As before, there was nothing there.
But this time, she went all the way up to the rear of the stage and examined the black wall carefully, using her flashlight. To her right were two cheerleaders using push brooms, sweeping up dust off into the wings. To her left were more volunteers gathering up miscellaneous pieces of garbage and fabric that been left on what were probably prop tables. Someone was testing the floods and spots, and lights were coming on and off, making her feel like she should start singing “Stayin’ Alive.”
The wall was blank and empty, with no sign of anything that could have been glowing letters.
She was just about to walk back downstage when something made her look up. Maybe it was the blazing crimson light that was blazing down on her as if she were in a red-light district (someone was having a lot of fun up in the light booth). Nevertheless, she looked up, and that was when she noticed a fly—a backdrop—hanging there, a little lower than the others.
It drew her attention because it wasn’t ratty and tattered along the hem like the others that still swayed gently above.
It looked almost new.
Something prickled down her spine, and it wasn’t Liv or any of the other spirits in the theater.
It was suspicion.
Vivien didn’t hesitate. The ladder to the catwalk was metal and solid, and she tucked the flashlight under her arm as she clambered up to the sound of soft creaks and squeaks (it would have to be tightened and oiled before the show).
The narrow walkway that stretched across the top of the stage, behind the proscenium that hung like the top of a frame over the performance area, shivered a little when she stepped on it. The floor of the catwalk was made of wood, but there were metal fixtures suspending it from the ceiling every four feet, and a slender metal chain that acted as a safety barrier, which she would replace with a real railing as soon as possible.
Vivien hesitated, then took her foot off the bridge and moved back onto the ladder’s landing. “Everyone off the stage! Everyone clear the stage and the wings—now!”
The half-dozen teens in the area did as instructed, but they all gawked, looking up as they backed away and off.
“Everyone stand clear—way clear—until I say otherwise,” she called down, and watched to make sure they complied. They did.
Then she reached out to grab the chain railing along the catwalk. She rattled it violently using her hand, and then kicked forcefully at the narrow bridge with her foot—once, twice, a third time…and then it happened: a shudder, a creak, and then part of the walkway justfell, like the piece of a drawbridge collapsing down instead of lifting.
It swung down, hard, fast, and loud, with awful metallic groans and one long, piglike squeal. Gusts of dust flew up and around, and Vivien even felt the whoosh of air from up where she was. When it was all over, a section of catwalk dangled there—still attached at the other end—swaying madly like a heavy pendulum ten feet above the stage.
The volunteers gasped and a few shrieked, and then the crew broke out into nervous chatter as they stood around, unharmed but obviously freaked out by the event.
“Whoa,” said one of the football players unnecessarily.
Vivien felt ill and lightheaded.That was close.
In more ways than one.
“All right, everyone stay clear,” she called, climbing back down the ladder, which, thankfully, remained intact and stable. “I don’t think it’s going to come all the way down, but I want everyone off the stage and to stay out of the right wings until we get it fixed.”
Her heart was still thudding wildly as she thought about all of the things that could have gone wrong, and her breathing was so shallow that she thought she might faint. She should have waited until all of the teens were gone. Of course she’d been careful, but still…
“And that,” came a familiar voice from somewhere in the house, “is why you’re not climbing any ladders, Pop. Ever. Again.”
Vivien spun to see Jake—why? why?—striding down the center aisle toward the stage. He was followed by an old man who looked a little like a squat toad with a very thick head of dark, rumply hair and a mustache to match. Her first impression was: adorable. He would be a perfect Mario, as in the video game, if he were wearing overalls.
Despite the mad shock, Vivien’s brain worked fast, and she put two and two together that Jake was with his father.
“Is everything all right?” Jake asked as he vaulted easily onto the stage, taking only two of the five steps.
“Yes” was all she had the wherewithal to reply. The syllable came out tight.
His hair was loose today and fell in dark waves like those of the narcissistic Gaston to just past his jaw line. Vivien couldn’t help but wonder what his patients thought about a doctor with hair that belonged on a model or movie star. The female ones probably loved it, and some of the male ones as well. Jake tilted his head, lifting one of his thick, dark brows as he looked toward the hanging piece of bridge.
“I was testing it out. That’s why I know everything really is okay,” she snapped. She paused to take in a deep, slow breath, then exhaled it long and easy. She was very calm. “So, what can I do for you, Jake?”
Honestly, it really wasn’t fair that the cheating bastard looked so good—and she knew that she, on the other hand, was disheveled and dusty and probably had dirt streaks all over her face. But despite his longish hair, Jake was clean and pressed in dark gray board shorts with a crisp, summery button-down shirt and fine leather loafers that she was sure had cost a couple hundred dollars. He even smelled good—fresh and cool, as if he’d just showered.
“Nothing really,” Jake replied. “But I might be able to do something for you.” Once again, he looked pointedly at the dangling piece of metal.
