Welcome to the Grand Delusion
Hit your mark and be what's happening
Your fans have bought their tickets for the show
You’re on the stage, the crowd starts screaming
Suddenly your mind is reeling
What if they can tell you’re not a star?

Trust they’ll be fooled by the part you play
In theatre or just on the street
They paid their money and they want the fantasy
They see exactly who they want to see

So while you navigate this institution
If you feel trapped within a cage
Just recall it’s all a Grand Delusion
And we’re all players — it’s a stage!
It’s a stage!

So when you feel the sting of persecution
And they tell you act your age
Just recall it’s all a Grand Delusion
You choose your role upon the stage

You can’t spell “Slaughter” without “laughter,” join our happy ever after
Go ahead and show them every scar
Worry not, they’ll never ponder, the nature of this spell they're under
You’ve disappeared, and they won’t wonder where the hell you are

The fair-haired gentleman in the fashionable fall overcoat opened the back door a crack to make sure he wasn’t going to nail anyone in the face before he came in. He bowed. “Pardon me, Miss Hyacinth. Is it Ann or Milo at the moment?”

“Ann. Which one are you?”

“The lonely ice-pick murderer.”

Hyacinth shook his hand with a grin. “It’s been a while! How’s Ivan?”

He winced, “It was a mutual thing…”

“Boy, you really are lonely, aren’t you?” she said.

◈◈◈

“Sean!” Ann hugged him. “Oh, you haven’t been to the house in forever! I keep thinking you must be afraid of our stairs and I don’t like to invite you here specifically. Is it something special? Do you need me?”

He lifted a hand and put two careful fingers over her painted mouth. “Let me say it all at once because I don’t want to tease you. I have a part in a play, but it’s not for you. Sort of.” He grinned and shook his head. “I expect you’ll be along and it’ll be easiest for me to explain it to you, but I want Milo for it. Tiffie is directing, but I think he’s a shoo-in!”

“A part for Milo?” Ann wobbled on her heels. “Do you want him to play a tree or something?”

Sean shook his head, still grinning. “It’s a human being, I promise you, but he doesn’t have to talk for it. Tiffie wanted a mime, but I said, ‘Tiffie, mimes don’t have any pathos.’ He really is perfect, she just has to see him. His face. But can we sit somewhere so I can explain?”

◈◈◈

They decided to sit on the backstairs. There was coffee in the kitchen, but the backstairs didn’t have any curious Hyacinth looking over their shoulders while they drank it.

Well, you could sort of see her in the window, but the coloured glass made it difficult.

“So it’s for Ghost Week,” Sean said, adjusting his overcoat for minimal staining. “But we didn’t want to do ghosts, everyone is doing ghosts. Straight up horror and dead bodies for the Slaughterhouse!” he declared. “That’s our brand. But this one has dead bodies that come back.

“It’s about a lady mad scientist, and she’s got her fiancé’s severed head in a jar. We do that gag with mirrors all the time; it’s easy, but the audience eats it up. The rest of him got crushed in a car crash and he’d like to die too, but she’s going to find him another body and marry him, which means picking up a lot of men in seedy bars and lopping their heads off.”

He laid a hand on his chest. “I’m the deformed assistant. Every mad scientist needs a deformed assistant, Annie, we really should have a union. Our makeup lady is really good, it really does look like I got burned in a fire, but you can tell I’m still a human being with feelings. I’m just a teeny bit annoyed everyone can’t see how cute I am.”

He frowned. “You do realize I’m double-cast. This play is meant to be cheap, everyone is at least double-cast, except for the zombie and Eloise — so Milo doesn’t have to worry about it. But Tiffie doesn’t want me out of the makeup even when I’m playing the bartender! Listen, I understand the characters are two sides of the same coin, I get nuance, but why can’t there be a cute side? She told everyone to just act like it’s a different character and they don’t see it. I don’t get it. Do you get it, Annie? I think…”

She had to cup her hand over his mouth or that train was going to run until it flattened her. “Sean you haven’t even finished explaining what ‘it’ is, just that you want to be cuter in it.”

“I think it’s cheaper to make everyone up once and she’s making excuses,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He rattled his head as if to clear it. “The whole point of me — er, mainly the deformed assistant, but the bartender too, a little — is I’m hoping one of these days she’ll fix me, and once I’m handsome again, I’ll tell her how much I really love her, but I can’t do that now, and she’s so focused on her fiancé she never notices me.”

