[RACHEL02189]

For once the paparazzi came to the rescue

[Smurf]

Great Chapter , be careful criss , cant wait to read more

[Veritas]

Big Luke Macaffey, flanked by a squad of guards and members of Las Vegas' Finest, waited in the security office to receive the sniper caught on the third floor, a grim welcoming committtee if there ever was one. Macaffey's hands itched to punch the (bleeper) square in the face, but years of training and discipline held his rage in check. So there he stood, massive arms folded across his barrel chest, simmering as he watched his men haul the sniper's ass into the office, two escorting the perp, a third carrying the weapon, the fourth in the lead, opening the doors for them. Good teamwork on their part, Macaffey thought approvingly. He made a mental note to award them commendations for bravery.

The main doors flew open and in marched the four guards with the perp, a rather large man, almost as big as Macaffey himself, in blue coveralls and a painter's cap, a pretty lame disguise as far as Macaffey was concerned. The face looked familiar. Yeah, it was him, that Brother Bob character who had been gunning for Criss Angel.

"Okay, hand him over," Macaffey ordered.

The two escorting guards shoved Brother Bob forward towards Macaffey and company, causing him to stumble. The former grabbed Brother Bob by the coveralls and pulled him to his feet so that the two men were face to face.

"Okay, 'Brother'," Macaffey sneered. "We want the truth, and we want it now. One, how did you get in here? Two, how come you wanted to kill Criss Angel? And three, what happened to Abby Runyon?"

Brother Bob remained silent. Back in the supermax, Macaffey would have worked him over until he talked, but since he was among civilians, he was forced to step back and let the police handle it. Macaffey turned to his squad. "You search him?" he asked bluntly.

"We found some extra shells in his pockets," said the guard with the gun. "And we also found this."

He held up a keycard clipped to a long WWJD cord. "We're pretty sure he used this to get in and up to the third floor," tje guard said.

Macaffey took the card and looked at it. It was Abigail Runyon's keycard, the very one he had issued to her on her first day of work. He must have stolen it from her purse or something when he killed her, he figured. His earlier suspicions of her seemed sadly ironic in the wake of her murder. She had been an unwilling pawn in life, and in death she had become an unwitting accomplice. Poor Abby, he thought. For the first time in his hard-assed crimebusting career, he actually felt sorry for someone.

Whatever tender feelings he had for Abby faded quickly. He had a job to do. He turned to the LVMPD. "Okay," he growled. "Take him. He's your headache now."

Brother Bob Talbot was formally handed over to the forces of law and order, with rights given and evidence transferred. He was being marched down the corridor to the waiting van to be taken to the county lockup when he and his uniformed escort met Criss Angel and Felix Rappaport halfway.

Brother Bob had remained sullenly silent throughout his ordeal, but the minute he spotted Criss, he flew into a rage. "Devil!" he shouted, "Anti-Christ! God will defeat you in the end! You shall be cast into Hell and burn for all eternity! The Son of God shall slay the Serpent, the Beast shall be destroyed! You may have fooled everyone else with your false wonders, but you haven't fooled me! I may have failed, but God won't! You are going to die, Criss Devil! You hear me? You are going to die!"

Criss looked bemusedly at the ranting man before him. "You ever thought of switching to decaf?" he asked drily.

Brother Bob Talbot was led away, still ranting and quoting from Revelations. Felix shook his head in disbelief. Criss only smiled. "Hey, if you think he's a wack job," he said, "go on the Internet. They got dozens of sites trashing me and my demonstrations."

Felix put a friendly arm around Criss. "Don't pay any attention to him, Criss. For every detractor you have a hundred fans all backing you up one hundred percent."

"Hey, it's my 'detractors' who keep me going," Criss told him. "The more they trash me, the more famous I become. I don't have to prove anything to my fans, because they know I can do the things I do. It's the skeptics and wack jobs like Brother Bob who give me the real challenges in my career."

"Like getting blown up in a hotel?" Felix retorted. "Or catching a flying nail from a nail gun?"

Criss merely shrugged. "Among other things."

"I don't know about you, Criss," Felix said with a sigh. "You're a great performer, and got talent to burn, but I just don't know about you." He patted Criss' shoulder. "Go on back to your suite and get some sleep. It's been a rough night for all of us."





Morning came, and Criss sat at breakfast in his suite, reading the morning edition of the Las Vegas Sun. While his show had received glowing reviews in the entertainment section, the arrest of Brother Bob Talbot had made front page news:

An alleged sniper was arrested in the Luxor Hotel and Casino last night after the performance of Criss Angel's new production, Believe. The suspect, identified as Robert "Brother Bob" Talbot, 48, was detected on video surveillance on the third floor balcony carrying a Winchetster rifle and taken into custody immediatly. Talbot allegedly targeted Angel, accusing him of being the "Anti-Christ". Talbot is on bail for a previous charge of conspiracy to murder, and first degree murder of Abigail Runyon, an employee of the Luxor. Talbot allegedly used Runyon's employee keycard to enter the hotel and make his way to the third floor of the hotel.

Criss was stunned. Thoughts of Abby sprung up like weeds in his mind. First degree murder of Abigail Runyon! Abby's dead? It can't be! I just spoke to her a few days ago! And that (bleeper) murdered her? Oh, dear Jesus in Heaven! He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Abby! Why did it have to be you? Why? You were innocent! Why? Dear Jesus in Heaven, why?



