Night on Terror Island (8 page)

‘Wow! Did you … did you manage to get him out?’

‘No. Oh, I wanted to, but I realised that if I just followed him in there, I wouldn’t be able to get out myself. I needed to invent an escape device.’ Mr Lazarus sighed. ‘That took me years of
experimentation
. And, when I was finally able to go into that copy of the film, I realised it was too late to rescue Federico. He’d been there till the closing credits, you see. The film even gave him his own credit.
Federico as Frightened Monkey
.’ Mr Lazarus smiled a sad smile. ‘I still have the original roll of film. I watch it sometimes just so I can see him. He seems happy enough. He is being chased by aliens, but they never quite manage to catch up with him.’

Kip shook his head.

‘I’ve seen that film,’ he said, ‘and I don’t remember a scene like that.’

‘Of course not! It only affects the copy into which he was sent, and I made sure it never went back to the distributors. I told them it had been destroyed in an accident. ‘Mr Lazarus shrugged. ‘So, that’s how I came up with the Lazarus Enigma. I had invented an incredible machine. How it actually works doesn’t really matter. It’s what it
does
that counts.’

Kip nodded. ‘It was the scariest thing that ever happened to me,’ he said. ‘And …’

‘And what?’ asked Mr Lazarus, moving a little closer.

‘It was also kind of cool. I mean, everything was so real, every little detail. Not that I had much chance to study any of it. I was only in there for a few minutes. And if I’d been a couple of seconds slower pressing
the
exit button …’ He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that.

‘Hmm. Maybe next time, you’ll be able to spend longer.’

‘Next time?’ Kip glared at Mr Lazarus. ‘What makes you think there’s going to be a “next time?”’

Mr Lazarus smiled.

‘Because you said it was cool. And it
is
amazing, you have to admit.’

Kip had to think about that one. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to lie about it.

‘It could be great,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe if the film had been safer, a comedy or whatever, where the worst thing that could be thrown at you is a custard pie.
That
might be worth a go.’

Mr Lazarus smiled triumphantly.

‘I
knew
you’d appreciate it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got cinema in your blood, Kip. The Lazarus Enigma was made for people like you. But we’ve got to make a deal, yes? The machine has to be our secret. You can’t tell anybody else about it. Agreed?’

Kip nodded. ‘There’s no way I’d mention it to anyone,’ he said. ‘They’d think I’d lost the plot. Besides, if other people found out about what you’ve got there, who knows what could happen? There’d be idiots queuing up around the block wanting to go into a movie. We could probably charge admission …’

He saw Mr Lazarus’s eyes widen as though this idea hadn’t occurred to him.

‘Oh no,’ said Kip. ‘No way! I want you to get a blanket and cover that thing up. If Dad ever found out about it, I don’t know what he’d say.’ The mention of his father made him look at his watch. ‘I’d better get home,’ he said. ‘Dad will be wondering where I am.’

‘You won’t mention what happened today?’

‘Are you kidding? I’m still not sure I believe it myself.’

He opened the door of the projection room and he and Mr Lazarus walked out into the empty auditorium.

‘Kip. Aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘Hmm?’

‘The Retriever. I need to put it somewhere safe.’

‘Oh yeah, right.’ Kip reached under his T-shirt and pulled out the device. He unhooked it from around his neck and looked at it for a moment, marvelling at how a piece of Perspex with a single button on it could have saved his life. Then he handed it to Mr Lazarus.

‘And the Communicator,’ Mr Lazarus reminded him.

Kip nodded. He unstrapped the leather holster and handed it over.

‘Thank you, Kip.’ Mr Lazarus slipped the Retriever
into
his waistcoat pocket and slung the holster across his shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure everything’s locked up before I leave,’ he said.

Kip studied him for a moment.

‘But you
don’t
leave, do you?’

‘Hmm?’ Mr Lazarus attempted an innocent look, but it didn’t quite come off.

‘You live in the projection room,’ said Kip. ‘That’s what the bed’s for.’

Mr Lazarus smiled sheepishly.

‘You are an observant boy,’ he said. ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t mention this to your father.’

‘Oh, I’ll add it to the list,’ said Kip. He unlocked the main doors and stepped out onto the street. He stood for a moment, blinking around in the unexpected sunlight. After his trip into
Public Enemy Number One
, even the ordinary looked somehow weird. He glanced up and down the road, half expecting to see a line of rickety black cars speeding towards him. But everything seemed normal. He shook his head and started walking back towards home. By the time he’d reached his street, his mind was whirring. He realised it was wrong, and probably crazy, but he was already putting together a list in his head; a list of the films he wouldn’t mind making a brief appearance in.

KIP COULDN’T STOP
himself from thinking back to his brief visit into the movie. It had all flashed by so quickly, he’d hardly had time to register what was happening to him. Now he thought that if the opportunity came up to visit a gentler, less dangerous film, he might just ask Mr Lazarus to send him in. How brilliant would it be to visit a fantastic world of science fiction? Or to spend a bit of time with one of his favourite movie stars, knowing that he had the Retriever with him to get him out of trouble if anything should go wrong? Mind you, the next scheduled film at the Paramount,
Terror Island
, wasn’t the kind of movie he’d be in a great hurry to visit. If actors dressed as flesh-eating Neanderthals were going to turn into
real
flesh-eating Neanderthals, he frankly didn’t want to be involved.

Still, it was something to think about for the future – and the more he thought about it, the more appealing it became. He even thought about telling Beth what had happened, but chickened out at the last minute, telling himself she’d think he’d lost it big time.

Meanwhile, Dad had started asking some awkward questions.

‘Have you any idea where Mr Lazarus lives?’ he asked Kip on Wednesday night, while they were waiting for the first customers to arrive.

