The Most Dangerous Blank, Part 5

They emerged back on the Match Game set, entering through the door Gene usually came through. As soon as they got in, Brett's mothering instinct took over. "Charles, get Richard on the lower desks. Here." She handed him the purple plaid jacket. "Put this under his head." He laid him on the lower tier desks, then sat on Joyce's at the left end and gently snuggled his head into the soft coat. Brett made a face. "Does anyone have any tissues or handkerchiefs to get that makeup off? He looks like a demented Cesar Romero without the green fright wig."

"I do." No one was surprised when Joyce pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and handed them around. "I use them to fix my makeup between shows and in case I need to sneeze."

"Here." Fannie pulled a white handkerchief with the letters PN embroidered in delicate gold thread out of her pocket. "I can wash this. If we can get him up, maybe he can explain why Ira has it in for him."

"Gene," Brett called to him as he plugged his microphone in, "quit playing with that thing and get the wires off Rich's arms. Bill, do his feet."

Bill made a face as he went to the end of the desks to tug at the wires lashed to Richard's ankles. "Damn Rich," he muttered, "I hope your feet don't smell."

"I don't get it." Gene dropped his microphone on Bill's desk on the top end, then went to release Richard's left wrist from the wire dangling below. "I know Rich has gotten a big head since he started Family Feud, but he's still our best panelist. Why the hell did Ira attack him?"

Fannie got up on the desk on the other side from Charles. "There's such a thing as bein' too good at your job." As soon as Richard's bruised and bloodied face was more tan than white, she slapped gently at his plump cheeks. "Richard? Rich? Honey, come on." She snapped her crimson-tipped fingers in his face. "Come on Rich, snap out of it. Up and at 'em, boy! We really need you awake right now!"

Richard's blue eyes finally fluttered open...and were immediately met by a pair of ample bosoms squeezed into a tight black star-print t-shirt. "Well, hello there, boys," he slurred. "Where have you been all my life?"

The southern belle who owned them rolled her eyes. "He's fine."

"Rich?" Charles had his fingers tangled in his mussed black-silver hair. "What happened? Are you all right? I saw them work you over..."

"Damn bloody toffs got the jump on me." Richard winced as he raised himself into an awkward sitting position. "Thought I was better with me fists than that. I've gone soft in Hollywood. Maybe I should take up boxin' again."

"Hon, get down." Brett gently pushed him back onto the desks. "Take this from a mother. You sound like a British drunk and look like you walked into King Kong's fist. A little rest wouldn't kill you."

He groaned, his face turning an interesting shade of green under his tan. "Oh, don't push so fast. The world is spinning. I want to get off at the next station."

Bill tried to grin at him as he released his other foot, the wire dropping to the floor. "We've been saying that for about the past hour."

"Now that we're all here," Fannie grumbled as she slid off the desks and onto her chair, "what do we do next? Where's Ira? We found Richard."

"Yeah, where is that bloody arse?" Richard dazedly shook his fist in the air, his cerulean orbs crinkling in anger. "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind when he's not backed by a six-gorilla combo."

Ira emerged from the doors, grinning that nasty wide-toothed Jaws grin. "Hello there, Dawson. Not feeling so egotistical when you're under sedation?"

Richard tried to shake his fist at Ira, but he nearly rolled off the desks. "What did you fuckin' do to me, you piece of shit?" At least, Brett was pretty sure that's what he said. His voice was slurring so badly, it was hard to tell. "Stuck a needle in me arm...that's all I can remember. That is, until I woke up as a puppet for your amusement, starin' at some bloody fuckin' demon doll!"

"Oh, I hit you up with a nice little sedative. Just a small something to calm you down a bit, keep you from fighting." He stuck his long nose in Richard's face. "It's pretty much the only way to keep you from fighting. You've been a thorn in my side and my bosses' side from the very beginning."

"Leave him alone, Ira!" Charles took Richard's hand, pulling him away from the treacherous producer. "What do you want with us?"

Gene narrowed his eyes. "You pounded and drugged my best panelist, scared the others half to death, and tried to fry me! We're making you a shit-ton of money!"

Brett raised her gun and pointed it in Ira's face. "But it's not about the money, is it? It's about control. We argue over the questions and call them out when we're right and your wrong. Richard always does. You don't like not being able to control us. You want puppets who will parrot all the answers you'd like to hear and make the contestants lose, not people."

He patted her cheek...and half the crowd nearly leaped on him. "You're smarter than you look, my queen. Or perhaps, I should say, my servant."

Brett held the gun steady. "I'm no one's servant, Ira."

"You will be." He pushed her hand aside. "You don't frighten me. There's no bullets left in that gun."

Charles gave him a slightly wan smile on the desk, still holding Richard. "But it looks good, doesn't it?"

"I thought it would be so easy to manipulate you," Ira hissed. "I know Klugman walked out on you. You're so vulnerable right now, with two boys to take care of. So desperate for attention, for someone to notice you. For a man to notice you."

