Day 35
JASON STOOD BEHIND THE CURTAIN, sweating, his stomach in knots. In the side wings Caleb waited with Leiah, trying to be as brave as possible, but he couldn’t hide the thin film of sweat that shone on his forehead. They asked him how he felt, and he told them fine, but neither Jason nor Leiah believed him. He was discovering denial.
Most of the three thousand ticket holders sat or lay on the main floor. A few hundred sat in the orange seats. A dozen of the black-clad antichrist club stood at the railing in their customary place. The leader stood perfectly still and held his eyes on the curtain as he always did. Behind him several members held their “Beware the Antichrist who comes as a wolf in sheep’s clothing” signs and imitated the posture of their leader. Only the one on the end did not stare forward.
Why would a group of protesters clearly in need of no healing pay a thousand dollars a head to attend the meetings? It made for some awful serious protesters, but at whose expense? Jason had brought the matter up with Nikolous again at the last meeting, but the Greek only shrugged and said that they were ticket holders.
Jason shivered. He was about to turn away when the small one at the end caught his attention again. The black-hooded fellow was looking toward the back, and Jason followed his stare. The red seats were empty and the lights along the back wall were off, perhaps to discourage anyone from sitting there. But the man seemed to be studying something up in the bleachers.
Jason released the curtain and returned to where Leiah waited with Caleb. The boy sat on a chair, his legs hanging limp and his shoulders hunched. Jason ruffled his hair.
“You ready for this Caleb?”
The boy stared ahead with glassy eyes. Jason exchanged a concerned look with Leiah and knelt down. The boy looked as sad as Jason could remember seeing him. He put a hand on his shoulder.
“You sure you want to do this, Caleb? We can go, you know. We can call this off and go home.”
“No,” Caleb said in a near whisper.
Jason bit his lip and nodded. He stood and walked to the side stage door, feeling disturbed without being able to corner the emotion. True, Caleb was obviously not himself again, but there was more to worry about here than his health. The notion crawled along his spine like a burrowing tick. Maybe as a result of all the talk about Crandal.
“God, help me,” he muttered, opening the door. He found himself praying naturally these days, almost as if God was right beside him. That’s how it had felt in the church last Sunday, and the closeness hadn’t entirely left him. “Give me wisdom. Protect us.”
Jason scanned the crowd from the shadows of the side entrance. Atmospheric music that he recognized as the theme from the movie Platoon swelled to fill the auditorium. “God help us.” His praying was not colorful or even proper, but he didn’t really give a flip. Colorful and proper had put Stephen in the grave.
That small man with the black hood was still studying the bleachers. Jason looked across the arena and saw that he divided his attention between the stage and the same section of red bleachers.
Jason followed his line of sight again. But there were only shadows.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Nikolous’s deep voice boomed over the speakers. “Welcome . . .” The word reverberated and the already quiet crowd fell motionless. Two dozen cameras focused on the curtains.
Jason pulled the door closed and joined Leiah. Nikolous insisted that the boy go out before the curtain went up tonight and Leiah intended to walk him out. She stood and helped him to his feet.
“Okay, Caleb?” she whispered.
Nikolous’s voice boomed again. “We are here to witness history.”
Caleb nodded.
“After tonight, your life will never be the same,” the Greek’s voice echoed.
Leiah led a weak Caleb out onto the stage, stood him before the microphone, and smoothed his hair. She knelt and whispered in his ear. Then she kissed his cheek and walked back to Jason.
Nikolous said a few more things, but Jason’s attention was on the boy, wavering on his feet with his hands limp by his sides. Such a brave boy. He was sick; you could see it even at this distance. So why were they allowing Nikolous to exploit him in such a state? Maybe they’d become so used to this odd arrangement that they no longer took exception to it.
Something is wrong.
Jason felt the impulse, like a hot iron at the base of his skull.
He stepped up to the stage entrance just as Leiah returned.
Something was very wrong. His pulse thumped in his ears. Nikolous had said his last and the music was building up in eerie volume. They should take the boy now. Just take him and run.
“What’s wrong?” Leiah asked.
“I don’t know.”
Jason almost ran for the boy then. Everything in his body was telling him to run for Caleb. He’d never felt such a strong compulsion in all of his life.
The curtain suddenly began to rise and Jason pulled back slightly. Too late. He couldn’t run out now. The show had started.
Leiah stood at his elbow. “Jason, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
He shook his head and held up a finger to silence her.
The curtain rose slowly, exposing Caleb to the crowd. Thundering applause filled the arena. The black-hooded antichrist protesters came into view diagonally from Jason. Their leader glared directly at him. At him! Not at Caleb, but at him, like a devil from hell peeking through that hood. We’ve got our eyes on you; yes we do.
Jason felt a chill rip up his spine. He jerked his eyes to the small one at the end. The one who’d been looking up at . . .
He was gone!
Banks eased the rifle out as soon as the houselights dimmed.
