“Miss Leticia, Miss Elaine, I’m scared!” Little Tina stood in her pajamas near the television, where she had gone to wait her turn for tucking in on her cot. “This isn’t real, is it?”
Tina must have seen the parade on television. Her question raised a lump in Elaine’s throat, the one that her maternal instinct had already planted hours ago.
She and Leticia went to see, walking to keep from appearing too urgent and frightening the girl further.
“Go pick out a pillow and blanket, sweetie.” Leticia guided her away, then joined Elaine.
“Oh Lord…” They crowded against each other as they watched the footage.
“Helen, what we are witnessing is real. We see a fire spreading over here…” Kit Calloway’s mellow baritone betrayed his fear.
The camera turned to focus on a pillar of flame—then came a loud boom.
The camera made a rough pan back to Calloway. Alarm twisted his handsome features. He turned and ran. The shot became an incoherent blur and then—static.
Then Kit’s colleague Helen was on screen at the station, looking like a well-tailored deer caught in headlights. “W…we’ve lost our feed. Apologies to our viewers, we…hope to have some kind of update in just a few minutes. Please stay tuned. Emergency services are on their way, and they have asked everyone to stay away from the parade site!”
“What are we going to do?” Elaine asked.
Leticia hugged her. “We’re going to stay right here with these children because they need us. And we’re going to pray.”
* * * *
Candace blurted the important details that Mamalee had related to her the day before; about Everett’s early childhood strangeness, the assault by the priests—his first Halloween night violence.
Candace, her eyes focused on nothing, finished. “Every year we move to a new place and stay until Halloween comes. We set Everett free on Halloween night, and he goes…‘trick-or-treating.’ The next morning, we move again. Mamalee and Daddy hope…hoped…that one day, he would grow out of it. Now, he’s grown, all right. And he’s strong. And he never got better. Only worse.”
Candace sobbed. “I…I try not to make friends, but…you guys…”
* * * *
Candace touched Stuart’s cheek like all the grown-ups had at his Dad’s funeral. He hugged her, and glanced at DeShaun. There was no judgment in his eyes, only compassion.
“Jeez,” Stuart mumbled. “I thought I had problems.”
“We all do now,” Candace said, sniffling. “Mamalee told me yesterday, before I left, what those priests did to Everett, how he got so messed up, I realized it means he’ll never stop. Maybe he can’t.”
“That’s why you were scared of the church,” Stuart said. “What happened to Everett…Wait!” Gears turned in Stuart’s head. “Maybe if we can all get to the church, he won’t come there. And DeShaun’s dad can catch him.”
“Yeah, but how are we g—”
DeShaun’s query was cut short by their massive jump-suited assailant, crashing his head into their hiding place through the enclosed wall of the staircase. He roared, and the three escapees scrambled to crawl out the way they had entered.
Candace made it out first. As the pursuer charged around the staircase to pen them in, Candace switched into defensive mode and sprang out to face him, raising a weathered two-by-four. “You get away from my friends!”
She smashed the board into the man’s shoulder, knocking him back. “You don’t scare me, you stupid creep!”
The maniac was stunned. She swung again, landing a cornerwise strike to the shin that drew a shrill cry.
“I’ve seen scary, mister,” she shouted, “and you’re not it!”
She smashed the board over the fat man’s head, sending him to the ground.
As Stuart and DeShaun came to Candace’s side, their assailant stirred, blinking up at them with confusion. Then he began to bawl like a baby.
Candace tossed the board away and grabbed Stuart’s wrist. “Come on!”
* * * *
Keeping the wayward biker pinned, Hudson examined the strobe of running bodies and saw Pedro and Jill running onto the street, then McGlazer climbing down from the still-moving truck, toward…
Dennis’s feet, sprawled at an alarming angle on the courtyard just below the stage.
Hudson yanked the handcuffed prisoner up to his feet and dragged him toward the street’s edge, where he hoped the addled partyer would be out of harm’s way—more or less.
“Sorry to do this, buddy!” Hudson said, and knocked the man out cold with a short left hook.
* * * *
“Come on, baby. You’re gonna be okay.” Jill rocked like a mother comforting a baby, as she held the unconscious Dennis on her lap, alarmed to see blood slickening the grass beneath his head.
“Somebody help!” Pedro yelled. “We need a doctor!”
But there was only running, anarchy, panic.
Reverend McGlazer joined them and checked Dennis’s vital signs. “We may never get through this mess in time,” McGlazer said. “But Stella is an EMT. She has her kit at the church.”
“We’ll get him there!” Pedro stooped to lift Dennis in his arms.
McGlazer stopped him. “No. We can’t move him.”
“What are we gonna do?” Jill asked.
“Apply pressure to his wound,” McGlazer said. “Here, use my jacket.”
The insane crowd closed in rapidly, and worse—converged, as if with a single purpose.
Hudson appeared. “What’s his status?”
McGlazer told him about Stella.
“We need to get her down here. Take the next street over,” advised Hudson. “Situation’s no better ahead, I don’t think.” He turned to Pedro and Jill. “You two are officially deputized. Protect Dennis.”
As McGlazer darted away toward an open alley, Pedro patted the unconscious form of Dennis, looked at Jill, and stood. “’Bout time. Haven’t had a good rumble since that Planet Six gig.”
* * * *
The fire was an octopus of flickering, flailing tentacles, growing by the second, as burning patches of hay and paper rose into the air to rain embers and renew the cycle.
Witnessing the chaos ruining the parade, a heartbroken Everett fell to his knees and wept. Then, through the roaring flames and cries of pain and terror, he heard someone laughing.
Not with innocent joy, as he had when he found this giant celebration. It was spite. That haughty snicker of smug superiority, reminding him of those priests, relishing their power over a little boy.
Someone was enjoying this.
Everett’s teary eyes found a figure dressed like a wonderful rag doll, standing on a brick planter, throwing her head back to address the sky. “Thank you, Lord!” cried the woman. “Praise your holy name!” she said.
Everett followed her gaze to the sky, but saw nothing. Nonetheless, she was talking to the sky like the priests who had raped him. Even a child could surmise that she had something to do with this calamity. And there was no greater a child than Everett.
He took up his hammer and walked toward her.