“Aaaannnntttt! Wrong answer!”
He turned and kicked the shin of my good leg. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the throbbing in my wounded calf.
Camille raised her voice. “Monty! You didn’t ask me a question. That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” he shouted. “It’s not fair ? I make the rules, princess. It’s my game, remember?”
He tossed another handful of pills down his throat, and then turned toward me. “What’re you looking at, hotshot?”
I tried to avert my eyes from his, but couldn’t. They bored into mine with loathing. His voice turned to a wheedling whine. “I finally found her again, after she went off and married that first retard. When she changed her name to his and moved to Rochester, I lost her for seven long years. I found her when she went back to her maiden name and registered online in the white pages. By the time I’d landed a job at this school, you had stolen her from me, you academic, fascist bastard!”
His voice rose to a crescendo when he walked back and forth between Camille and me, becoming more and more agitated as the pills took effect. In the back of my mind, I idly wondered how he had put together academia with fascism, but let the thought evaporate when I noticed the front doors jiggle.
I glanced at Jonesy. He hadn’t seen it. His voice had risen to a fever pitch during the last tirade.
Maybe someone heard the shot.
I glanced up at the clock. It was quarter to seven. The audience would be arriving soon.
Jonesy followed my gaze and looked back at me with a calculating expression. “You’re right, Professor. They’ll be coming any time now. Let’s turn up the music to muffle the noise, shall we?”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
J onesy smirked at the teens. “Hey! I have a great idea. Why don’t you guys sing to me? A private show. Yeah. I want that sexy dance number. C’mon, where are you, ‘Lana?’”
Jonesy walked through the crowd of cowering girls and dragged Takeema forward. She wore a short, red satin dressing gown with a feathered boa around her neck. In the first scene, she is shown off to the side of the stage, in her “dressing room,” getting ready to perform in the exotic dancer club.
“You! Big hero,” he pointed at me. “Get off your butt and play the piano.”
My head spun, but I dragged myself to the piano bench. I opened the score to the dance number, and began to plunk out the notes, trying to make sense of the bizarre feeling of playing while blood seeped from my leg and a psycho killer held a gun to my beloved Camille’s head.
“C’mon,” he screamed. “Dance.”
Takeema began to move slowly and mechanically, working through the number. Her face twisted in fear, her performance understandably lackluster. She made no sound, but tears streamed down her cheeks.
He leaned back on a chair against the wall, eyes drooping. He rested the rifle against the wall and leered at Takeema. When she passed near him, he grabbed her. He pulled her to him, fingering the hem of her dressing gown and snickering. My heart dropped when he wrapped his arm around her waist. He drew her closer and tap-danced his fingers down her bare arm as if in anticipation of pleasures to come.
I took a deep breath, ready to lunge at him if he dared to go farther.
With a snort, he released her and let her continue with the dance .
I played through the piece, gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain in my calf. Finally, it was over. As if bored with the pastime, Jonesy pushed Takeema back to the group of girls. “Ah, you’re jailbait, anyway.”
Although I knew that his combat skills far exceeded any tricks I had learned in high school scuffles, I watched for a chance to jump him. In spite of the pills he swallowed, he held the rifle firmly before him again, prowling back and forth between the front door and Camille.
“You!” He approached me rapidly with eyes rolling wildly. “Back on the contestant’s stool.”
I limped to the stool.
Jonesy approached Camille. His heavy-lidded eyes were almost closed and he tilted his head to the side with a faint smile. “It’s getting late.” He stood before her with his hand under her chin, raising her face to his. “So pretty. How’s about a kiss, sweetheart?”
The staccato beat of my heart pounded in my ears as I sensed his mood shifting. He was about to do something final, something foul. I could feel it.
He leaned toward Camille’s lips.
She looked sideways at me when she raised her arms to embrace him, her eyes urging me to act while he leaned into her.
He moved closer, lips puckered.