“I’m hearing an unrequited love triangle, only one person is a head,” Ann said. Sean confirmed this with a nod. “Is it a tragedy?”

“I think it’s more of a comedy, but they’re very close. I always heard Romeo and Juliet was meant to be played as both, but they lost the sad ending somewhere. Anyway, I like to make people cry, it makes the funny parts funnier.”

Ann nodded, with a polite hand concealing her patient smile.

“So!” Sean declared. “Milo is an experiment! Er…” He waved both hands and shook his head. “Well, not yet, but I’m certain he will be. A pretty dead body she picked up for her fiancé, except it was too dead and she couldn’t hook it up. That’s why she needs to kill all those poor men. It’s as if he’s just an excuse for the exposition and we got him wandering around in the background for fun. She lets him do that because he’s amusing. This whole thing is basically a power fantasy for the women and a submission fantasy for the men. Tiffie loves things like that. She has issues.” He gestured in the air.

Ann put both hands on his arm. “Sean, before you go any further with this, are you saying you want to remove Milo’s head?”

“Oh, we’ll put it back.”

“Sean!”

He waved both hands and shook his head again, but more. “No, no, no, Annie. I mean, we’ll say she put it back on. We can’t take the head off a moving man for two acts, we spent all our special effect budget on the lab fire. He’ll just need a little makeup and spirit gum right here.” He ran a finger along the base of his throat. “That’s like, fifteen, twenty minutes in the makeup chair, tops. He’s not allergic to latex, is he?”

“Are latex and rubber the same thing?”

“Practically.”

“Well, we didn’t have any trouble with the catsuits, so no.”

He clasped her hands. “See? He really is perfect!” He paused all by himself this time. “Were you in something racy you didn’t tell me about?”

“No, it was for a project. We’ll have to show you later, Calliope and her family took him with them to buy souvenirs.” She laughed. “We’ll have to show you Calliope’s family later too. And the baby is walking now!”

“Little Lucy? Oh, bravo!” he said. “I can’t wait to meet everyone!” He snickered. “Well, obviously I can and I shall, but if they’re here long enough we’ll be sure to get them some tickets. Ooh. And even if they’re not, we’ll take them all backstage and give them a tour!”

Ann nodded. “They’d love it, whether Milo’s in it or not.”

“He will be.” He patted her hand. “Anyway, we’re doing a little bait and switch. It looks like he’s just there to be funny and provide an object for the head-in-a-jar to talk to, but it turns out he’s listening. Like, whatever’s left of his undead brain is conscious enough to be in pain and understand and he wants to die too. Only he’s able to move around and do something about it. So the head is able to coach him into spilling some chemicals and burning the whole place to the ground, and the guy she was just about to murder and attach to her fiancé gets away!”

“So Milo and everyone else dies?” Ann said. “You think this is a comedy?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course the bad guy lives. People love it when the bad guy lives. And we love it because we can do a sequel without making up all new characters.”

He gestured grandly, setting the stage. “We end in the ruined lab, and our mad scientist has totally lost it and stuck her fiancé’s burned-up head on my body, and my head’s in the jar! And I’m watching her dance in the ashes with my body, just so happy to be noticed finally. I get to narrate and tell the audience what happened, and I get the last lines.” He clutched his hands to his face and made his voice somehow exalted and miserably pathetic at the same time, “‘She’s dancing with me. We’re dancing. We’re dancing…’”

“Is Milo dead or not?” Ann asked.

That snapped him right out of it: “It’s ambiguous. Would you like him to live? Maybe he burns down the lab because he wants to be free to choose his own zombie destiny and he just wanders off. I think the audience would like that too!”

“Sean, that is terrible.”

He shrugged. “We’re the Slaughterhouse, Annie. We don’t really do nice. I think it’s a happy ending. Everyone gets what they want. We’re probably going to call it Headcase, but Tiffie wants to call it Eloise. That’s the mad scientist, but I don’t think it’s really about her. Obviously it’s about me.”

“There are no small parts, only actors who fail at deluding themselves,” Ann said with a smirk.

Sean smiled at her. “Good! So it can be about Milo if he wants. He’s the hero, anyway. What do you think?”

“What does he actually do?”

“We just need him to wear a little makeup, wander around in the background and knock things over with his default expression on his face. Positively no smiling. The rest of us will build his motivation around him, because we still have our brains and the power of speech. It has to look like he can’t emote for himself, but somehow he’s still sad about it. Like a velvet painting.”

“Gods, he really is perfect for it,” Ann muttered.

