Page 188 of Stay Scared

“I changed my mind.”

His grip becomes vicious. He does not argue that. He rips me away from the camera. The knife catches fabric. I stumble against him, and he drags me backstage. Mark hides his loose hand again before Rook sees it.

“Put her beside him.”

Rook reaches for a coil of black cord. I move between him and Mark. “You already got what you wanted.” Rook pauses. The beak lowers toward me. “You have no idea what I wanted.”

“Then show me.”

His hand lands on my shoulder. I let him shove me aside. That puts me close enough to Mark. My fingers reach backward. His freed hand finds mine. Mark squeezes once. He is ready. Rook tears a length of cord loose. “You think Langston is coming?”

I look at the beak. “Worried he might?” Rook lunges. Mark moves. His gag comes off with one violent pull as he throws his body sideways into a scenery brace. A metal latch snaps, and something begins spinning behind the orchestra shell. Rook turns. Mark points. “Camera.” Rook looks toward the modern broadcast unit. Mark bares his teeth. “Wrong one.”

I drop toward the floor bracket and grab the loose end of the cord around Mark’s ankle. Behind the scenery, an old analog camera turns with a low mechanical churn. The take-up cassette is already moving. Rook stares at it. For the first time all night, surprise punches straight through his control. Mark yanks open the reel housing. Rook surges toward him. I pull the ankle knot apart. Mark tears the take-up cassette free and shoves it under his shirt.

Rook swings the knife. Mark throws one arm up. The blade slices across his sleeve instead of his throat. I hit Rook from the side. My shoulder slams into his ribs. Pain explodes through my bruised arm, but the impact moves him enough for Mark to get his feet under him.

“Move!” Mark shouts.

We run. Rook comes after us immediately, boots hammering the boards without another word. Removable flooring covers most of the orchestra pit, but one panel stands open near the conductor’s position. A ladder drops into darkness. The floor lock still holds the founder key. Ash got here first. I grab the ladder. My boot misses the second rung, and my shin slams against the pit wall. Mark catches my forearm before I fall. “Got you.”

I find the rung, and we descend. Rook reaches the opening before Mark clears the top. The knife strikes wood beside Mark’s hand. Mark kicks the ladder sideways. It tears from one bracket and crashes beneath us. Rook disappears above. We run under the stage. A flashlight cuts through the dark ahead.

“Mark?” Ash calls.

“We’re here.”

The light finds us. Ash stands beside a mechanical gate with the founder key around his neck. Dried blood marks his temple. His eyes go past us. “Rook?”

“Backstage,” I say.

Mark presses one hand over the cassette under his shirt. “We have him on tape.” Ash sees the bulge beneath Mark’s shirt and skips the questions. The gate opens.

“The purge connection is disabled. Police can cross the perimeter without triggering the curtain.”

“What about Evan?”

“The medic reached an old magneto line. Evan is conscious. The bleeding is controlled, but they need to move him as soon as the perimeter opens.”

My knees almost give. Ash catches my upper arm before I drop, his grip hard enough for Mark to notice. Ash checks my face, then the blood soaking through a narrow line beneath my ribs.

“What did he do?”

“It’s shallow.”

“What did he do?”

“He cut me.”

Ash’s hand tightens. The flashlight trembles once in his other hand. Above us, something slams into the orchestra floor. Rook is coming. Ash looks toward the sound. I catch his sleeve. “Projection.” He looks back at me. “He cut you.”

“And Mark has the tape.”

“I heard you.”

His voice has gone frighteningly calm. Mark steps through the gate. “We need that cassette outside.” Another impact hits overhead. Ash opens the gate wider. “Go now.” I look at him. “Ash.”

“Move now.”