A tiny grin forms on my lips. Is this a subtle jab at Una Harris’ article? I think so.

The audience erupts into applause, applause so deafening it makes me think they must be massive fans of his already, because he hasn’t even done anything yet. Jay beams down at everyone, and as he walks to the edge of the stage, he spots me and winks. Wow, I have chills. There’s something about the fact that the spotlight is the only light in the venue that makes the anticipation of what he might do that much more all-consuming.

He holds up his hands in a gesture that says “give me a moment,” and then he reaches inside his pocket, pulling out a tiny key and dangling it for everyone to see. The key is for the handcuffs. He raises it into the air, opens his mouth, and drops the key right in. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows it whole.

Walking from one side of the stage to the other, he again displays the strength of the handcuffs to the audience. Now he tries to yank his hands apart, but the handcuffs aren’t budging. He twists and turns his arms, but still nothing. What on earth is he up to?

I expect him to turn around at some point and then turn back with the handcuffs off, but that’s not what happens. Instead, he keeps yanking at them, and something starts to happen. The chain linking the cuffs together begins to crumble to sand, pouring onto the stage floor in a long stream. Seconds later, Jay snaps the cuffs in half. The crowd roars with applause.

Next, he pulls a knife out of the waistband of his pants. Bringing it to his chest, he slices right through the fabric, leaving a gaping hole to demonstrate its sharpness. Then, quick as a flash, he flips the knife; it flies right up into the air before turning and sailing back down, slicing directly through his foot. There’s an audible collective intake of breath. Jay plasters a confused look on his face and lifts his leg up, bending down to see that the knife has gone right through his shoe. You can see the sharp, pointy end of it sticking out of the sole. He bends down and pulls the knife clean out, and I’m not the only one who winces. I’m so close to him, sitting here in the front row, and it looks so real. It can’t be, though, because there’s no blood on the knife, and when he lifts his leg again, the sole of his shoe is completely intact.

More applause.

Next, he pulls a small black gun from his pocket and brings it to his head. I grimace, blood pounding in my ears. Past trauma has programmed me to panic at a sight like this, and even though I know it can’t be real, I still come out in goose bumps all over. I’m on the edge of my seat as he pulls the trigger and a violently loud bang goes off, confetti exploding out the other side of his skull. My heart stutters, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Guns have always been a bad visual for me, even ones that aren’t real.

The clapping deafens me almost as much as the bang of the fake gun.

He takes the gun now and covers it with both his hands. When he opens them, the gun is gone, and a bird flies out. A dove. One of his pet doves! Somehow, seeing a symbol of war being transformed into a symbol of peace is soothing to me. It does something to my brain, releases the trauma. The dove flies around him and then lands on his shoulder. Jay picks her up, holding her in his hands just like he held the gun. He crisscrosses his hands over her, and she transforms into two doves. Fucking. Wow.

He has each of them perched in either hand now. He raises his arms, and they fly off over the audience to the back of the venue. As he rubs his hands together quickly, smoke begins to rise out of his skin, and then huge, billowing flames erupt, seemingly from his very palms. The crowd goes wild, and the flames rise up and up. I can actually feel the heat of them from where I’m sitting, so I know they must be real. As this is happening, two red devil horns are projected against the bare wall behind him, making it look like they’re coming out of his own head.

Fire and brimstone.

Yep. I was definitely right earlier when I’d described him as a sexy version of the devil.

Then he reaches for a black strap around his neck and pulls one of those scary Jason masks on, covering his face. A group of people sitting to the back cheers loudly. Ah, I get it. His full name is Jason.

He stands there for a long time, completely still, his arms outstretched. Then, miraculously, his body starts to rise into the air by about two feet. He makes a swift gesture with his hands, and the curtains around the stage move abruptly, billowing out as though caught on a giant gust of wind. He gestures to a chair that had been placed off to the side, and it goes flying, crashing into the other end of the stage. A woman sitting behind me lets out a startled yelp.

Did I mention he’s still floating in the air? Flying while telekinetic. That’s some magic trick. Dry ice smoke begins to seep out from the floor, the dusty smell of it filling my nostrils.

He hovers there for a second before lowering back to the stage. When the clapping dies down, he reaches to pull the mask to the back of his head again, but when he reveals his face, it’s not Jay at all. It’s Jessie. She’s almost the same height, with similar tattoos, but not the same build. And she’s definitely not Jay.

Where the hell did he go?

Twelve

The spotlight travels from Jessie on the stage, down the centre of the audience, to the back of the room. Every single person’s gaze follows the light until it lands on Jay, standing casually at the back of the audience, holding Ellen and Portia, his two white doves.

He waves to the audience, and then the spotlight goes out completely, plunging us all into darkness again. A second later it comes back on, this time shining on the far right-hand corner of the stage, where Jay is now standing, sans doves. Okay, how on earth did he get there so quickly? It seriously can’t be possible.

My mind is boggled.

The song has ended now, and the crowd is cheering louder than ever. When it quietens down, Jay looks to his wrists, where the broken handcuffs still hang.

“You know what,” he says, looking to the audience, “these are beginning to chafe a little. Anybody got the key?”

“You swallowed it,” somebody shouts at him from the back.

Jay scratches his head and looks confused. “Oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I? Shit, that was a bad move. Hey, are you all sure none of you have it?” His eyes land on me, and I jump a little. Up until this moment, I’d felt invisible from my place amid the crowd, but Jay’s gaze alone makes me feel illuminated.

“Hey, you in the purple,” he calls to me with a knowing smile. “Have you got a key?”

I shake my head no, already planning to give him an earful later for singling me out, when I hear something jingle. I reach up to the side of my face, all of a sudden aware of a heavy object pulling on my earlobe. My hand comes to the object, and I feel it. Oh, fuck me. This can’t be the key for the handcuffs. He swallowed it, or at least that’s what it looked like. It’s not possible for it to have gotten on my ear. It just isn’t.

The spotlight lands on me, along with every pair of eyes in the place, as I feel the key hanging from an earring hook on my ear. Jay makes his way off the stage and comes toward me. I lift the key up for everyone to see, and they all start clapping. Jay stands in front of me, holding his cuffed wrists out as he bends down and asks, “You wouldn’t mind doing the honours, would you?”

His breath whispers over my skin and I swallow hard, starting with his left wrist and unlocking the cuff. It falls free as I go to undo the other one. Jay comes closer and gives me a quick, light peck on the cheek, whispering, “Thanks, Watson.” His mischievous grin is still in place.

“You told me not to wear earrings. You planned this,” I whisper in reply.