Simultaneously, Gene, Nelson, and I lunged toward his back. Although Gene’s hands were still taped, the weight of our combined force knocked Jonesy over and he tumbled past Camille’s chair to the ground. He reacted with lightning speed, striking at us. Nelson was catapulted toward the blackboard. I scrambled for the rifle and felt Jonesy do the same. His head cracked against mine, delivering a blow that sent stars wheeling across my field of vision.
The rifle fell to the floor. Jonesy quickly retrieved it. He tossed Gene aside with a shove and turned back to me, ready to take me on with the rifle in one hand .
He leered happily at me. “C’mon, fancy-pants. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He swung the rifle back and forth, moving closer. I feigned exhaustion, and when he was about to slam me with it, I grabbed the end of the rifle and pulled. I swung him around and slammed him into the wall. Encouraged, I forced my bloodied leg to act and bolted for him.
It was then that Jonesy revealed his true fighting skills. As soon as I reached him he ducked, pivoted, and slammed a fist into my jaw. My head flew back and I lost my balance, struggling to stay up on the leg that seared with pain. Before my vision cleared, he tackled my knees and had me on the ground, pummeling my face with his iron-like fists.
I felt woozy and confused and watched him in triplicate.
He picked up the rifle and pointed it at Gene, who crept toward us. Nelson stood by Camille with his arms wrapped around her. Tears ran down his face.
The sweet kid is trying to protect her.
I rolled over onto my knees and hopped up again with renewed vigor. Crouching, I moved in a circle.
Jonesy played with me, ducking, swiveling, and poking me with the rifle.
Don’t give up. Get the bastard.
Anger streamed through me. I pictured him kissing her, taunting her, manhandling her. Adrenaline surged through my veins.
I’m ready .
I lowered my head and lunged toward the fiend with all my strength.
The rifle stock slammed against my head and the room instantly blurred. I sank to the floor, disoriented. The steel toe of Jonesy’s boot connected with the flesh beneath my chin. I reeled backwards and fell into a black void.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
I lay on my back on the cold cement floor. Someone was talking, but the words made no sense. I struggled to understand, but couldn’t drag myself from the mire. My face ached on both sides. I tasted blood on my tongue. An inferno burned in my calf.
A cold metal object jabbed into my ribs.
Several girls screamed.
A voice snarled close to my ear. “It’s all over now, Lover Boy.”
Camille yelled, “No!”
I tried to pry myself from the mental bog that held me captive. My eyes opened halfway and I saw Jonesy’s cruel face above mine, grinning as he prepared to shoot me.
His eyes—bloodshot and heavy—narrowed to slits. His breath reeked of stale cigarettes. He straightened above me and repositioned the weapon over my heart. My flesh pounded against the metal, and I lay motionless beneath it.
In a flash, an angel appeared overhead. He descended from the heavens, his long, blond hair spread about his body in a golden halo.
My vision clouded. I lost my tenuous grip on consciousness and feel back into the blackness.
Chapter Eighty
“P rofessor, please wake up.”
My eyes o
pened slowly.
Siegfried knelt over me, patting my face. An ugly bruise had formed above his left eye, and his split lower lip beaded with blood.
My body throbbed in a dozen places. The fire in my calf threatened to make me lose consciousness again. My eyes closed as I lay still, trying to remember.
“Professor, Bitte! ”
“Sweetheart, wake up,” Camille whispered.
I opened my eyes again and stared up at the catwalk, remembering the snake that had been dropped from above into the prop room. In a giant whoosh, it came flooding back to me.
Jonesy. Camille. The kids .
I looked into the troubled face of Siegfried and realized that the angel who had dropped from the heavens was my gentle friend.
Camille wiped a cloth across my brow and caressed my cheek with the back of her hand.
“Did you actually jump down from there?” I mumbled, trying to sit up. The room swam. I decided to stay down until I could muster more strength.
Siegfried nodded. “Ja. ”
Camille said, “He sure did. He’s our hero.”
Siegfried touched my hand. “He was going to shoot you. It was the only way.”
