Everything was dull. His hands and knees hurt. He stared at the glass embedded in his palms before looking at Odette and pulling a piece of glass out of her cheek. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips parted, face slack as she just looked around, clearly as dazed as Bowie.
“Bowie?”
Someone said his name, but it sounded like it was echoed through a canyon, distant and hollow. Then Lawson was just there, taking each of them by the arm, dragging them to their feet and guiding them out into the hallway.
Dancers littered the corridor, all of them as bewildered as Bowie as they pulled glass from their arms and legs and shook it from their hair. Blood was smeared across the hardwood like something out of an ‘80s horror movie.
Lawson kneeled before Bowie, cell phone in hand. “Are you alright?” he asked over the ringing in his ears.
“Somebody shot up the studio,” Bowie muttered, his fingers floating to his stinging cheek, staring at the red streak on his fingertips when he pulled them back.
“I know. The cops are on the way. An ambulance, too. Are you okay?”
Bowie just stared. Was he? Physically, he was fine. Mentally? Who the fuck knew. What kind of psychopath would shoot up a dance studio with fifty dancers inside? In broad daylight.
“Bowie! Are you okay?” Lawson tried again. “I need you to look at me, man. Can you do that?”
Bowie turned towards him. “What?”
Lawson snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Are you hurt?”
Bowie could only stare. His brain had all the pieces of the puzzle, but he couldn’t seem to align them properly to make sense of what was happening. When Lawson shoved the phone into Bowie’s hand, he just stared at it until Lawson said, “It’s Javier.”
Javier. He put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“I’m on my way, angel. Don’t say anything to anybody. Okay? Are you alright?”
Bowie nodded before realizing Javier couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m good,” he managed, handing the phone back to Lawson, his head thudding back against the wall, staring at the remnants of the destroyed dance space.
When Javier’s face appeared before him, he blinked in confusion. “How’d you get here so fast?”
Javier frowned, cupping his face in his hands, turning his head this way and that. “What are you talking about, angel? It’s been an hour.”
Bowie sucked in a breath, the whole world suddenly roaring back to life around him. Uniformed police officers stood in the lobby, talking to bloodied dancers in torn and snagged tights, notebooks open as they scribbled notes. At least fifteen cop cars blocked off the street, lights spinning. Bowie could also make out two ambulances. When had they gotten there? “Did I pass out?”
Javier’s gaze snapped to Lawson, who shook his head. “Nah, man. You’ve just been staring out that window for a while.
Bowie and Odette were the only two dancers left in the hallway, Lawson’s unyielding body planted in the center of the corridor separating them from the others. He stood, arms crossed, as if daring anybody to come for them. Anybody but Javier. Who was there now. With Bowie.
“Hi,” he managed, trying not to be rude, even if his brain was wrapped in cotton.
“Hey there, angel.”
“They shot up the studio,” he said again.
Javier’s normally cocky smirk was gone, replaced by wide eyes and furrowed brows. Things must be bad. “I think you’re in shock, baby.”
Baby. Javier never called him baby. Only angel. It was definitely bad. Bowie’s heart jackrabbited against his ribs as he tried to suck in breaths. His chest was tight, like he couldn’t get enough air.
“Mr. Baker?”
Bowie’s head lolled towards the sound of his name. The lady detective from last night strode towards him like she was on a mission, her sensible shoes click-clacking on the floor as she drew closer. Javier stood, planting himself directly in her path. “No. He’s not answering your questions. He needs a medic. I think he’s in shock.”
Manning peered around Javier and Lawson, looking at Bowie and Odette practically huddled together like orphans. “We can get the paramedics down here for him—for both of them—but we need to know who did this.”
“You really gonna pretend you don’t know who did this?” Javier asked.
Manning crossed her arms, mirroring Javier’s posture. “If you know something I don’t, Mr. de la Fuente, maybe you should tell me.”