“I know!”

She was shaking her head. “Of course he’s having hysterics, but I have no doubt he can pull that off. The acting part. It’s just everything around it. The people.”

“That’s the best thing, Annie, he already knows most of them! He knows everything you do, he’s been there. Maybe not like friends, but he’ll remember when he sees them. I think you’ve even met Tiffie, but she was doing the costumes or something. We all wear many hats.”

“Won’t they expect him to be, well, me, Sean?”

“I expected him to be you, Ann. And I tried to con you into dating me. You both handled it beautifully. If the people at the Slaughterhouse don’t handle it beautifully, I shall beat them over the head with my shoe until they do. We’re very progressive there and you don’t have a thing to worry about, you know that, don’t you?”

“Half of me does.” She sighed. “I want him to do it, but he wants the option to bail out at any time if he can’t. Can he have that?”

“Of course we’ll have an alternate. Misfortune strikes theatre companies who don’t have alternates, and we have to give less-than-spectacular ones a chance to work their way up.” He nudged Ann. “Milo will be spectacular. I want to discover him.”

“I think you ought to take him over there right now before he has any more time to think about it.” She stood. “Will that be all right?”

“I was hoping for it!” He shooed her with a hand. “Go get him, I’ll give Hyacinth her coffee mugs back, and an update.”

Ann smiled. “Milo has an update for you too. We have a special card for it!”

◈◈◈

“Eee!” Sean applauded, but he did try not to hurt the card. “That’s super! Are you going to learn to talk for real too?”

Milo scowled and bopped him in the top of the head with a fist.

“What? Oh, you can’t tell me… Wait! Can you?” He flipped over the card.

“Oh. I guess you can’t.”

Milo snatched back the card and took the pencil out of his shirt pocket. He turned to use the wall as a hard surface and put a box around Sign Language with a triple underline beneath Language, stars and exclamation points. He gave it back to Sean and signed: BAD.

…Although Sean did not know what that meant yet. He’d put it together later, probably.

Sean puzzled over the card for a while. “Language is talking?”

Milo nodded and flung a frustrated gesture. See? Was that so…

“No it isn’t.” He held up the card. “This is language, it’s not talk…”

Milo snatched the card back again and indicated Sign Language with a pointed finger. Sign. Sign. Sign language. SIGN LANGUAGE. Baka!

(Raquel taught them that.)

“Sign language specifically is talking.”

Milo nodded and bapped him on the forehead.

Sean beamed at him. “It’s cute when I’m insensitive because you can tell I’m so dumb I don’t mean it.”

Milo gave an exasperated sigh.

“Can I have the card back so I can learn how to understand you on the way to the Slaughterhouse?”

Milo let him have the card back.

◈◈◈

The Slaughterhouse was different by day. The building they’d taken over after the war looked almost respectable, with a few soot stains that couldn’t be removed without rebuilding the whole façade. There were a lot of stairs in front, and a wooden ramp at the side that was an obvious retrofit. Sort of a compromise between the Marselline Disabilities Act and the Preservation of Historical Buildings Code.

There was a plaque on the side of the building saying it used to be the Beaumont Opera House and it had been there a long time and burned down during the siege. It was extra cheap because nobody wanted to bother with restoring it to a standard or paying to have it torn down.

Maybe “restored” was a little generous for what the Slaughterhouse folks had done to the place, but it was still standing and it managed to keep passing inspection. The fact that actors and set designers were very good at lying and hiding things helped a great deal. Milo and Ann had confirmed that at least the sprinkler system and emergency exits really did work — both of them having no desire to be trapped in a flimsy old building patched with paper and cloth if it should happen to burn down again.

During daylight hours, the business end of the place was around the back, no stairs or ramp necessary. But you did need a familiar face or a key.

Sean had a key, which he indicated proudly. “I’m a regular, Milo. It’s only a matter of time before they let me direct something! I will definitely put you or Ann in it.”

Milo touched his chest and emphatically shook his head.

“Oh, no-no-no,” Sean said. “If Tiffie lets me infect you, you’re going to catch acting like a disease. You wait and see. You’re going to love it!”

He threw open the door and cupped both hands to his mouth, “Tiphanie Amber Morgante, we are going to settle this right now! I’ve got the beautiful sad zombie of your dreams right here! Ooh, Otto!”