‘Er … no.’ Kip could feel his face colouring. ‘I’ve never asked.’

‘Well, I have. I keep asking him for an address and phone number, just in case I need to get in touch with him, but every time I do, he finds some excuse not to give it to me. And … have you noticed how he’s always the last to leave? He always seems to have a bit of fine-tuning to do up in that projection room.’

‘It is great though, isn’t it?’ said Kip, desperate to change the subject. ‘The Lazarus Enigma, I mean.’

‘The what?’

‘Er … that’s what he calls the special equipment. As good as digital, I reckon.’

‘Sounds like something out of a James Bond movie,’ said Dad. ‘But the results
are
amazing.’ He’d watched the film on Monday night and, like everyone else, had been astonished by the quality of the image. ‘It’s weird,’ he said. ‘I mean, have you
looked
at that equipment?’

Kip played it cool.

‘Yeah, I’ve glanced at it.’

‘It’s like something that’s been put together in a garden shed. God knows how it does what it does.’

‘It’s an enigma,’ said Kip, remembering something that Mr Lazarus had said to him. ‘Hence the name.’

Dad gave him an odd look.

‘I think you’ve been spending too much time with him,’ he said. ‘Now listen, Kip, I need to go home a little early tonight. Your Mum and I have some stuff we need to discuss.’

Kip shrugged his shoulders.

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I can sort out things here.’

‘Thanks, Kip. I appreciate it.’

Dad headed home at about nine-thirty, leaving Kip to clear up. After the audience had gone, he went into the auditorium and did a quick check on the seats, throwing the worst of the rubbish into a black bin bag.

He was just finishing up when the door of the projection room opened and Mr Lazarus came out. He strolled down the steps to the centre of the cinema, his hands in the pockets of his fancy waistcoat.

‘A good night, I think,’ he said. ‘The auditorium looked pretty full.’

‘Best in ages,’ Kip agreed. ‘Dad was made up. By the way he was asking questions before. He says he needs an address from you.’

‘He’ll get one,’ said Mr Lazarus.

‘Yeah. Just so long as it’s not, “The Projection Room, Paramount Picture Palace”. I don’t think he’d be too happy about that.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’ Mr Lazarus smiled. ‘By the way, my collector friend was very pleased with John Dillinger’s hat. It’s going to take pride of place in his collection.’ He lifted his gloved hand and a brown envelope appeared in it.

‘How do you
do
that?’ asked Kip.

‘It’s just a little bit of magic,’ said Mr Lazarus. He handed the envelope to Kip. ‘And that’s a little something for your trouble.’

Kip opened it. It contained six crisp ten pound notes.

‘Oh … I’m not sure I can take this,’ he said.

‘Why not? You earned it. Buy yourself something. Some new trainers, perhaps?’

Kip looked at Mr Lazarus. Only the previous day, he’d asked his mum about a new pair of trainers he’d seen online. The price? Sixty pounds.

‘How do you do it?’ he asked again.

‘How do I do what?’

‘Know stuff about people. And make things appear. And swap cheapo watches for nice expensive ones. Are you like a … magician, or something?’

Mr Lazarus smiled. ‘It’s as good a description as any. I think all projectionists are magicians. We take the stuff of dreams and we put them up there for all to see.’ He gestured at the blank cinema screen.

Kip looked at the screen for a moment and then back at Mr Lazarus.

‘I’ve got some more questions,’ he said.

Mr Lazarus smiled. He ushered Kip into a seat and then took the one next to him. ‘Fire away,’ he suggested.

Kip frowned, not exactly sure what to ask first. Every question that appeared in his mind sounded stupid. Finally, he decided he had to start somewhere.

‘Are you … are you
really
over a hundred years old?’ he asked.

Mr Lazarus laughed.

‘Hard ones first, eh?’ He seemed to consider for a moment. ‘I was born in 1890,’ he said. ‘In Naples.’

Kip did a quick calculation in his head.

‘Flippin’eck!’ he said.

Mr Lazarus seemed unperturbed.

‘My father was a travelling salesman and my early years were spent moving from place to place. When I was around your age, we moved to Paris and it was while I was there that I first met the man who would influence my whole life. His name was Georges Méliés.’

‘The film maker?’ asked Kip.

Mr Lazarus looked at him, shocked. ‘You have heard of him?’ he gasped. ‘I must say, I’m surprised. It was a very long time ago.’

‘Well, I don’t know much about him, but I read this article in a film magazine. It reckoned he was the father of science fiction.’

Mr Lazarus nodded.

‘He has been called that. It’s funny you mentioned magicians earlier because that is exactly what he did for a living before he discovered film-making. He taught me a few things.’ Mr Lazarus lifted a hand and made a gesture. A white dove appeared in his palm and fluttered towards the roof of the cinema. Kip gazed up at it open-mouthed. Meanwhile, Mr Lazarus went right on talking. ‘I was perhaps sixteen years old when I first went to his theatre and saw a film called
A Journey to the Moon
…’ He paused for a moment. ‘Do you still have my business card with you?’

Kip nodded. He reached into his back pocket and took it out.

‘It’s getting a bit creased,’ he said.

‘No matter.’ Mr Lazarus drew the card between his thumb and forefinger and suddenly, it looked as though it had been freshly ironed. Then he tapped it once. Instantly, a grainy black and white image appeared on it – a round full moon, that appeared to be made from melting wax, floating in a black sky. The moon had a face, a jolly smiling face: the eyes moving, the lips pouting and smiling. The moon began to grow bigger as though a camera was tracking towards it. Then, quite suddenly, a huge bullet-shaped spaceship struck the moon and buried itself in the face’s right eye. The moon’s
tongue
came out of its mouth and it winced in pain. Then the image flickered and was gone.