Applause thundered as the curtain fell on the final scene. Stage lights faded throwing the cast into absolute darkness. Someone - a woman - screamed in fear, but it went unheard by the audience over the calls for an encore.

We stood frozen in shock when the curtain rose for the customary bow, allowing light to penetrate. The leading lady crouched over the stricken body of the leading man, her dress spattered, her hands and face coated in his blood. Beside him lay the implement of his demise: an overhead spot-light.

My first thought was that it could have been me. If it hadn't been for Dirk dating the casting director, it would have been.

Again the audience cheered, apparently ecstatic at being given what they requested. But this was no encore.

It was at this point I remembered the video camera in my hand and zoomed in on the body, panning out again to encapsulate the faces of the cast. My next thought being how much the media would pay for the footage. It's not every day one witnesses this type of incident, I needed to get as much of it as I could.

The police arrived before the theatre had cleared of patrons, uniformed officers shuffling the cast members into the main changing room to wait questioning by the plain clothed detective.

Others must have mentioned the camera because when my turn finally came about, he demanded the memory card as potential evidence. Thankfully I managed to slip the card into my phone and upload the file to my dropbox before then.

Something niggled at my subconscious, urging me to watch the video. I drove to the nearest McDonalds and used their free wifi. Two cups of coffee later, 'download complete' appeared on the small screen. Eagerness turned to bitter disappointment as I watched the curtain close and nothing I didn't already know presented itself.

I don't know what I'd hoped to see, perhaps someone tampering with the fittings? An explanation for why the spotlight chose that exact moment to come loose? Something, anything, to put my mind at ease after the whispers in the changing rooms that blamed the Scottish curse. Surely there was nothing to the stories. Uttering a single word couldn't possibly be to blame for the unfortunate incident that took Dirk's life, could it?

Look closer.

"Look at what closer? There's nothing there." I snapped, shooting the man beside me a glare.

He raised a single eyebrow in question.

Look closer.

"Who said that?"

"Said what mate?" the man asked, perplexed.

His companion leaned closer to him and mock whispered, "I think he's been out in the sun too long, Joe. Grab your coke, it's time we were leaving."

I ignored them and started the last ten minutes of the footage again, plugging the earphones in so I could hear it over the background chatter of McDonald's customers.

There!

"Yes!" I shouted, drawing unwelcome attention from a group of kids in the corner. "You're right. I saw something move just before the light fell."

The ear buds were yanked from my ears when one of the kids snatched the phone from my grasp. He danced away, waving it in the air like a trophy. His friends followed him outside. Under normal circumstances I would have let it go, confronting a gang of teenagers in a dark corner of a car park isn't advisable, there's no telling what they'd do.

Not this time. That same something urged me to follow.

"Give it back, guys," I said casually, figuring a placid tone might be more amenable.

Racious laughter was their reply.

I took another step closer and glared at them. "I said give it back." It came out more like a growl, but they got the message.

The one closest to me stood up from his seat on the wall, withdrawing his hands from his pockets as he squared his shoulders. "What you gonna do? Call the cops?"

His buddies laughed, all except one who's gaze was locked somewhere over my shoulder. He tapped the boy beside him on the leg and indicated in my direction. The second's eyes widened in apparent fear. A chain reaction occurred, each boy stopped laughing abruptly within a second of each other. By the time the closest realised his mates were no longer backing him up, he too stopped.

Snatching my phone from his hands, I stomped away, glancing over my shoulder to see if they were coming after me. It could have been because I'd reached the glow of the street lighting again, but the corner seemed darker, like a void. Not a single ray of light could penetrate the gloom.

With no recollection of getting into my car, never mind driving home, I stumbled up the dozen steps to my flat on jelly legs. I needed something sugary to replace the energy I'd used during the adrenalin rush in the car park. Even while I ate the stale donut I found in the cupboard, I kept asking myself what the hell I thought I was doing, confronting a gang of kids; they could have had knives. Then were would I have been?