Sean gestured to a gentleman of a little under four feet in height, wreathed in a black electrical cord that was at least ten times as long. “Otto, this is Milo. Milo, this is Otto, he’s new. You haven’t met him. He’s an LP! That means ‘little person.’” He leaned in and whispered behind a cupped hand, but he forgot to lower it from stage volume to actual-whisper volume, “We don’t use the M-word anymore! They hate that!”

Milo blinked at Otto. Miniature? he wondered.

Otto sighed, and disentangled himself from the cord. “We must be very patient with Sean, he’s the talent.”

Milo covered his mouth with a hand. Oh. I think he means that like how they say “user” at the factory.

Sean pouted, so probably Otto did mean it that way. “They let me help out with wardrobe. I do wardrobe!”

“Yes, he sorts things very well. Practically a savant. Just keep him away from sharp objects and script decisions.” Otto offered a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Milo managed a weak handshake. At least Otto wasn’t a hugger.

Sean was looking around and hadn’t yet noticed Milo might need some assistance with social interaction. “Where’s Tiffie? I brought him for Tiffie.”

“She’s in the office looking up mimes in the phone book, like maybe there’s a service,” Otto replied. “She doesn’t trust you,” he added with a smile. He looked Milo up and down. “You’re not talent, look at you. You’re a tech person, aren’t you? I feel the awkwardness coming off you in waves. Want to help me wire up these lights instead?”

Milo regarded the electrical cord and the various lights strewn about. They were all different shapes and colours and he bet they had really complicated names and functions. He cast a glance at Sean, and then nodded hesitantly. If he got to pick, then yes, but he didn’t think Ann and Sean would let him.

Sean tugged him gently by the sleeve, which was as good as grabbing him by the hair and dragging him. “No, you let Phil help you with the lights. Milo can come back and wire up some other show, when we don’t need him to be — a star!” He gestured grandly and continued to tug Milo towards the office.

Milo gazed longingly over his shoulder at the lights.

“Are you a hostage?” Otto called after them. “Milo! Blink twice for yes!”

Sean pulled him into the office and shut the door before he could even blink once.

◈◈◈

The woman sitting behind the desk was indeed leafing through the phone book, with one hand on the receiver of a large black telephone. She was wearing a turban with a huge red costume jewel in the front and her eyebrows were pencilled on with a severe arch.

“Tiphanie, stop that, you do not need to dial a mime,” Sean said. “If they have any artistic integrity at all, they won’t answer the phone. I told you I’d get Milo to come right away. Your search is over!”

“I want to have someone who does nonverbal acting for a living,” the woman said. “Just as a comparison to your obvious boyfriend here.” She gestured at Milo. “I don’t want to hire a mime, I was all right letting whoever we’ve got backstage do it. This isn’t a character, it’s a prop. But I don’t go for nepotism and the whole point of this script was we could do it with no new stuff or new people. I don’t care if this guy is the next Erik Rudi, but you just don’t listen and you won’t shut up.”

Milo shrank a step backwards and knocked into the door, but he couldn’t open it. Sean was in the way. That dumb jerk didn’t tell Ann the lady didn’t want them at all!

“He is not my boyfriend,” Sean said. “And he’s not new! He’s been here before. Sort of.” He shook his head. “No. Definitely. You remember Hideous Obsession, and he was here the whole time. You just don’t remember him because we had a lot of people in dresses and I didn’t…”

“I remember him perfectly because you didn’t stop hitting on him for two minutes, not even when you were killing him, you utter buffoon.”

 Sean scowled. “Listen, Tiphanie, he is excellent and you are going to love him!” He turned. “Now, Milo? You do just like I said.”

Milo just stood there, looking lost and clueless and sorry. He didn’t require any direction, he really was lost and clueless and sorry. I have no idea how to be a zombie. I don’t even know why I’m here. Can’t I play with the lights like the small man wants?

“See, Tiffie? I told you I could direct,” Sean said proudly.

“Somehow I doubt this is your direction,” Tiphanie said. She glided out from behind the desk with her hand over her mouth. She was seated on a hovering Farsian rug with her legs drawn up. “But it’s not bad.”

Milo’s eyes grew round. He’d forgotten all about the lights and the lady not wanting him. He signed urgently at Sean: MACHINE.

It was as close as he could come. A flying carpet was a kind of machine, if you ignored the lack of moving parts. He didn’t like to point and he certainly wasn’t going to grab it so he could see how it worked.

Not unless Sean got a clue and explained what he wanted: MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE.

“Oh, dear, I don’t know.” Sean took the card out of his pocket. “Is that ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘train’?”