The County Coroner sent Abby's body back to Littleton, Texas, for burial in the family plot. Criss witnessed the transfer with his brothers, his cousin George, Felix Rappaport, and Lisa Genaldi in attendance. The police chaplain delivered a perfunctory prayer service before Abby's simple white casket, laden with flowers purchased collectively by the hotel staff, was loaded onto the plane.

Mario Mendoza was also present, photographing the grim event for all posterity. His picture of the sniper had been confiscated by the police for evidence, along with the negatives. That picture could have scored me a Pulitzer, he thought bitterly. Now I don't even have a negative to reproduce it! Of all the rotten luck! He took one last shot at Abby Runyon's casket being loaded on the plane and packed up his gear. He'd covered enough celebrity funerals to know when it was time to go. As he loaded his equipment into his SUV, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned and saw Criss Angel himself standing behind him. "I just want to say thanks for saving my life the night of the premire," he said. "If it hadn't been for you, there would have been bloodshed, mine or someone else's"

Mario shrugged. "Forget it," he replied indifferently. "Just, next time you see me on the street corner, don't flip me the bird, okay?"

"When did I ever flip you off, dude?"

"Remember that little prostie you picked up?"

"Tamia? First of all, I didn't 'pick her up', I sent her to the shelter to rescue her. And second of all--was that you I saw across the street?"

"Yeah, it was me. I thought I really had the goods on you that time, you know?"

Criss smiled mischeviously. "Well, the joke's on you, dude! But I am still grateful you saved my life, and everyone else's."

"Yeah, well, it's not gonna keep me from doing my job." He waggled a warning finger under Criss' nose. "I'm gonna keep my eye on you, Angel. You're gonna screw up someday, and I'm gonna be there to get the pictures! You may be the self-proclaimed King of Las Vegas, but I can dethrone you with just one photo. Whaddya say to that, Mr. Hotshot?"

"I say," Criss replied as he held up his middle finger, "(bleep) you."

[RACHEL02189]

Nice Criss

[Veritas]

Almost a year had passed since what the press called "The Perfecting Church Conspiracy" had been front page news. The furor had gradually died down, especially among the Loyals as they shifted their attention to Criss' latest injuries, whatever new girlfriend he had been seen with, or the latest episode of MindFreak. Criss' production of Believe continued to draw sellouts, with ticket purchases made months if not years in advance. It had been estimated that the Luxor would recoup its investment by 2010 at the latest.

Criss had won his fifth Magician of the Year award for 2009, entering him in the Guinness Book of World Records for such a feat. MindFreak Productions announced that a large coffee-table book about Criss with photos and interviews would be released in December of 2009, quickly becoming the number one item on every Loyal's Christmas list. He had also taped another special hourlong episode for the troops in Iraq, shooting at Fort Pendleton in San Diego, and another live special to raise funds for a children's hospital in danger of closing due to lack of funding. Criss had so many irons in the fire he could hardly see the embers.

Only when he received a summons to appear in the Clark County District Court as a witness did the past come back to haunt him. He was summoned to appear in court on November 12, 2009, at 10:30 AM. But why? he wondered. He really wasn't a "witness", he thought. He was more of a victim, the target of the little conspiracy concocted by Talbot. He felt that he really didn't need to testify; besides, they had Mendoza's photos--that was evidence enough. But the image of Abigail's white casket being lifted into the cargo hold of the commercial airplane destined for Littleton, Texas, floated back into his memory like a wraith. He looked at the summons again, a pang of conscience needling inside his soul.

I'll do it, he said to himself, for Abby.





A jury notice for one Courtney Paige Sollis arrived in the mail one mid-October afternoon, courtesy of the Clark County District Court. Courtney Paige Sollis was less than thrilled when she received it, courtesy of her sister Hayley who had just picked up the mail under the front door mailslot.

"Oh, that is just great!" Courtney groaned. "I have to give up work and my day for studying for mid-terms for this!"

"Well, you do get paid for the time you're there," her mother pointed out.

"Yeah," she sneered, tossing the summons onto the kitchen table, "a lousy twenty bucks. I make more money in tips at the bar in one shift."

"Courtney, it is a civic duty, you know" Mother reminded her. "It's the price you pay for living in a democracy such as ours. I served on a jury once, and I'm proud I did. And just because you got summoned doesn't mean you'll get chosen. They draw numbers, and if yours doesn't come up, you can go home. And even if yours is drawn, they question you to see if you are impartial enough to be seated."

"How long does that take?" Courtney asked.

"As long as it takes," he mother replied. "You just wait until either you are called or everyone is seated for the trial and you can go. The important thing is to show up in the first place. If you skip your jury date, you either pay a fine or go to jail."

Hayley picked up the summons and read it. "Whose trial is it?" she asked.

"No one knows until the jury is selected," Mother explained. "And then the selected jury members are sworn to secrecy, so as not to prejudice the trial. I'm sure it's nothing really serious, like a murder trial or anything like that."

Murder trial? Hayley's memory rewound to the Criss Angel shooting the summer before last. No mention of any trial concerning it had been made anywhere in the press. Could it be...?

Hayley dashed up to her room, retrieved her cell phone from her purse, and speed-dialed Crystal Rathbone. "Hello, Crys? It's me, Haye."

