The dreadful echoes of the heavy spiked door slamming into place reverberate around the hall, gradually giving way to a hushed silence. Two hooded stagehands approach the cabinet, pulling open the door to reveal the lady in the silver grey ballgown stood in still repose against the red velvet interior, her dress dotted with deep red marks from where the spikes made contact. Her sequinned opera mask covers most of her face, but her lips are motionless in a final, satisfied grin.

The stagehands take her arms and lift her out of the cabinet, carrying her inert body towards the edge of the stage. Their route takes them past the lady's companion, who watches her pass with expressions ranging from shock to adoration. As the stagehands make their exit with the lady in grey, all eyes fall upon the companion, a short-haired blonde in burgundy ballgown and similar sequinned mask. There is a short wait as the mechanism of the iron maiden is reset, before she is called forth by the sinister, genial figure of the host.

The lady in burgundy steps forward, takes a deep breath and takes up position inside the cabinet.

—–

My job at this time was data entry temping for an insurance company. It was boring and menial, but I actually didn't mind it in the scheme of temp jobs because I could set myself to automatic and daydream while my fingers did the typing. And honestly, anyone who expects agency jobs to pass the thrill test must be crazy.

Generally, there were three types of temp job. There was stuff like this – grunt work you just got on with, at least you knew you'd been hired for an actual task. The worse ones were those where they had to find work for you to do, because then you'd been brought in by someone who just wanted an underling to boss about, for political purposes or simply as an ego boost. Then there were the general admin jobs where they'd treat you more or less as a regular employee, right up until you reached the point where they'd have to hire you permanently or give you a raise, at which point you became competition and the knives came out.

Basically I couldn't be doing with office politics. I'd been told by various people I was coasting, that I should be chasing a permanent job, but as I looked around at the people in offices, living off inane popularly-approved trivia while finding ways to inch their way up shit hill by any means necessary, I just didn't see the appeal. My shared house was full of people like them. They'd come in from work, microwave a ready meal, watch tatty TV, sleep, go to work, repeat, and that was their entire life. At least with temping you knew you were just there for the money and could fuck off if they took too many liberties.

So while my fingers typed, as the names of policyholders trundled through some passive part of my brain to be converted to mechanical keystrokes and forgotten forever, my active mind went places. This time, Maise was with me, in all of the distinctive outfits I'd seen her wearing to her mysterious roleplay game, cast in a carousel of the movie scenes we'd watched together. We were Tarzan and Jane struggling hopelessly in a pool of quicksand. We were Thelma and Louise, pitching together to fiery death rather than submit to an unfair society. And looming large was the shadow of the guillotine in that opening scene from Quills. I'd had some serious thoughts about that one in particular, with the two of us trading roles.

On the bus back home my phone went with a message from Maise.

"Hey Sexy! I'll be a little late back, need to go pick something up. Do you mind cooking for us both? Help yourself to anything you want from my cupboard. Kill you later! M xxx"

I texted back,

"Sure thing, look forward to seeing you. Kill you too! L xxx"

After hitting send, I looked at the two messages sitting in my chat log. "Kill you later / Kill you too". Yup, nothing weird about that.

Maise came home just after half seven, carrying what looked like a cross between a suitcase and a wallpapering table. She left it leaning against the wall, came over and gave me a big hug.

"Hey, Sexy," she said as we kissed. "Missed me?"

"Hell yeah," I said. "There's some casserole and veg in the pot, I'll go plate up. What's in the box?"

"Something for later," she said, "but first, let's eat. I'm glad you did casserole, it means this'll go."

She pulled out a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, with a couple of glasses. I wished I'd thought to set out candles.

The wine was delicious, made all the more so by the company. We finished the bottle between us over the meal, cleared the table and washed up together.

"So, this box," I asked.

"Help me get it up to my room and I'll set it up. Change into something nice, preferably something that'll let me get at your waist."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Are you asking me to be your volunteer?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she replied, licking her lips.

I helped her get the case up the stairs and into her room, then left her to set up as I went to get changed. I knew I had to find something a bit classier than my usual thrown together attire, so I went deep into the wardrobe to find something suitable. The best I had was a long lacy black skirt I used to wear out to goth clubs, paired with a close fitting black spandex top. For the first time in a while I applied makeup, selecting a deep red lipstick and black eyeliner. If I was going to go goth, it had to be the complete look.