Milo put both hands over his face and staggered away, so frustrated he might’ve been nursing a gunshot wound. He leaned on the wall, shaking his head. Baka.

“What are you doing?” said the woman on the flying carpet. “Is this pantomime for my benefit?”

“No, it’s just… Well, it’s difficult to explain. You did meet… You sort of met him before and he wasn’t like this, but Milo doesn’t exactly like to talk…”

“Is he some kind of method actor?”

The card fell out of Sean’s hand and wafted gracefully to the floor. He left it there. “Just a moment. Let me, um, let me speak to him in private for a moment.” He lowered his voice and stage-whispered again, “I’ll see if I can get him to break character.”

◈◈◈

“Milo…”

MACHINE MACHINE MACHINE.

Sean waved him off. “I am incredibly sorry I forgot what that means and I promise we will get to it soon, but I really need to ask you something.” He leaned in. “I know I told Annie we were going to be mature adults about this and explain you for real, but I’ve just realized we have a second option.

“Do you want to go with the original plan,” he lifted one finger for Option One, and then a second for Option Two, “or do you want to have a lot of fun at everyone’s expense?” He grinned. “Think very carefully, because we can decide to be mature adults at any time, but we’ve only got one shot to prank Tiffie and everybody who works here. What do you think?”

MACHINE.

“Oh, I know. Apart from that, though.”

Milo shrugged.

“Now, Milo, if you really don’t know, I’m going to pick for us, and you know I’m a vindictive idiot. I’m irritated Tiphanie thinks you’re my boyfriend and that’s the only reason I wanted you. You should be irritated, too, because you really are good! I think Tiffie would be super impressed if you were a method actor and then she’ll feel like an idiot later when we tell her you’re not, and I don’t want to pass that up. That’s like expecting me to say no to a box of turtles. Last chance to tell me to be responsible?” 

◈◈◈

Sean set Milo in front of Tiphanie with a smile. “Milo is a method actor and he’s just indicated to me via gestures alone that if you give him the part he’s not going to break character the whole time! This rôle really speaks to him, and he’s going to embrace it. Isn’t that marvellous?”

“This is the first iota of respect I have ever seen you show towards method acting, Sean.”

“Well, I’m warming to it, Tiffie. I’m warming to it. Milo is changing my mind. I’m capable of respecting a man for his talent and not attempting to date him if he’s not interested. I shall attend a method workshop at the very next opportunity. You just sign me right up.”

Tiphanie raised the height of her flying carpet and peered at Milo’s face. He looked past her, avoiding eye-contact. “You’ve got some kind of life experience you’re relating to being a brainless dead body in the thrall of a mad scientist?”

Milo silently dialed back his ability to communicate to where it had been when he first turned up at Hyacinth’s house and pretended she hadn’t just asked him a yes or no question. And, since she’d said that about life experience, he added a dash of how hopeless and frozen he’d been when he wasn’t doing sign language right. That seemed appropriate. When she moved to try to get him to look at her, he turned and looked away.

“Modelling career or something?”

He did not react.

She sucked in her cheeks and waggled both hands at the sides of her head like a fish. “Bloop, bloop, bloop.”

Sean snickered. Nothing from Milo, not even a twitch.

“Gods,” she muttered. She shook her head. “I don’t know if he’s a zombie or an alien, but he’s certainly wrong.” She sighed and waved a hand. “All right, I’ll leave the mimes for right now…”

“Yay!” Sean squealed.

“…but I’m not making you any promises. Let’s just take him to makeup and see what they want to do to him.”

◈◈◈

Milo had collected his card from the floor. Behind Tiphanie, where she couldn’t see him, he indicated the correct word to Sean, pointed at the flying carpet and signed it again: MACHINE.

“It’s not a machine, it’s a carpet, Milo,” Sean said softly. “There’s no room for it to be a machine.”

Milo sighed and shook his head.

“What are you two doing back there?” Tiphanie said. She turned the whole carpet around and glared at the unruly children.

“Milo is expressing some uncertainty over the nature of your carpet, Tiffie,” Sean said. “He doesn’t want to break character, but he and I have a bit of a code. He just loves new technology and I think he’s a bit confused why you don’t have an electric wheelchair or metal legs or something.”

No I’m not! thought Milo. I think it’s elegant! And it’s totally cool she’s wearing a turban too! He was shaking his head. He signed: GOOD MACHINE GOOD GOOD.