"I know it's you, Haye," Crystal told her. "I got Caller ID."

"Well, anyway, the reason I called is that Courtney got called in for jury duty, see, and I think, but I'm not sure, that it might be the Perfecting Church trial."

"Come again?" Crystal asked, perplexed.

"You know, the guy who shot Criss Angel?" Hayley reminded her. "What's his name? Block?"

Crystal suddenly remembered. "Hiram Block, yeah. You sure Courtney will be on the jury for it?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. Mom says no one will know until they get all the jurors seated. But she did get a summons, and it's for mid-November. You keep close tabs on everything concerning Criss Angel. Do you know when the trial will be?"

"Don't have a clue," Crystal replied. "Sorry."

Hayley sighed in disappointment. "My guess is that they're keeping it a secret because they don't want a big group of Loyals hanging around the courthouse," Crystal reasoned.

"Yeah, probably," Hayley said.

"And, anyway, it might not even be that particular trial," Crystal went on. "It could be some other thing, like someone holding up a liquor store or something. I mean, what are the chances of Courtney being on the jury of Criss Angel's would-be killer?"

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Hayley concurred. "In any case, she's not too happy about it."

"Well, tell her if it is the Criss Angel trial, she can get excused by telling them that her sister is a Loyal," Crystal suggested. "They want an impartial jury, and they won't get one if she's the relative of a Loyal."

"I don't think they're gonna buy that, Crys."

Crystal siezed onto a new thought. "Hey! If she is going to be on the jury, maybe we can get into the courtroom the day of the trial, and maybe get to see Criss!" she exclaimed. "I mean, they have to let us in if your sister's on the jury, right?"

"Well, I can ask," Hayley told her, "but I'm not making any promises."

"Okay, fine," Crystal said. "Talk to you later, 'bye!"





Courtney, aka Juror Number 212, sat in the jam-packed waiting area of the Clark County District Court, burning with impatience and resentment. She had been there for over two hours, and her butt was starting to go numb, but she knew if she got up, she'd lose her seat, and she wasn't going to spend another two hours standing up. Studying was futile, cell phones weren't allowed, her nail file had been confiscated as a "lethal weapon" by security, and what little reading material available was years out of date. The overhead television screen showed some lame-assed G-rated movie with the sound turned down so low she could barely hear it over the din of conversation if she had bothered to listen.

"This really bites!" she muttered. "Can't they understand I got better things to do than sit around with a bunch of strangers?"

"Numbers two hundred to three hundred," the voice over the loudspeaker called out, "please line up at the door. Numbers two hundred to three hundred, please line up at the door."

Finally! Courtney picked up her purse and bookbag and headed for the door, relieved to be moving again. She stood in place as the court clerk called out which numbers were to report to which courtroom. Courtney and her group were assigned Courtroom B-132, just down the west corridor. She and her fellow jurors trudged to the courtroom as if they were prisoners themselves, then directed to the jury bench, which were more like theater seats set to one side, and told to be seated. At least these were more comfortable than the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, Courtney thought.

The counsels for the defense and prosecution entered the courtroom, as did the defendant, an old man of about sixty or so, his neon orange prison garb barely hanging onto his skeletal frame. What the hell is he in for? Courtney asked herself. What did he do? Cheat on his Social Security or something?

"All rise," commanded the bailiff.

Everyone present respectfully rose to their feet as the Honorable William Brocke entered the courtroom and seated himself on the bench. "Be seated," he intoned.

All sat down again. "The counsel for the prosecution may begin questioning the jury for selection."

Courtney half listened to the counsel's droning about being truthful and impartial and so on and so on. Then the questioning began. No, she had never seen the defendant before, no, she had no prejudices against him, and no, she had no excuse to be dismissed, though God knew she tried to think of one. Then the defense counsel came up for another round. Again no excuses or alibis to weasel out of jury duty. The judge and the lawyers were satisfied. To her chagrin, she found herself chosen as Juror Number Five in what would become one of the hottest trials in the history of Las Vegas.

[RACHEL02189]

MindFreak Productions announced that a large coffee-table book about Criss with photos and interviews would be released, quickly becoming the number one item on every Loyal's Christmas list


Now that's a book I would never put down

[Smurf]

Great chapters m Rachel , I agree with you , I wouldn't off put it down either

[Veritas]

The case of State of Nevada v.Hiram Block was scheduled for November 12, 2009. It was declared a "closed session" to avoid a media circus, not to mention a potential riot; all reporters, cameras, and outsiders were banned from the courtroom. Only those who had been legally summoned, or were on the jury, were permitted inside. The trial was not mentioned in the newspapers, or anywhere else for that matter, for fear of creating a mob scene outside the courthouse. From the outside, the Clark County District Court appeared to be business as usual.

Inside, however, a covert operation took place with all the secrecy of a CIA mission. Criss Angel had to be practically smuggled into the courthouse through the back so as not to be spotted by paparazzi or overeager fans. Hiram Block was escorted to his trial under heavy guard, more for his protection than for prevention of escaping. The members of the jury had sworn under solemn oath not to reveal any detail of the trial before and during the proceedings. The only hint of the trial was the simple white lettered sign in its chrome frame standing outside the door of Courtroom B-132: COURT IN SESSION.

