The sound was disorienting, but I pushed on with my choreography, refusing to let it derail me. What was going on, and where had it come from? The boxes to the right?
A horrified scream made the orchestra peter out, and I stumbled out of my pirouette, forced to identify the sound. My blood turned to slush, awareness seizing me.
Was that a gunshot?
I turned into a statue on center-stage while the theater became a sea of chaos. People scrambled for the doors, climbing over each other while others ducked between the rows of seats.
Run,a voice in my head screamed.
I needed to get out of the lights, somewhere where there was cover. I launched forward to the edge of the stage, and when I dropped down into the darkness of the orchestra pit, my landing sent a music stand flying.
A violinist hiding there cowered, clutching his instrument to his chest.
As I crouched beside him, the sound of panicked patrons flooded the cavernous theater. Should I stay where I was? Risk fleeing for the exits like most had done?
Where was the shooter?
It was impossible to catch my breath. My stomach twisted with anxiety. Any moment, I expected to hear another gunshot?—
But it didn’t happen.
I forced air into my lungs and glanced around, looking for danger. I found nothing but scared faces.
The hysterical focus in my ears widened until I noticed another unfamiliar sound. It was rasping. Someone was struggling to breathe, and my focus zeroed in on him.
Oh, my God.
Lying face up in the front aisle was an older man, ash-white and with a hand clutched to his neck, blood and life spilling out through his fingers.
Something took hold of me, and an unseen force drove me from my hiding spot. It told me to ignore the danger and that I had to hurry. My pointe shoes were silent as I stayed low and moved swiftly around upended chairs and instruments.
I was more exposed once I reached the main floor and got lower. I crawled toward the man, the edges of my tutu snagging on the carpet, but I ignored that and kept a sharp watch around me. Even in the low light, it was clear his shirt and collar were soaked a deep crimson. I didn’t understand what compelled me to do it. Maybe it was instinct.
I drew a deep breath and clamped my hands over his to try to dam the bleeding. His eyes went wide with pain, but he made no protest.
Blood soaked into my tights as I knelt beside him. There was nothing else I could do as his breathing became more labored and pain filled, longer pauses between each breath. My heart beat so fast, it ached in my chest.
“No,” I whispered.
His eyes turned glassy and his gasps slowed to a halt. I kept my hands in place even when his went limp beneath mine.
There was no sound in the theater now. Everyone had run away or hidden themselves so well I felt desperately, utterly alone. There was nothing more I could do, and I slumped back, drawing away my bloody hands.
I felt no emotions as I peered down at the dead man. Either I had too many and couldn’t sort through them, or I’d gone numb with shock. But then an eerie sensation prickled across my skin, like a warning.
It pulled my gaze up.
A shadowy figure stood in one of the boxes, just at the exit, a large case clutched in one hand and something else pointed toward me. A white flash of light made me flinch, but as soon as I focused on him, he vanished through the doorway.
I hadn’t seen his face, but it was clear he’d seen mine.
And he’d taken my picture.
The police and FBI kept everyone there for hours. I gave my account to at least three different agents and was photographed before being allowed to clean or change out of my costume. The pointe shoes I’d hoped to frame from tonight’s performance were an awful, bloodstained mess.
There had only been one victim, and I was sure I had never seen him before. I was handed a card of a counselor if I wanted to talk to someone, and an agent’s in case I remembered anything else.
They asked if there was someone to call, perhaps family, to notify I was all right. The officer meant well, but it only made me feel worse. Both my parents had died, and the last form of communication I’d had with my sister had been a wedding invitation, sent years ago.