“Yes, he really is adamant that some kind of machine would be better. He’d probably like to design you a brand-new chair that knows how to climb stairs. With a refrigerated liquor cabinet and a built-in cigarette lighter or something.”

Milo covered his face with both hands and clutched his fingers in his hair. Bakaaaaa!

“I’d love it,” Tiphanie replied. She turned back around and continued to float down the hallway with a sigh. “It’d make my mermaid days seem like a vacation.”

“Tiphanie is a mermaid in exile,” Sean told Milo. “It only looks like she has nonworking people legs when her tail is engaged. Kind of a curse, if you get me.”

Milo nodded. Yes. Okay. This is like how we’re pretending I’m a method actor.

“It’s on random,” Tiphanie said with a smile. “Randomermaidosis. I think my legs were all right the whole time you were here before, but I did have a couple bad hand days.”

“Flipper days,” Sean put in.

“San Rosille is not a mermaid-friendly town, little zombie,” she said sternly. “You don’t notice it unless you’re a mermaid too. A regular wheelchair just doesn’t cut it. My carpet is a big help, but it’s illegal. I suppose a magic chair isn’t, as long as it doesn’t fly, but it would be incredibly obvious. At least I can fold up the carpet and make it look normal, then I have it with me when I can use it, like here. People would flip out if they saw me climbing stairs in a wheelchair.”

I totally get that, it’s just like Lola’s arm, Milo thought, nodding. I just really want to touch your awesome carpet so I can see how it works. That’s all, Tiffie.

“Is he saying anything in your code, or is this just what it looks like?”

“He says he’d like to make you a cool secret magic wheelchair, so the normal people won’t know,” Sean replied.

Milo sighed.

◈◈◈

The sign on the door said Ham, Eggs and Makeup, which hadn’t made much sense to Milo and Ann when they saw it previously, except the makeup part.

The woman spinning around in the office chair with her feet up had lime green hair and a matching dress with fashionable distressed edging. “Hi, Sean! We doing another trial run?” She grinned. “You want it cuter? Oh.” When she noticed Tiphanie on the carpet she stood and straightened her dress. “I was only teasing, Tiffie. He’ll be hideous no matter how much he whines.”

Tiphanie shook her head. “We’ve got Hervé sorted already. I want you to have a look at this guy and see if you can zombie him up. He’s… Where…?”

She craned her head and found the potential zombie stooped over behind her and poking the edge of the carpet with one finger. He turned and walked jerkily away when he saw her looking. He stood in the corner near the door, facing the wall, like she couldn’t see him if he couldn’t see her.

She snickered. “Oh, bravo. Don’t mind him, the method people got to him and he’s living the part. Or un-living, I guess. A brainless dead man, the ultimate submissive. He’s doing very well by himself, but do you think you can work with the concept without spending too much on him, Eggs?”

“As long as you don’t want any pieces falling off… “ She peered past Tiphanie at the man in the corner. “Can I see him, or…?”

Tiphanie smiled. “I don’t know. Why don’t you try leading him around by the hand like a toddler?”

Sean shooed a hand at them. “Now, as you explained the concept to me, and I to him, he does understand human speech, we just don’t want it to be obvious until the very end. Milo, sit in the makeup chair for Eglantine, just don’t acknowledge the fact that I asked you to and do it in your own time.”

Milo remained in the corner for about two minutes more, having an internal discussion about the absurdity of this situation and gathering his courage for dealing with it. This was a lot more complicated than Sean just explaining he was straight up weird!

He decided to take a tour of the makeup room and examine any objects that interested him instead of looking at the people. This was way different makeup than they had at the Black Orchid. The most special of effects they had there were costume wings and glitter.

There was a box of translucent white noses on the counter, that was creepy.

The place smelled like rubber, dust and something sharper, a little like ammonia cleaner. Sean had told Ann not to worry about that, that was liquid latex and she didn’t need any of it to get murdered, but the dead doll at the end was going to get slathered in it. “Poor Doug has to shave his whole body,” he remembered that, because it didn’t make any sense.

He wondered what happened to the wig they used for Ann’s hair. There were a few out, but not that one.

“Hey, zombie! Sit in the chair!” Tiphanie snapped.

He dropped the box of grease paints he’d just opened and froze up entirely.

“Oh, gods, I feel bad for him,” the makeup lady said. “It’s all right, zombie,” she called over. “We won’t let the mean scientist hurt you. We love you.”

“All right, he’s a goddamn genius,” Tiphanie muttered.