Insde the courtroom, there was none of the usual chitchat when people gather for whatever reason they are there, but a tense, almost nervous silence. The jury had assembled in the jury box adjacent to the witness stand, pens and pads of paper at the ready to take notes. A few were idly doodling while wating for the trial to begin.


Juror Number Five, Courtney Sollis, sat next to the duly appointed foreperson of the jury, a portly middleaged matron who had served on a jury two years prior, and so was more familiar witht the system than her fellow jurors. She smelled strongly of Ivory soap and Jergens lotion, reminding her of her late grandmother who had lived in Iowa for so many years. It was comforting in a way, but she wished she was anywhere but in that jury box at that moment. She still recalled the look of agonized disappointment on Hayley's face when she told her she could not attend the trial with her friend, Crystal. Her little sister had stormed out of the kitchen in a huff when Courtney refused to promise to at least get a picture or a photograph of him. "This is a trial, not a concert or something!" Courtney had snapped. It's serious business!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the bailiff intoning, "All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable William Brocke presiding."

Everyone rose respectfully. Judge Brocke ascended the bench. "You may be seated," he told all assembled with grave courtesy. He sat down and peered at the docket before him through the lower half of his bifocals.

"The State of Nevada versus Hiram Block," he read. "Mr. Block, you have been charged with two attempts of murder and one count of bail bond violation. How do you plead?"

The counsel for the defense rose to his feet. "My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor," he said, and sat down again.

"The prosecution will make its opening statement."

All ears turned to the prosecutor summarize Block's crimes: his initial attack on Criss Angel during the Luxor demonstration, his second attack in the hotel lobby, halted by Cole Shoope, and his resulting bail violation because of the latter. His accusations against Criss Angel were quoted verbatim, and his past history of disorderly conduct revealed.

In the back, Cole Shoope nodded silently in agreement. That was enough for conviction right there in his opinion. Dad would have enjoyed this, he thought.

The prosecutor finished his statement; now it was the counsel for the defense's turn to make its opening statement. The defense made a heroic effort to get the jury to see that Mr. Block had been indoctrinated by the "cult" of which he had been a member, and was too old and feeble to be sent to a maximum security prison, and so on and so on. But Cole wasn't buying it. The old man's guilty as sin, he thought. Send him up the river already!

After the opening statements were made, the questioning began:



From the sworn testamony of Hiram Block, retired, on November 12, 2009.:

Q: Mr. Block, can you tell us in your own words what you were doing on the day in question?

A: I don't remember too good.

Q: Do you remember being at the Luxor Hotel and Casino?

A: Casino? I don't gamble!

Q: Mr. Block, there are photographs of you being outside the hotel on the day in question, taken by video surveillance. If you saw them, would they help jog your memory?

A: Probably.

(Shows photos to defendant).

A: Yeah, that's me all right. I saw that devil-man sitting right over there. (Points to Criss Angel).

Q: "Devil-man?"

A: That man's the Devil himself! Doing all his black magic and turning people away from the Lord. He's the one who should be on trial, not me.

Q: Were you carrying a gun with you at the time.

A: I carry a gun with me all the time. It's my constitutional right. If I see the Anti-Christ, I'm gonna shoot him.

Q: Do you believe Criss Angel is the Anti-Christ?

A: He is the Anti-Christ. He's done all the things in Revelations to prove it.

Q: Such as?

A: He blasphemed the Lord's miracles. He walked on water like Jesus did. He turned people away from God to worship him.

Q: And that led you to try to kill him, right?

A: I couldn't kill him. His devilish powers shielded him.

Q: But you did try to kill him, did you not?

A: I see the Anti-Christ, I'm gonna kill him.

Q: Mr. Block, did you or did you not shoot Criss Angel with this gun? (Holds up Exhibit A).

A: That's my gun.

Q: And did you or did you not shoot Criss Angel with it? Yes or no, Mr. Block.

A: I done told you, I see the Anti-Christ, I'm gonna kill him.



From the sworn testamony of Cole Shoope, student, November 12, 2009:

Q: Where were you on the day in question?

A: You mean the shooting or the attack in the atrium?

Q: The shooting.

A: Oh, okay. I was at the Luxor to see Criss Angel perform his demonstration out front.

Q: And where were you standing, precisely?

A: I was standing on a concrete block so I could see better. I was standing by the right of the stage from where I was.

Q: So that would be stage left.

A: (Pause) Yeah, it would.

Q: Did you see Mr. Block shoot Criss Angel?

A: I heard a shot, a really loud bang, then Criss was like "Aaaaguh" and he went down. Then all hell broke loose, with everyone screaming and crying and all that. But I didn't know it was Hiram Block at the time. I found out on the news who it was later.

Q: And then Mr. Block attacked Mr. Angel again, right?

A: Yeah, right in the atrium. I saw him coming up the back hallway. I even saw the big knife he had in his hand.

Q: You mean this one? (Holds up Exhibit C)

A: Yeah, that's the one.

Q: And you attacked Mr. Block yourself, did you not?

A: Yeah, I did. But I tried to warn Criss first. I yelled 'Criss, look out, it's Block, he's got a knife," or something like that. I don't remember exactly, but I did try to warn him first.

Q: Did you see Mr. Block attack Mr. Angel before you attacked him?