He turned that shark smirk on the rest of the crowd. "You're all so easy to manipulate. Daily, everyone knows you're a coward and a neurotic idiot. Scare you, and you'll run like a frightened rabbit."

Bill glared at him, his voice dropping several notches. "Shows what you know, Ira. I was in the Korean War. You wonder why I jump at everything? If you were in the artilery squad, you'd be jumping at noises, too."

"I knew I didn't like you, but Ira, this is a new low." Fannie held up her own fist. "I'm not afraid to use this, sugar. I don't care if it loses me this gig. We're not here to serve you. We're here to serve the contestants."

Ira's eyes roved over Fannie's curvacious body and Joyce's slighter but just as pretty one. "Oh, I'll be keeping you around, southern belle. You have...assets...that may prove useful. You and little miss Bullifant over there give us men in the audience something to..." His lip curled as he strolled over, his hand reaching over to stroke Fannie's bosom. "Chew over."

Joyce frowned. "I don't like the way you're looking at us, Ira, or touching Fannie. That's not nice. I just got married, and Fannie's not interested in me...you that way." Joyce thrust out her sharp elbow and nudged her way between them. "You want something to chew over, Ira? Chew on this!" She kicked him as hard as she could in the shin.

The moment he went down, she drew back, her blue eyes shooting daggers. "Brett said I was being silly when I told her there was a monster here. For once, she was wrong, and I was right. There is a monster here, Ira, and it's you!"

Brett smacked him on his back with the gun. "It's over, Ira. Tell us what you did with everyone else. Johnny, Earl, Marc, the crew, the contestants..."

"They're fine." He stumbled over to the contestant's desks, grabbing the edge of the challenger's side and rubbing his abused foot. "They're in the lounge. They're not what I'm interested in."

Richard slid out from Charles' grasp. His legs nearly buckled under him, forcing him to grab his desk. Charles tried to prop him up, but he gently pushed him away. "Ira, I knew I didn't like you, but this...this is no good. You're not God, no matter what you think." He took a clumsy swing at the other man, but moved too slow and nearly tripped over his feet. Ira easily walloped him in the chin, sending him crashing backwards into the contestants' desks. The taller man stumbled over, limping slightly on his tender shin.

"You're no God either, Dawson." He reached for Richard again, but Charles and Fannie had rushed to his side. "Still letting all the pretty girls and pansies protect you?"

Charles nodded at Fannie. "Stay with him." He unfurled himself to his full six feet and got as close into Ira's face as he could. "You forget, I can see what you are. What you really are. I know what's under that flashy suit. They see the man. I see the devil in you."

"Charles," Richard slurred from the desk, "what in the bloody hell are you doing?"

"I'm doing what I should have done earlier." Charles rolled up the sleeve of his dark blue shirt and clenched his fist. "Ira, I don't like violence...but call this payback for slamming me over the head."

Brett's eyebrows went straight up as Charles lunged into Ira and slammed him in the chin. Both men went toppling into the steps, Charles trying to hold Ira down. "Brett," he yelled, "help me here!"

She rushed to him and grabbed Ira's other arm, holding the squirming producer to the steps. "Charles, what's going on? What is this?"

Ira was struggling wildly, his eyes flashing blood-red. "I knew you'd figure it out, Reilly. That's why I had to get rid of you. I couldn't let you interfere." Brett gasped as Gene's entrance door flew to bits! Hideous creatures with red eyes, long nails, and leathery black skin flooded the room. They all carried heavy wires under their arms, like the ones that held Richard to the ceiling on the Family Feud set.

Brett held his arms tighter. "You're no vampire. You're a damn devil! Dickie can be an egotistical ass, but even he doesn't deserve hell. A swift kick in the rear and fewer people choosing him for the Head-to-Head, but not going down there!"

"But you'll like it down there, my queen." She gasped as his fingers unfurled, revealing jagged claws. "You'll all finally do what I want you to do. It has to be better than being alone."

"I'd rather be alone than spend an eternity in hell with you, you bastard!" She aimed for his groin again, but he was prepared this time and pulled away.

Behind her, Gene was trying to get everyone's attention, yelling into his microphone. One of the devils easily lifted Joyce off her feet, even with her trying her hardest to kick at it. Fannie held out her fists, and Bill launched himself into two more with a wild scream.

"Brett," gasped a slurred British accent behind her, "don't let him fool you." Richard stumbled over, even as another devil wrapped its sinewy arms around him. "Don't believe what he says!" Another pulled its arms around Charles, trying to get his glasses off. Richard struggled, trying to reach out for his bespectacled friend.

Brett struggled with the strangely strong producer, trying to get into his groin again. "You'll like being a slave," he hissed as wires dropped from the ceiling. "You'll all do what I tell you to, say what I think you should. I'll really be the judge of what you are...and who can win the game."