Milo made a shaky attempt to collect the paints and stepped on one, squirting the linoleum floor with purple. He pressed both hands over his mouth and did not scream.

“Eloise obviously beats the shit out of him when we’re not looking,” Tiphanie said. “I love that!”

Sean scurried over and collected the paints. “It’s all right,” he whispered, an actual whisper for once. “They think you’re brilliant. I told you! Just sit down whenever you’re ready. I promise, sweetheart, they don’t even see you. They’re looking at the character. That’s why shy people like us love acting so much…”

“Damn it, Sean, I want him to do it and keep screwing it up!” Tiphanie said.

“Oh, but he makes you want to help him, doesn’t he?” Eglantine said. “All the ladies in the audience are going to want to take him home and fix him!”

“And some of the men!” Sean agreed. “When I told him about it, he thought the zombie ought to get away at the end. Maybe he doesn’t want to die like poor Ethan, maybe he just wants to be free.”

Tiphane floated nearer and clutched Sean’s arm. “Swear to me right now you didn’t come up with that yourself, because that actually sounds halfway clever.”

“It was a joint effort,” Sean said.

Milo tentatively sat in the chair. It issued a creak and he stood up again, frowning at it.

Eglantine swept in. “It’s okay! It’s just old and cheap! I don’t even mind if you break it, except I’d hate for you to feel bad.” She pulled it back and offered him the seat.

“Look at him thinking about it,” Tiphane said. “Look at him turning it over in whatever’s left of his mind! He vaguely remembers what chairs are for, he’s hooking it up, but he’s not even looking at Eggs. He doesn’t relate to people, it’s an object memory!”

“He’s just afraid of disappointing me because he’s abused,” Eglantine said sadly. “Poor zombie. It’s okay. Sit? Siiit?”

Feeling utterly ridiculous, Milo sighed and sat down in the chair. He put his face in his hands and hid.

“Good boy!” Eglantine said. She pet him on the head. “But can I see your pretty face? I don’t care if you’re dead, you don’t have to be ashamed.” She looked up at Sean. “I want to give him a chocolate and coax him! Do zombies eat chocolates?”

Sean snickered. “I don’t know, you can always try.”

Milo did not want a chocolate, but he did lift his head and turn away to make that clear as the makeup lady was attempting to feed him.

“Gods, he’s so pale. He just needs a little powder. Talcum powder,” she said. “Maybe I can add some shadows, for the lights.” She looked up with a grin. “Can we have his shirt off? I want to do a great big Y-scar on his chest, like she cracked him open and violated him without his consent! He’s just so vulnerable!” She was already unbuttoning the shirt.

Milo curled up and looked away.

“Ah-ah-ah, Eggs.” Sean shooed her away. “Don’t violate him further. Just because he’s a zombie. You should be ashamed of yourself. He has feelings.”

Eglantine blushed and hung her head. “Sorry, zombie.”

“Anyway, we’ve had Milo before, and he presents a bit of a lighting challenge without his shirt. Milo, do you mind if we just show Eggs a little bit of where you’re not tanned?”

“Tanned?” Eglantine squawked.

Sean made no attempt to roll up a sleeve, though that would’ve been the easiest. He knew how Milo felt about the scars. He gently undid a second button and indicated the very top of Milo’s chest.

“Yikes, he’s transparent!” Eglantine said. “Oh, man.”

“He glows,” Sean said. He did up the button again. “We put Ann in opera gloves all the way up to the shoulder and we still had a hell of a time keeping her from glowing. She was only topless for about five minutes before I started killing her.”

“Ann?”

Tiphanie waved a hand. “A stage name. Milo is a drag performer. You weren’t here for Hideous Obsession, your dog was sick. Hamilton and I did the makeup. ‘Ann’ was like an entirely different person.”

“He reminds me of Mr. Puppadopoulos,” Eglantine said, stroking his hair. “He has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Don’t you like me to pet you, zombie? I’m so sorry. Are you sure you won’t have a chocolate? You’re being so good for me.”

Tiphanie snorted and shook her head. “He hasn’t been here ten minutes and we’re already treating him like a prop with no agency. Worse than a dog. I’m sorry I ever mentioned mimes.”

“Well, you should be,” Sean said firmly. “I told you! Eggs, we haven’t got much time or money to make him up anyway. He’s not a main character. You’ll have to come up with something subtle.”