A: Yeah, he had that knife held way up high. He yelled, 'Anti-Christ is finished!', and that's when I...well, I stabbed him.

Q: Are you proud that you stabbed him?

Counsel: Objection, Your Honor! The witness is not the one on trial here. His case had already been settled by juvenile court.

Court: Objection sustained.

A: I will say I am proud to have saved Criss Angel's life. I know that killing people is wrong. Someone should have told Mr. Block that in the first place.



From the sworn testamony of Criss Angel, professional magician, November 12, 2008:

Q: Is Criss Angel your legal name?

A: It is my legal name, yes.

Q: Can you tell the court in your own words what happened on the day in question?

A: I was in front of the Luxor Hotel, about to perform a demonstration of levitating twenty members of the audience, and had just stepped on stage when I felt this stabbing pain in my chest, right here (points to chest), with this huge bang. I fell down, and my brothers, JD and Costa came up to me. JD took off my jacket, but whatever was in my chest was suddenly ripped out of me when he did. They bandaged me up and took me to the hospital.

Q: Did you see the gunman?

A: No, he was too far away. And, anyway, I was too busy screaming back at the Loyals.

Q: The "Loyals"?

A: You could call them my fans, but I call them the Loyal, or Loyals if you will.

Q: I see. To continue, you had been wounded with a .38 caliber pistol. Judging from the distance from where Mr. Block was allegedly standing, it could have been fatal. How can you explain that?

A: Well, I had received a small Bible from someone from the Gideons--you ever hear of them?

Q: Yes. Go on.

A: Well, he was passing out these little green Bibles on the street, and he gave me one, and I stuck it in my jacket pocket, and when Hiram took a shot at me, it deflected the bullet enough to keep it from entering my heart. Here, I'll show it to you.

(Hands book to counselor)

Court: I'd like to see that for myself, if you don't mind.

(Bailiff takes book from counselor and gives it to judge)

Court: Extraordinary. I've heard stories of men whose lives were saved by having a Bible or some other book in their pockets to shield them from bullets. But I've never seen one until now. Thank you, Counselor.

(Returns book to counsel)

Court: You are a very lucky man, Mr. Angel. We know you have a reputation for cheating death, but this in my opinion tops them all. You may proceed, Counselor.

Q: Mr. Angel, can you tell the court in your own words what happened after you were discharged from the hospital?

A: It was chaos. Hundreds of Loyals were there to welcome me back to the Luxor. Then I had to deal with the press inside the lobby. After they left, that's when I heard Cole over there yelling about Hiram trying to attack me. And sure enough there he was, with this huge knife over his head, yelling 'Anti-Christ is finished!' or something like that, and that's when Cole got him.

Q: Had you received any threats from the Perfecting Church prior to these two incidents?

A: None whatsoever. They just happened.

Q: Have you had any similar incidents? Any death threats?

A: There are websites denouncing me as a fraud, or as a Satanist, or even, as Mr. Block says, the Anti-Christ. People are debunking me all the time. It comes with the territory.

Q: Does this bother you at all?

A: Me? No. It bothers me if they attack my family, though. I love and care about my family, especially my mother, and would never want them to come to any harm. They can attack me all they want, but leave my family alone.




The trial wore on, with more questioning and answering, for the better part of the day, with only a forty-five minute recess around one PM. Courtney was getting bored with it all. The only distraction was the video surveillance of the attack in the atrium and the video coverage of the shooting. She had glanced at the photos and passed them on to the other jurors with indifference. God! How she wanted to go home!

After the long, dreary closing statements from both sides, the jury was excused to deliberate the verdict. In a closed room with a dusty ceiling fan valiently circulating the air above their heads, Courtney and the others sat around the table with all the evidence before them.

"All right," the foreperson said, calling for attention. "I know we all want to get out of here and get on with our lives, but just remember, a man's life is in the balance here. We have a sworn duty to provide a fair verdict. As you may well be aware, the law states that the verdict must be unanimous. So, let's begin, shall we? We'll start with you." She pointed to a chubby lady in a pink suit.

"Hello," she said nervously. "My name is Maryanne, and, well, after seeing the movies and all, well, pictures don't lie, do they? I don't think he's a bad man, really, just misguided."

"Come on, lady!" Courtney snapped. "You vote guilty or not?"

"Well, as I said, pictures don't lie, so I'm gonna have to say he's guilty, I'm afraid. I just don't like the idea of sending someone to prison, that's all."

"Why not?" asked a balding corporate type next to Maryanne. "You do the crime, you do the time. Me, I vote guilty. The guy's a bona fide nut job."

"All right," said the foreperson. "We have two votes for guilty. Next?"

The next eight votes were for guilty, each insisting that the video evidence was more than sufficient proof. At last, they came to Courtney.

"Well, you're the last one," the foreperson said. "Everyone else voted guilty, so what's your verdict?"

"He's guilty already," Courtney said irritably. "It's an open and shut case, so let's go."

"So, it's unanimous," the foreperson announced officiously. "Hiram Block is guilty on all counts. Agreed?"

Mumbles of assent. The foreperson knocked on the door and let the bailiff know the jury was ready to reconvene.



"The defendant will please rise for the verdict."

Hiram stood up, supporting himself by leaning against the table. The judge turned to the jury.

"You've reached a verdict?" he asked formally.