I turned my head to see the students milled around, hanging on each other and crying.
“Go,” I said to Camille. “Help them.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. ”
“Okay, honey. You stay here with Sig.” Camille hurried to her kids. Instantly, the boys and girls descended on her, some babbling, and some crying.
She dabbed at Nelson’s forehead with a wet cloth, still glancing over at me with concern from time to time.
I forced a weak smile to console her. The kids needed her more than I did.
Siegfried had called the police, as I’d hoped. Joe Russell and Adam Knapp arrived in minutes. They expertly rolled Jonesy over and snapped cuffs on him, answering my unasked question about whether or not he was alive. I guess he was still breathing, or they wouldn’t have restrained him.
He lay so close to me; the acrid odor of sour cigarettes rose in a stench. My stomach rolled when I looked at his pasty face and the pair of broken glasses askew on his nose.
I finally sat up and held my head in my hands. The throbbing in my jaw was excruciating where Jonesy’s steel-tipped boot had connected with the bone. I wondered if it was broken. I tried to stand. The pressure caused fresh, warm blood to seep down my leg.
“Careful.” Siegfried helped me up and settled me into a chair. I looked down at the blood-soaked sweatshirt I’d wrapped around my leg and felt woozy.
Jonesy lay three feet from me. Inert. No longer a threat.
He’d been beside us the whole time, and we hadn’t seen it. Why hadn’t I seen through him?
I had the urge to stomp on him, kick him, destroy him. As I gently probed my swollen jaw, I looked at him and realized that if the opportunity had arisen, I would have killed a man tonight.
The thought chilled me. I looked toward the hallway where I heard the sound of gurneys rolling down the hall accompanied by hurried footsteps.
Paramedics pushed through the double doors and Joe directed them toward Jonesy and me.
Adam knelt by my side. “Are you okay, Professor LeGarde? ”
I tried to smile. “How did everyone get here so fast?”
Adam nodded toward my brother-in-law. “You should thank Sig.”
Siegfried leaned closer. “I listened at that door when it wouldn’t open and heard him saying those…those awful things to you. I called 911, and then climbed up there, waiting for a good time to jump.”
I squeezed Siegfried’s massive hand. “Thank you, my friend.” It wasn’t the first time he’d saved my life.
The throng of weeping and chattering students embraced Camille. As the EMTs asked me questions and examined my leg, I heard her trying to calm them. She reached out and hugged each one in turn. A lump rose in my throat when our eyes met.
She mouthed the words, Are you okay?
I nodded. I’ll be fine.
She cast me a fleeting, loving glance, and then returned to the kids who needed her. One of the attendants poked and prodded my wound. “Bullet passed clear through. Just in and out of the flesh. Bone’s okay.”
The emergency workers spoke to each other in rapid shorthand, applying disinfectant and bandages. They tried to force me onto a gurney, but I held my ground. They finally left me alone when I promised to get medical attention on my own.
Lou Marshall walked in through the back doors, supporting Frank Swensen, who limped into the room. He placed him in the chair next to me. One of the paramedics rushed to his side. Lou explained that he had found Frank trussed up and unconscious in a locked closet. There was blood on his temple, and Jonesy had smashed his kneecap.
Lou hovered above Frank until the paramedic took charge. He approached Camille.
I looked at the clock. 8:10 P.M.
“Miss Coté?” he asked gently, parting the crowd of students. His look softened when he found her .
She raised her face to his, assuming an I’m fine, I’m the teacher look. But I could tell from the tremble in her voice that she was all but fine. “Yes, Mr. Marshall?”
“Would you like me to announce that the show will be postponed?”
Camille looked uncertainly at the group of children surrounding her. They glanced at each other, and then back at Marshall.
I felt a sudden pang of empathy for him, knowing his crush on Camille would never be voiced. Then, with a more realistic slant, I hoped his marriage would remain healthy in spite of his schoolboy feelings for another woman.