“I need a couple of buttons undone so they can see where she stitched his head back on,” Eglantine said. “A little foundation and some more powder just at the very top of his chest to keep the shine down. I hope I have something that matches, or else I’m going to have to use clown white. Can I undo your shirt just a little bit, zombie, so I can see your neck? Is that all right?”

Milo nodded subtly, looking away.

“He understands me!” Eglantine declared with a triumphant smile.

◈◈◈

Eglantine took about forty-five minutes to turn Milo into a zombie, most of which was spent trying to find or produce some stage makeup that matched his skin tone — other than clown white. They already had a stitched latex scar for him, and when Sean showed everyone how the beautiful zombie looked with his hair down, Eglantine screamed and picked out a much shorter one. It took less time to paint. 

“The hair keeps growing after you die,” Tiphane said, examining the final product.

“I think it doesn’t, Tiffie,” Sean said.

“We can say the hair keeps growing after you die. Idiot.”

“Then why will we say his nails are still short?”

Tiphanie swatted Sean on the head.

Eglantine turned Milo around and showed him his reflection in the lighted mirror with pride. “That’s all you, babe, just a little contouring and foundation and powder.”

Milo leaned in and considered himself. He thought it was a little like he’d been during the siege, with less bruising and more dishevelled hair. It was almost wistful.

“He recognizes himself in reflections,” Tiphanie noted.

Ann thought it was hilarious, and she was about to grin. He urgently put up a hand to block the face and turned away.

“Oh, but he doesn’t remember looking like that,” Sean added. “Poor thing.”

Eglantine held up a jar of cold cream. “I’ll put him back the way he was!”

That took about fifteen minutes. She even combed and braided his hair. She turned him around and showed him the mirror again, like he was so deteriorated he wouldn’t get that she’d un-zombied him if he didn’t see it.

“All better!”

Ann grinned wickedly. She just couldn’t help herself.

“Sweet baby hippos, that smile!” Eglantine cried.

“We’ll have him do that at the end when he’s free,” Tiphanie said with a nod.

◈◈◈

There were way more people backstage now and they were all staring at him. A dark-haired woman in a white lab coat was saying, “Is that him? Does Tiffie want him or not? I want to meet my experiment!” He looked at his shoes. A rather smaller pair of shoes appeared next to them.

“Milo, I’m sorry,” Otto said. “I thought maybe I was scaring you, or you were scared of something. I didn’t know you were doing a thing. I feel really stupid.”

Milo lifted his head and shook it.

“That’s not your fault, Otto, I got so distracted I forgot to explain him,” Sean said. “I’m sure he feels bad too.” Milo was signing I’M SORRY at Sean, because Sean was the only one around who might get it. “He just can’t say it at the moment. And don’t tell Tiffie, but he really is a tech person. You got that right. The acting is more of a side gig.”

“Well, he’s freaking brilliant at it,” Otto replied. “If he wants to help me with the electric while he’s here, just let me know.”

Milo smiled.

“Wow,” Otto said. “Like a ray of creepy sunshine.”

The smile faded.

“Don’t call the zombie creepy, he’s a human being with feelings and I love him!” Eglantine shrieked from the hallway.

“Bring him back over here and let me do a scene with him!” said the woman in the lab coat. “Just one scene! I’ve been running lines with a mop the whole time!”

Milo hid his eyes in his hand.

Sean put a careful arm around him. “I promise, everyone, I’ll bring him back for the rehearsals. I think I’d better just get him home now so he can have a bit of a break. Method acting is exhausting, you know.”

◈◈◈

“Er, that got a bit out of hand,” Sean allowed, once they were safely outside with the door shut.

Milo bapped him on the forehead again and flung an irritated gesture with both hands, scattering sarcasm like a flower girl. Ya think?!?

“All you had to do was punch me or something if you wanted to quit.” Sean smiled at him. “Or stop playing it up. I almost thought you wanted to drop it for Otto, but you didn’t apologize to him directly and I know you can do that without sign language. I’ve seen you.”

Milo’s mouth twisted to one side, not a smile but not quite a frown. He shrugged.

“Did you have fun?”

He nodded, looking away.

Sean grinned. “I knew it. Is Annie going to be mad at us?”

Milo held his thumb and forefinger a small space apart.

“Any madder if we keep doing it the whole time?”

Milo bobbed his head noncommittally.

“What if we drop it on opening night? After the bows?”

Milo signed OK at him.

“If Tiffie has her legs back by then, she’s going to fall over dead!”

Milo frowned and shoved him.

“Oh, I’ll catch her, Milo. I promise I’ll catch her.”