The foreperson stood up. "We have, Your Honor," she said, handing the slip of paper to the bailiff, who passed it on to the judge.

"Does the defendant have anything to say before the verdict is read?"

"Only that I am a true servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I submit to His will alone," Block said defiantly.

"Hiram Block, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers on two counts of attempted murder and violation of your bond. Sentencing will take place in this courtroom one week from today."

Yes! It was all Cole could do from jumping up and down in triumph. We won! Block's going to jail! Loyals two, psychos zip!

"You claim to be a religious man, Mr. Block," the judge continued. "Yet you chose to ignore one of the Ten Commandments, which clearly states, and I quote, Thou shalt not kill. Your fanaticism led to your downfall, Mr. Block. You accused an innocent man of Satanism because of the illusions he performed simply for the sake of entertainment, backing it up with Holy Writ. It's said that the Devil can quote Scripture to suit his purpose, and from what I heard, you do it very well. Case dismissed."

A final bang of the gavel, and everyone got up to leave. Cole dashed up to Criss and gave him a congratualtory hug. "We won!" Cole crowed. "We did it! You really kicked ass up there, Criss!"

"We may have won the battle," Criss said to him, "but we haven't won the war. We gotta face Brother Bob Talbot yet."

[Veritas]

A week passed. A sidebar notice in the Local News section of the Sun stated that Hiram Block had been sentenced to a maximum of twenty years in the state prison, practically a life sentence for the sixty-five year old man. Crystal Rathbone caught sight of it one day after school and immediatly posted it on the Loyal Community website. Her fellow Loyals responded with cheers and "smilies", or animated emoticons, but over time the matter fell through the cracks. Hiram Block, the most villified man among Criss Angel's fans, was all but forgotten, a footnote in the life story of Criss Angel the MindFreak. But there was still the trial of the "Luxor Sniper", as the press dubbed Brother Bob Talbot.

During his stay in the Clark County lockup, Talbot had lost his church and his followers, his finances had been devoured by legal fees, and the bank had forclosed on his house and repossessed it to be resold at auction. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away, he reflected philosophically in his cell. Naked came I, naked I shall return. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Unlike the Block trial, the Talbot trial was videotaped with media present. The tedious process of jury selection over and done with, the trial began:

"Robert Talbot, you stand accused of one count of physical assault, one count of first degree murder, one count of conspiracy to murder, and one count of carrying a concealed weapon with intent to murder. How do you plead?"

The counsel for the defense rose. "My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor."

The counsel for the prosecution had arrived loaded for bear to send Brother Bob Talbot to Death Row. With matter-of-fact clarity he presented the evidence to the jury: the bullet that killed Abigail Runyon, the rifle smuggled into the Luxor, Abby's note to Brother Bob insisting that he "stop tring to kill Cris Angel" and her stolen employee badge, and the Mendoza photo of Talbot on the third floor of the hotel, gun leveled to shoot, his face clearly showing on film. There was also video surveillance of Talbot slipping into the hotel, cap pulled over his face in a futile attempt to disguise himself.

Criss sat in the back of the courtroom, feeling prickling needles of grief for Abby with every presentation of evidence proving her murder by Talbot. The (bleeper) had not only shot her in cold blood, he realized, but had stolen her pass to get into the hotel to kill him. And this man called himself a Christian, who in turn accused him, Criss Angel, of being in league with the Devil?

Criss could not help but reflect on the sorry state of affairs the Christian Church in general had been reduced to in recent years: the televangelist scandals of the Eighties, the Catholic Church sex abuse litigation trials, the polygamist cult in Utah, and now this. Small wonder that church attendance had been declining in the twenty-first century. Back in the Sixties, Time magazine had pronounced God dead. Today, God was still alive, but being usurped by his overzealous, hypocritical clergy and devotees who unequivocally believed they and they alone were the True Church and everyone else was wrong. My God is alive, sorry about yours.

As the counsel for the defense questioned his client, Criss lowered his head to pray. Dear God, forgive Your children for what they did to You and Your Word--twisting and distorting it to their own selfish ends. They have committed crimes beyond number in Your Name, calling upon You to bless their evil deeds. They bear false witness to those who have done no wrong while spouting Scripture from the Bible to back up their lies. They spread their poisonous hatred under the cover of love and salvation. They justify their crimes as doing Your will, whether it is shooting an innocent woman or hijacking a plane to crash into the World Trade Center. They exploit Your Name with kitschy merchandise or scams to rake in millions of dollars from gullible people. They prey upon the young and innocent, concealing their perverted natures under a guise of piety. They resort to scare tactics to spread their toxic faith while ignoring the real issues like homelessness or domestic abuse or things like that. They go around preaching about the end of the world, and how they'll all be beamed up to Heaven while the rest of us suffers war, famine, pestilence and death. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

"The defense calls Criss Angel to the stand."

Criss jerked up in his seat. Already! He rose and stepped forward to the witness stand. The bailiff ordered him to raise his right hand.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you?"

"I do," Criss answered.

"You may be seated."

Criss sat down, bracing himself for the onslaught of questioning the counsel for the defense would sling at him.


From the sworn testamony of Criss Angel, November 19, 2009.

Q: Mr. Angel, if that is your real name...

A: It is my legal name, yes.

Q: Is it true that you disrupted the Sunday service of the Perfecting Church back in July, 2008?