Nelson spoke up before Camille could answer. “We can’t let Jonesy win! He wanted to ruin the show. It was his plan all along, wasn’t it?” He still looked pale and shaky, but his eyes burned with passion. The small cut on his forehead had begun to congeal. He nudged Takeema, who slumped on the piano bench with her head resting on her arms.
She raised a tear-stained face, looked at Camille, and glanced around at her fellow thespians. She didn’t speak immediately, but waited until the room quieted. “Nelson's right. We can’t give in to him.” She cleared her throat and grabbed her water bottle from one of the make-up tables. Her face was drawn, but her expression slowly transformed to one of resolve. After taking a long drink, she said, “He scared the hell out of us for three long months. First, he dropped that awful snake down from the catwalk. Then, he hurt Miss Coté and nearly killed Molly by unscrewing the platform railings. And he killed poor Cindi. We can’t let him win. No way.” Her voice cracked. She turned and looked at the frightened faces of her friends.
I felt bad that everyone in the room except Camille and me thought Cindi had died. We’d have to remedy that soon. But now that Jonesy was out of commission, she could come out of protective custody and live her life without fear. I assumed he would be charged with something like terrorism, at the least, and would be put away for a very long time, hopefully life .
Molly stood beside Takeema, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. “Takeema’s right.”
Molly had matured in the past few weeks. She’d officially dumped Armand, began dating Randy, and seemed to find a new sense of self-respect accompanied by a gentle glow of confidence. She held her head high, looked around the room with encouragement. “I say if everyone’s okay, we delay a half-hour so we can pull ourselves together, and then put this show on in Cindi’s honor.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. They stood straighter. Lisa took out her hair net. Her mother went over to the table and got a brush. Randy and Maurice had finished removing the tape from all of the boys’ wrists, and the whole group began to show traces of the excitement they’d shown before Jonesy had begun his tirade.
I watched them closely. A transformation had taken place, one which I wasn’t sure I could have done in their situation.
“Are we all okay?” Camille asked, examining each teen carefully. “Gene? Nelson? You were throw
n around quite a bit, boys. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
Camille checked them out; but seemed convinced that they were not seriously harmed. She helped Maurice reposition his microphone and took particular care with the young seventh graders, hugging each of them again, and inspecting them thoroughly.
Finally, Camille turned to Agnes. “Mrs. Bigelow? Are you okay, dear? Can you still help with costumes?”
Agnes rubbed her mouth where the duct tape had been. Her mouth twisted for a split second. She drew in a deep breath. “I’m fine, Miss Coté. I’ll be fine.”
Lisa ran to her mother and hugged her.
Camille turned to Siegfried. He answered before she could ask. “Ja, Ja, I can do the props. It’s just a little cut, I’m okay.”
She smiled at him gratefully, and said to Marshall, “Don’t send anyone home, Marshall. We’ve got a bunch of survivors here. Please tell the audience we’ll go on at 8:45. Apologize for the delay, but don’t alarm them. Just tell them that we had a minor setback that we’re dealing with it, and not to worry. Those parents have devoted so many hours to set-building and rides for their kids, they deserve to enjoy the show.”
Marshall smiled tenderly at Camille and sighed. He looked at the group of youngsters who had begun to move around the room in preparation. His eyes danced with pride. “Okay, then. If you’re sure. The show must go on. ”
Chapter Eighty-One
I made it back to the school during intermission after Adam dropped me at the local doctor’s office. Doc Mattson met me there, and after receiving a few stitches in my calf, pain pills, a prescription for an antibiotic, and bandages for various wounds, he kindly drove me back to the school. My jaw wasn’t broken, but would be sore for a while. I wandered backstage to see how the rest of the crew had fared, and Joe Russell motioned to me from the chorus room.
“Gus! I’ve been looking for you. My men just called from Jonesy’s apartment.” He dropped his voice and looked around. “It was loaded with weapons and explosives.”
I limped toward him on the cane that Doc Mattson lent me.
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