow him to mould me into a perfect, mindless follower, farmer, and husband. I wouldn’t allow any harm to come to Evelyn, so…’
Chester bit back a growl as Fraser unveiled his arm, littered with recent cuts.
‘That should’ve been me,’ Chester muttered. ‘I owe you thanks. I hope your real wife doesn’t have a family like that. And… thank you for protecting Evelyn. I should’ve been there for her.’
‘I tried. Mr Bailey… I’m sorry to say this, but you wouldn’t have lasted long on his farm.’
Fraser rested one gloved hand on the headstone and finally met Chester’s eyes.
‘I didn’t understand why you wanted to play a villainous role in real life.’
Chester huffed. ‘I just wanted a fun life. An escape from reality, I guess. It stuck. You could’ve been a proper nemesis to me, you know. Stealing Evelyn from me and playing the hero…’
‘No,’ Fraser said. ‘I couldn’t. Life isn’t a game.’
Chester gulped. ‘You’re right. I guess I’ll do some soul searching. The Devious One is dead, anyway. I might retire up in the mountains.’
Chester held his hand out, which Fraser shook.
‘Goodbye, Fraser,’ Chester whispered before leaving the cemetery.
About the author:
Born in Scotland, Emma Ainley is a student who is studying creative writing and the English language. She usually writes fantasy and speculative fiction – novels and short stories. She has her own website at thebookstartsnow.com
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