He saw Junior leave his spot and nodded in satisfaction. That’s right, Junior; we’re about to make you famous. As soon as Starks had given the punk his mission, Junior had started that idiotic staring of his. The price of setting up an amateur.
The mini-14 felt good in his hands. The perfect kid killer.
The curtain began to rise and Banks knelt behind the last row of seats. It would take Junior four minutes to get up here, assuming he didn’t stop at the john. But he’d been instructed not to. No running, no stopping off even to take a leak. Just walk calmly up to section 63 and give the note to a brother in black robes. The same walk had taken Banks between three minutes, forty seconds and four minutes, two seconds on his three trials.
Banks would take the kid out at three minutes, thirty seconds.
Applause filled the auditorium and he smiled. The kid was there, under the white glare of a bright spotlight. Banks lifted the rifle to the back of the chair. He snugged his cheek on its butt and peered through the scope. The boy’s face filled the glass, then moved out. Banks adjusted the rifle, but the kid had moved again. He was wavering back and forth on his feet.
He let the face wander around his scope. Beads of sweat stood out on the boy’s forehead. His eyes were round; blue-green, like the ocean. Pop goes the weasel, kid. Pop!
Except for the music, which droned on in eerie tones, the arena grew quiet. The silencer would kill most of the shell’s report, and what was left would be swallowed by the music. The suppressed muzzle flash presented the only real risk of detection. But then all eyes were on the kid, weren’t they? By the time they realized what had happened, Banks would be long gone.
He glanced at his watch. Three minutes, fifteen seconds. The kid hadn’t done squat yet. Banks moved the cross hairs over his forehead. Right between the eyebrows. The movement was annoying, and he thought about going for the heart.
The kid still hadn’t done anything. He just stood there looking as if he were about to drop.
And then he did drop.
Banks watched dumbfounded through the round glass as the kid’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped out of his scope.
He jerked his head back, saw the kid in a lump down on the floor, and quickly reacquired him. He was gonna finish this. He found the body in his glass, looked for a good shot, and finally decided to go for the body.
He pulled the trigger.
The rifle jerked in his arms. Whap!
His breathing came faster now. He lingered on the body for a second. It didn’t move. Yeah, he got him.
Banks slid the gun under the seat and ran through the exit just in time to see Junior rounding the corner. Then he was gone.
Jason had bolted for Caleb before the boy’s body hit the ground.
He was halfway across the stage when the small flash lit the corner of his eye. Someone’s taking a picture of me, he thought.
Shouts of outrage rose from the crowd, but he ignored them. He ran up to Caleb, scooped him in both arms, and lifted his frail body. He had the limp body close to his chest before he saw the blood.
He froze. All around him cries rang, but his ears had shut them out. Caleb’s white shirt was red with blood nine inches from Jason’s face. A ragged little hole had been torn in the boy’s shirt.
He’d been shot!
Jason gulped and spun around, panicked. Someone had shot Caleb!
He stumbled across the stage toward Leiah, but he glanced up to the red seats as he ran. That’s where the flash had come from. He was certain of it now.
Jason crashed right past a stunned Leiah.
“Follow me!”
“Is he okay? What’s—”
“Just follow me to the car. Quickly!”
He ran for the rear stage entrance.
“Stop! Stop it!” Nikolous had rounded the corner and was yelling at them. Jason ran on.
“Where are you taking him?” Suddenly the Greek seemed to sense what Jason intended.
“Stop them! Stop them now! They’re stealing him!”
Two stagehands near the rear door stared at Jason with wide eyes. He ran right up to them before they broke out of their stupor and grabbed at him. He shoved a boot into the first man’s midsection and was rewarded with a grunt. Caleb’s body flopped in his arms.
“Get the door! Get the door, Leiah!”
The second man had grabbed the boy’s foot and was tugging. Leiah swerved, slapped the man’s face hard with an open palm and then shoved him. He released the foot and back-pedaled into the wall.
She shoved the door open and Jason ran past her into the night. Then she was running beside him, tearing for the parking lot with as much speed as he could gather with the boy in his arms.
The door crashed open behind them and shouts cut through the night. “Stop! You’re breaking a court order. You’re kidnapping!”
It was Nikolous and he was right. Feet pounded the pavement to their rear. They had to hurry. The Bronco loomed and Jason spun to Leiah.
“Here, take him. Quick!”
She slid her arms under Caleb and Jason grabbed for the keys in his pocket. He yanked them out and shoved them into the door lock.
“He’s bleeding!” Leiah said.
Jason opened the door and punched the electronic locks. “Get in the back!”
She clambered into the back seat with the boy and he slammed the door shut. Jason had just jumped into the driver’s seat and locked his door when the first thug slammed into the side of the Bronco.
He fired the engine, rammed the stick into gear, and roared forward. An angry cry sounded outside, and he wondered absently if he’d taken the man’s arm off. But then he was past the gate and only one thought strung through his mind.
Somebody shot Caleb.