His cries and guttural gasps for air fill the room as his hands pry at the rope which has tightened around his neck. His eyes are as wide as I’ve ever seen another humans and I watch in horror as the poor guy fights for his life. The audience are now leaving in droves, some have been physically sick and the smell of vomit is filling the room. Some are frozen in their seats as if unable to move even if they wanted to, staring incredulously at the screen.

Within a minute, Reuben has lost consciousness and his body simply hangs there. His face has become blotchy and the whites of his open eyes have filled with blood. Though unconscious, his dangling body jerks; his ribcage is still moving, still trying to take in air, fighting to stave off death.

But alas, to no avail. Within another minute, it’s clear that Reuben’s body has lost the fight and has surrendered to the Grim Reaper.

23

Police tape has been rolled across the area housing the self-service ticket machines, separating the cinema from the eateries on the top floor of the Trafford Centre. Uniformed officers are stationed at the bottom of the escalators, just inside the tape, in an attempt to placate the members of the public who have pre-paid for their tickets and have turned up expecting to be entertained by the latest blockbuster, only to be turned away.

Just up the steps, in the circular foyer of the cinema, a large group of people remains. The cinema staff are gathered behind the ticket counter, gossiping amongst themselves, having not seen the film but relying on overheard information. Most of the premiere attendees have left, unaware they were going to be needed to give a police statement.

Some of the guests who left early are mingling with those who stayed, listening to them recount the grisly ending. Others are happy to stand by themselves, assuming the worst outcome without needing confirmation. Police officers walk around the room, taking statements, though it’s an almost pointless task as it’s not the crime scene and it’s almost certain that no-one will have any useful information. Still, as DCI Bob always says, it’s best to cover all bases.

Meanwhile, Tom and I are upstairs in the projectionist’s booth. Once the film of Reuben’s demise ended, the trailers had started and the film looked set to carry on as it should’ve.

When Tom had left the auditorium, he’d climbed the stairs and waited outside the room we are sat in now, in anticipation of the projectionist doing a runner. However, he had remained steadfastly in his booth and Tom had only entered when I had joined him and insisted he stop the film.

The projectionist is a young man in his early twenties. He appears to be stuck in the nineties; his Oasis-inspired hair style - long at the sides with a fringe cut straight across his forehead is paired with a retro Smiths T-shirt.