A: Disrupted, interrupted, whatever. I was there.

Q: From what my client tells me, you came in spoiling for a fight, is that correct?

A: I came in to set them straight about me. I am not the Anti-Christ or anything like that.

Q: But you triggered an altercation inside the church.

A: Hey, they triggered the altercation as you call it. They were ganging up on me. I was trying to defend myself.

Prosecution: Objection, Your Honor. This has nothing to do with the charges against the defendant. The witness is not the one on trial here.

Court: Counselor, just what is it that you are trying to prove here?

Defense: I am trying to prove that this man did willingly provoke an altercation in my client's church to prove him innocent of the charge of assault.

Court: Sustained. You may proceed.

Q: Mr. Angel, you are recorded to have said, and I quote, "Bring it on," and other such statements on the day in question. Isn't that proof of provocation?

A: I challenged them to shoot me if they were so hell-bent on killing me. They had sent Abigial Runyon to kill me. Hiram Block had tried to kill me. So, I gave them the opportunity to kill me right then and there. None of them took up my offer.

Q: And that is when the altercation started?

A: No, the altercation started when Brother Bob and some of his guys ganged up on me. I was trying to defend myself, that's all. Okay, I admit I'm no diplomat, but I stand by my words and actions. They can call me a Satanist and the Anti-Christ until they are all blue in the face, but resorting to murder? An innocent woman is dead because of Brother Bob's fanaticism. I faced near assassination four times, twice in a single twenty-four hour period, by him and his so-called church. He has to answer for that.




From the sworn testamony of Investigating Officer Gilbert Grissom, CSI, November 19, 2008:

Q: Officer Grissom, can you tell the court what you discovered on the day of Abigail Runyon's murder?

A: The victim was discovered lying in the living room of the defendant's house, shot through the aorta of the heart with a .38 caliber bullet. She was discovered by a delivery boy, Cole Shoope, around five-forty-five PM. The victim allegedly entered the house with a key she possessed while she had been employed as a housekeeper by the defendant, intending to return it to him. She had left a note for him in the kitchen when the defendant entered. There had been some signs of a struggle; a knife was found on the floor of the kitchen, and a small table in the living room was overturned.

Q: Is this the note the victim wrote? (Gives witness Exhibit C).

A: This is the note, yes. (Reads) "Brother Bob, am returning my key. You're wrong about Criss Angel. He is a good man and a Christian, too. Stop...trying--I think that is the word; it's spelled "tring"--to kill him. I quit your church for good. You're no Christian man but a devil yourself. Abby."

Q: So she was aware that the defendant wanted to kill Criss Angel.

A: Not only aware of it, but the defendant had actually ordered her to kill him a few days after Hiram Block's second attack.

Q: He ordered Abigail Runyon to kill Criss Angel?

A: That is correct.

Q: Did she attempt to do so?

A: According to security records at the Luxor, she surrendered peacefully enough. She had never met Criss Angel, let alone had any desire to kill him. She insisted that the defendant had ordered her to do so to, quote, "save her soul".

Q: Were any charges pressed against Ms. Runyon?

A: They were all dropped by request of Criss Angel himself.

Q: I see. So you conclude that because she refused to kill Mr. Angel that the defendant murdered her.

A: That is my conclusion, yes.

Q: Moving forward to the night of the premire, the defendant was spotted by a photographer and video surveillance on the third floor balcony of the Luxor hotel after the performance. He was quickly apprehended by security and taken into custody. Can you tell the court in your own words how he entered the hotel with a rifle onto the third floor?

A: The defendant disguised himself as a maintenance worker, concealing the weapon inside his coveralls. He had stolen Abigail Runyon's employee pass to gain access to the third floor of the hotel. From video surveillance, he had concealed himself inside a storage facility and made his way up to the balcony. He was spotted by both security and Mario Mendoza, photographer for VERVE! magazine, who was covering the event.

Q: Is this the security pass used?

A: It is.

Q: And this is the photograph Mr. Mendoza took of the defendant at the time?

A: It is.

Q: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, take a good look at this photograph of the defendant taken by fashion photographer Mario Mendoza. (Passes photo to jury). You can clearly see that the defendant was on the balcony at the time of the premiere, armed and ready to shoot, having used his victim's pass to gain access to the balcony...




The jury took only two hours to deliberate the fate of Brother Bob Talbot, but to the man sitting in the defendant's chair, it seemed an eternity. He wasn't looking at time in prison, but the death penalty itself. He was going to face the Ultimate Penalty while that Devil's minion, the Anti-Chirst, walked away free. At least he'd be safe in Heaven while the rest of the sinful world succumbed to God's wrath. Yes, he'd go to the gas chamber, or the gallows, or whatever means they executed criminals in the state of Nevada, but with his head held high, singing God's praises, ready to walk through the Gates of Heaven into eternal bliss. O, Death, where is thy sting? O, Grave, where is thy victory?

"Robert Talbot, you have been found guilty on one count of first degree murder, one count of conspiracy to murder, and one count of carrying a concealed weapon with intent to murder. Sentencing will take place two weeks from today. Case dismissed."