No sooner had I finished, there was a knock at the door.

"Are you ready to volunteer?"

As I opened the door we both did a double take.

"You look amazing," said Maise. "I think this is the first time I've seen you in a frock, I like you this way."

Maise meanwhile was wearing something I had seen before. Something I was delighted to see again.

It was the tailored tuxedo.

"Steve might be dead, but I still have his clothes," said Maise. "It seemed appropriate for what we're about to do."

Maise had cleared a space in the centre of her room, where the wooden case had been opened out into a table with a wooden frame sitting across the middle. I knew what this was, it was the cheesy jigsaw version of sawing a person in half that birthday party magicians use, but set out like this, lit entirely by candles around the edge of the room, it felt special.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"I'm not a trained magician so there's a good chance of me killing you with this thing," said Maise mischievously, "but from what we've been saying I don't think you'd mind that much. Ready to lie down?"

Maise helped me get up onto the table and laid me back, placing a velvet cushion under the back of my head. She straightened out my skirt and gently lifted my arms into a folded position across my chest. It was then that I realised that I could see myself from above, set out like a cadaver in a funeral parlour.

"You have a mirror on your ceiling!" I exclaimed.

"Of course," said Maise. "Can't have you missing anything."

She lifted the hem of my top so a line of bare flesh was exposed, then turned away from the table. I heard the whine of an electric motor being tested and she returned with the motorized saw in her hand.

I'd always thought magicians' jigsaws looked a bit pathetic when I'd seen them, but this one, up close, looked huge. Especially when she gave it a quick rev inches from my face, so I could see the toothed blade whizzing up and down.

"I am Montag the Magnificent! The fire of the laws of reason!" yelled Maise.

"Very funny, you can cut that out," I said. She knew how I felt about the Wizard of Gore antagonist.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. How about this instead: Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be amazed as Lexie, the brave gothic beauty with a very sexy deathwish, willingly submits herself to be sawn in half for your entertainment and her own moment of destiny."

"Better," I smiled.

Maise made her way to the centre of the table and placed the saw blade against the side of my exposed waist. I shivered with excitement as the cold steel of the blade touched my skin. Then she gently lifted it up and down so the teeth rubbed against my flesh. If she'd wanted to, she could have started up the motor and sawn through me for real, right there and then, and I would not have complained. I knew it and she knew it.

"Maybe one day," she said as if reading my mind. "But this time we'll use the frame. I don't know how straight I can hold this thing once it's powered up and we begin sawing."

No birthday party magician ever had patter like this. Maise retrieved the wooden frame and placed it carefully over my waist. She started up the saw motor and began pushing it into the side of the frame.

"This is your last chance to back out," she said. "In a moment, you will feel the rub of the blade again on the side of your waist, then it will begin slicing through you like a knife through butter. Do you want to continue?"

"Do it!" I said, eagerly.

Maise pushed the saw forward, as it reached the point just above me I actually felt it tingling against my skin, then the sore ache of the blade making its way across my waist. This was actually happening! She was sawing me for real! And I wanted her to do it.

As she reached the halfway point I felt my spine tingling. She doubled down on pushing the saw forward through my backbone then a little zing, a final determined push and the blade came out the other side.

I wriggled my toes a little. They still seemed to be connected. Looking up at the ceiling mirror I saw myself laid out as if at a wake, as Maise lifted the frame from my waist, bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

"Still alive?" she said. "Well, there's always next time."

She helped me up from the table.

"How the hell did you do that?" I said. "I know how that trick's meant to work, but I felt that! It seriously felt like you were sawing me in half for real!"

"A magician never tells, but I'm not a magician, so what the hell. What you have just experienced is the power of suggestion. It helped that you really wanted to imagine it happening for real, so you could easily suspend your disbelief. All I had to do was keep planting seeds, establish associations, feed the fire and let your physical emotional responses do the rest."

"It's awesome."

"Yup. You've just been mindfucked."

"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked. "It feels like you've done this before."

"I have," Maise replied. "And had it done to me, a lot. As for where, well, I have one more surprise for you. But before I show you this, you have to swear to secrecy. Also, I have to know you're ready for what you're about to see, because it is very full on."

"I promise," I said. Maise looked deep into my eyes, took a deep breath and smiled.

"OK then," she said quietly. "I'm going to show you what happened to Steve".