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, I flicked the power switch on for the PC. A bigger screen should let me see whatever it was on the video.

Ten minutes from the end, the same movement caught my eye. A shadow moving across the stage floor and up the wall behind Dirk, the leading man, as he watched the final scene of the play from the wings. Dirk's shadow lengthened as if the light in front of him lowered, but I could see the stage lights from where I was filming on the opposite side of the stage, and they hadn't moved. For a second or two, the camera lost sight of Dirk as it followed the actor on stage. When he came back into view, his shadow was gone. That's when the curtain came down and everyone rushed on stage for the final bow. It was too dark for the camera to pick anything up.

I played it again and again and again, hoping that tweaking the brightness might show something more. That one area directly above were Dirk had stood when he stepped on stage for the last time, remained in darkness. Darkness so complete that no amount of brightness or contrast would display an image. The only thing I could get were two tiny, green dots that I think were the power LED's on an adjacent spot-light.

So much for having something; shadows alone wouldn't prove foul play. I called it a night, deciding to have another look in the morning when my mind was fresh.

Awareness gradually returned with the closing stanza's of John Legend's All of Me, one of my favourite tunes at that moment, playing on the clock radio. Stretching, I contemplated getting up or hitting snooze. The headline news made the decision for me.

"Five local teenagers were slaughtered in gang fight at a McDonald's restaurant," the newsreader stated.

I sat up. It couldn't be the same five boys, could it?

Sure enough, the TV news showed the same car park I'd used the previous night, flashing pictures of the boys - younger, better dressed versions - who took my phone. "It is estimated to have been around eleven pm last night. Police are looking for witnesses and asking customers who were in the restaurant around that time to come forward." Then it played a snippet of footage from a car park security camera. My car sat in clear view. I saw myself stop and look back at the dark corner before getting into the car and driving off.

Hoping that Detective Mills wouldn't be investigating this lot as well, I made the call. It wasn't like I had anything to tell them anyway.

Mills wasn't surprised to hear from me, claiming to have been waiting for my call. I explained what had happened with my phone.

"That confirms what the staff said. Did you see or hear anything in the car park?"

"No, sorry, it was pitch-black. I could just about see the boys when I took my phone back."

"Took it back?"

"Well, I asked and they gave," I admitted.

"Did you see anyone on the street when you left?"

"No one, sorry."

He sounded tired when he told me I could have my memory card back. "We've made a copy of what we need. Thanks for your assistance, we'll be in touch."

I honestly believed that would be the last I heard from him. How wrong was I? No more than fifteen hours later, Mills pulled into the spare parking space at the front of the flats.

His impatient knock on the narrow, glass window beside the door spoke volumes in itself; his added, "I know you're in there Roy, open the damn door!" Left me wondering what the hell I'd done to deserve his anger.

"Give me a minute," I hollered, tying the belt of my robe as I ambled along the narrow hall, not yet fully awake.

He didn't give me the chance to open the door. No sooner had I turned the latch, it slammed against my forehead with the force of his kick.

My eyelids felt like they had lead weights attached to them. It took every ounce of strength I had left to open them a mere crack. Someone was dragging Mills along the walkway toward the railings that overlooked the river. Forcing my eyes open again, I tried to focus on what they looked like, but it was too dark, the light at the end of hall wasn't working. Between my bleary vision and the lack of light, all I could make out was a silhouette. A shadow of someone much larger than Mills.

Don't worry, Son, the shadow voice soothed, I'll look after you. I know I wasn't around much when you were growing up - okay I wasn't around at all - but I'm here now and I'm going to make up for it.

Awareness returned with the soothing melody of my favourite song playing on the radio alarm. Sudden inexplicable feelings of déjà Vous washed over me, jerking me awake. I lay there, waiting for the news with a sense of dread.

Am I to believe that all those people are gone, killed by my father's hand? How could it have been? How could I have seen him on the walkway when my dad's been dead for five years?