The courtroom quickly emptied. Talbot was escorted to his cell, but as he turned to leave with the guards, he caught sight of Criss in the back of the courtroom. Enraged at the sight of the Anti-Christ witnessing his downfall, he strained against his shackles, snarling at him. "The Anti-Christ will fall, Devil!" he shouted as his escort pulled him away. "God will strike you down! He will cast you into the lowest depths of Hell for your blasphemies! Jesus will emerge triumphant in the end! You will fall, Devil! You will fall!"

The heavy door leading to the lockup swung shut behind him, cutting off his rant. Criss drew a heavy breath and walked casually out of the courtroom. It was over. The Perfecting Church of Jesus Christ with Signs Ascending was no more. Hiram Block was behind bars. Bob Talbot was headed for Death Row. Abigail Runyon had been avenged. No more assassination attempts. No more religious fanatics gunning for him. He could breathe easily now. He was free at last. God was in His Heaven, all was right with the world.




Epilogue:

Robert "Brother Bob" Talbot was sentenced to death by lethal injection on November 26th, 2009, at midnight. Due to the incontrovertable evidence against him and the lack of funds to pay legal fees, no appeals were made. The execution date was set for January 10th, 2010. Criss Angel declined the invitation to witness the execution.

On the last night of his life, Bob Talbot consumed his last meal: a Porterhouse steak, a baked potato with sour cream, a Coca-Cola and peach cobbler. He then spent the remaining hours reading the Bible and praying. He declined the services of the prison chaplain, declaring he was already fit to enter Heaven himself. He did request to see Hiram Block, his only remaining friend, one more time, but was disappointed to learn that Block had succumbed to a stroke while in prison three months earlier. "That's all right," Talbot was reported to have said. "We'll meet again in the Hereafter."

At 11:50 PM on January 9th, Talbot was led to the execution chamber. The authorities reported him walking calmly, smiling to himself, humming a hymn. He put up no resistance when strapped to the table. At exactly twelve midnight on January 10th, 2010, Robert Talbot was pronounced dead by the county coroner. His body was given over to the University of Nevada Medical School for research, as no surviving relatives could be located.




Criss had just finished yet another successful performance of Believe, but tonight he did not feel the usual satisfaction. Tonight, a man was about to die. A man who had tried, directly and indirectly, to kill him, but a man all the same. Many people expected him to gloat over it, to be triumphant, having survived four assassination attempts at that maniac's hands. Instead, he felt saddened by it. It was not remorse he felt, nor regret, for there was no cause for either. Just...sadness. Brother Bob Talbot had bought all this onto himself; he alone was accountable for his crimes, in this life and the next. Yet, it was sad all the same.

Criss wished he had been more diplomatic with him that day in the church, as he had tried to be with Hiram Block in the hospital. If only Talbot could have removed the blinders from his eyes for just one minute and had seen Criss Angel for what he really was: a man, such as himself. If only he had been able to correct Talbot's distorted perception of him for just that one moment, then he would have been free to preach as he pleased to this day instead of counting away his remaining hours on Death Row. Perhaps Talbot would have been more amiable towards him. Perhaps, for that one moment, they could have even become friends.

But it was too late for that now. In ten minutes, a man was going to die, by order of the State of Nevada. Staring out at the quiet desert night from bedroom window in his private estate, Serenity, Criss wondered what Talbot's last words would be as he lay strapped to the cruciform table in the execution chamber. Would he curse him, as he did when they led him away after his conviction? Would he quote Scripture, from the book of Revelation? Would he ask forgiveness from Abigail Runyon's family? From his former congregation? Or, even, from Criss himself?

Or would he still be the same holier-than-thou, sanctimonious Bible-thumping (bleeper) that he had always been, pontificating on what he believed was God's will, and no deviation allowed, no interpretation of Scripture but what he said it was? Who knew? Who would ever know? He had turned down the offer to be there when they gave him the juice, ostensibly because of his prior commitments, but in truth because he could not stomach the thought of watching a man being poisoned by the State.

Criss checked his watch. Two minutes to midnight. Talbot had only two minutes to live. No reprieve, no call from the governor, no last-minute stay of execution. Stick the needle into his arm and let it flow. Lethal injection was supposed to be painless, more humane than other methods, but it still did not negate all the trauma beforehand: the waiting, the anxiety, the absolute terror of it all. There was no pain after death; it all came before it.

The second hand ticked away the seconds until the stroke of twelve. It was done. Talbot was dead. Criss wondered if he should pray for Talbot's soul. Well, it couldn't hurt, he figured, though it was probably too little, too late.

Dear Lord, tonight Brother Bob Talbot is coming to face You for his final judgement. Yours is the final call, whether he goes to Heaven or Hell. I bear no grudge against him. I can even say that I forgive him for what he tried to do to me, though I can't say the same for what he did to Abby Runyon. If only he could have seen me as I really am. But our sense of perception only goes as far as our experiences and our knowledge of the world. He perceived me as evil. I saw him as a fanatic. If we had gotten to know each other better, then none of this would have happened. But it's too late now. I can only pray for his soul, wherever it is, to rest in peace.

Criss made the sign of the Cross and went to bed. There was no sense dwelling on the past. Tomorrow was another busy day for him, a tomorrow, unlike Talbot or Block or, sadly, Abigail, he would live to see.

Finis.

[RACHEL02189]

That was a good story I don't think I could watch a man die if I was invited to an execution. My mom can't even watch a fake one on Television