She backed away, only to hit two more of those devil creatures. Out of the corner of her eyes, two were winding black wire around a screaming Bill's arms. Two more yanked Gene's long legs out from under him, binding his ankles as he toppled to the shag carpeting.

"They can't help you, dear queen." To her horror, Fannie and Joyce were already wound with wires, their mouths bound with tape. Bill's screams grew more and more hoarse as he dangled over the desk. "No one can. Not even your three heroes over there." Gene yelled at the top of his lungs as he dangled next to Bill. Charles was showing signs of fatigue as he tried to avoid the claws reaching for his glasses. Richard wiggled like a trout in a net, but couldn't reach his stricken friend.

She was faintly aware of her own voice letting loose with a piercing shriek as the two heavyweight monsters dragged her to her desk and held her there. The wires dropped down, catching her wrists and ankles. Ira, now as dark as midnight under that scuzzy suit, loomed over her, those teeth gleaming razor-sharp in the dark night.

"Now," he growled as he yanked her up like a puppet, "my new little toy will kiss me. You have no choice now. You and the others are mine."

"No!" She screamed, loud and hard, trying to free her hand to push him away. "No! I'm not yours! None of us are! Let us go, Ira! No!"

"Brett?" A warm, familiar southern accent managed to penetrate her conciousness as those gleaming teeth came too close to her lips.  "Brett, darlin', what's with all the screamin'? You're scarin' half the crew!" Long fingernails dug in as a hand shook at her shoudlers. "Brett, you can get up now. We've got a show to do. Brett?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Huh?" Brett barely managed to lift her head from the desk. Fannie stood next to her, shaking her shoulders. "Oh, it's you. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you."

Charles was on her other side, hat and glasses intact. "I told you she had way too much to drink at lunch. Brett, we're on in five minutes!"

The older woman squinted through her own oversized glasses. "Charles...can you now, or have you ever been able, to see ghosts?"

One of those thick eyebrows of his went straight to his receeding hairline. "Uh, no. Not that I know of."

His eyes lit up as Richard patted her on the back. "Next time, stick to coffee. Keeps me running to two shows with no naps in between."

As she lifted her head, she noticed Joyce peering at her worriedly from her desk on the bottom row. "Are you ok? You were really out there." The contents of her purse were already scattered around her blue cards. "I might have something in here that'll wake you up..."

"I'm fine, hon. I just had a nightmare, that's all." Brett sighed and shook her head. "It was awful. I dreamed that Ira was a devil and wanted to turn us all into demonic puppets for his amusements. And he had devils pound Richard into pulp and nearly electrocute Gene and force Charles to be surrounded by burned ghosts."

Charles made a face as he slid into his seat next to hers. "I knew you had a sick mind, lady."

She straightened her wig, making sure all the pins were there and not bent. "It could have been worse. Bill, Fannie, Joyce, and I rescued you, at least up until the devils tried to turn all of us into toys for their enjoyment."

Bill put his head on her forehead as he settled on her other side. "Yep, you're right, Charlie. This is a very sick woman here. She needs Dr. Daily to give her a strict order to lay off liquid lunches, take two pills, and call me in the morning."

"Knock it off, you two jokers." She shoved the Styrofoam cup on her desk away. "Maybe you're right about that vodka at lunch. From now on, I cut it down to two cups a taping."

Fannie smirked as she looked up from the left-side desk. "As opposed to two bottles?"

"All right, all right." Gene leaned over her with his microphone before she could take a swat at Fannie. "That's enough. Save the jokes for the show. Brett, are you sure you're all right? You look a little pale."

She gave him her most sincere smile. "I'm fine, Gene. Don't worry. It's out of my system now."

Richard stormed in next, plopping down in his seat between Fannie and Joyce. "Hey," Charles called from his right, "are you ok?"

"Fine." The Englishman made a face. "Just wish Ira would listen to me. I'm getting a little tired of all the running back and forth. I have no control here. It's like we're all puppets he can manipulate for his amusement."

"Oh Dickie," Brett groaned, "please don't say that! Don't ever say that!"

She couldn't help her wince as Ira came over, now looking far more like his regular self in that shirt open to the navel, his smile more good-natured than feral. "Thirty seconds, everyone! Let's give them a good show. Remember, we're here for the contestants. And Brett, maybe you ought to get some air after this episode. You keep staring at me like I'm going to suck your brains out or something."

"Yeah." Her mega-watt smile was in full force. "I'll remember that."

Thank god it was just a dream! She kept the smile on as Johnny Olson announced their names and the orange light square turned. I just hope Ira doesn't get any real ideas like that. And there's Richard. If Ira doesn't lay off him, he may just start a mutiny, or worse. She turned her head, trying to flash her profile, even as Charles glared at her and pointed at her with a shake of her head. Now, let's help those people win some big money...and do it by being ourselves. Even Charles. Most of the time.