Page 47 of Praying for Thunder

It was hard to say, but I finally told her, “Said my name is stupid.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she inhaled, mumbling, “Aunt Moo-Moo is gonna kill a bitch.” She popped out a hip after she had collected her rage against a second grader. “Thunder, I’m going to be real with you.” Not that she had ever been anything but. “Even though I’m twitchin’ for a blade to do some slicin’, the truth is, your name is magical. That happens to threaten little bitches and little assholes who sense they ain’t as magical as you. When they give you shit,” she waved long fingers under her own chin, “you lift that flawless chin and only offer them pity.” She tossed hair over her shoulder, then her head did some sort of snake dance while saying, “It’s not your fault you can walk on water, and they can’t even fucking swim.”

Yeah, my upbringing was a gem, and the foundation of who I am today. The Universe, God, or otherworldly powers knew what I needed to see me through…

“I love you,” said Ani before leaving the dressing room in her silver mask.

As I had so many other nights, I laid in that hammock, watching a movie… I fell asleep.

It was how I woke that was a first.

Boom! A gunshot.

NINE

HEROES AMONG US

Boom!

Sleepily, my eyes drifted open. A blanket covered my legs, and my earphones were hanging in their designated spot on my hammock. The iPad was Anita’s station. Enough time had passed that she’d been in the room, checked on me, and went back to the stage. The only one in the dressing room now was Moola. I was never left completely alone. Ever.

She was in a different costume than when I had been awake earlier. In her high heels, she stood motionless, staring at the door as if trying to determine what was happening.

The music was no longer playing and… there were screams.

“Moo—”

“Shh!” Her hands were open, face strained, eyes still locked on the exit she now viewed as a war zone. When a ring of bullets rang out, she jerked, then shifted into some sort of well-trained soldier. Immediately, she thumbed off her shoes while grabbing the Chucker-Outer radio. The whole time, she whispered to me instructions, “Out of bed. To the bathroom…”

As if not wanting to be heard, she gently tried the door. It being locked had her backing away, grabbing something from behind a cabinet. It was a gun, now pointing toward the door as she continued to retreat toward me.

My heart pounding, I had crawled from the hammock in a hurry and was now in the bathroom, peeking around the wall. I’d never seen Moola scared and that terrified me.

She froze when a female scream belted over all the yelling men. Panting pure fear and anger, she whispered, “Jesus. What is happening out there?”

Her bare feet meticulously took more steps backward toward the bathroom. “Thunder.”

I reached out and touched her netted thigh, so she knew I was directly to her right now that she was in the open tile passageway.

She sidestepped, nudging me away from the opening. “Stay right next to me.”

I wrapped an arm around her leg.

“Good boy.”

Petrified, I nodded. I knew when to be a good boy.

To someone who couldn’t hear her, she begged, “Stew, talk to me.”

Nothing came over the radio. Only the speakers in the club as the DJ yelled, “Fire! Get out!”

“Goddamnit!” yelled Moola. “What do you want me to do, Stew?” My arm tightening around her leg prompted, “Hold on, baby. I’m not sure if we dare tamper with the door yet.”

I told her what I heard, “The window.”

Dark blue eyes wide, she gazed down at me. I pointed to the little one above the toilet. Her stare raced back to the door when hearing someone trying to open it. Moola barely had a chance to adjust her shooter stance before Ani’s voice roared, “The door is fucking locked! Niño!”

Moola ran us forward. “Anita!”