CHAPTER THREE

The room was smoky dark, but I noticed people looking at us as we made our way around the dancers and tables. They were dressed in trendy clothes; expensive and strange outfits everywhere. They would move out of our way slightly, or seemed to stop talking or turn to look at us as we passed. I felt him take my hand as we began to negotiate through somewhat thicker groups of people. His hand was cool and he held mine just tight enough to guide me through the people. It was a secure grip, but not threatening and I didn’t feel bad about what was happening. Finally, we reached what appeared to be a small, lighted stage with a few steps leading up to it. We went up the steps and I noticed that there was a microphone sitting in the middle of the stage. He stepped up to the mike and waited. Suddenly, the music stopped, the people stopped, the whole room stopped. There I was, on stage, looking out at a silent group of strangers in a dark, smoky room. He began to speak with that same calm voice he had used in the bar.

“Here she is. Here she is in all her being. I told you I would bring her and here she is.”

He had let go of my hand and was now facing me, one arm outstretched toward me as if he was pointing me out to them. I didn’t know what to do, all of these people silently looking at me. Suddenly, one by one, they began to clap until the whole room was applauding. I looked at him and he was smiling, still pointing toward me.

“Some of you didn’t believe me, but this is proof,” his voice could barely be heard over the applause.

Slowly, the clapping subsided. The room was silent, the people immobile. They stared at us with looks I had never seen before. Not an eye wavered or looked away. They seemed entranced. It was then that he turned and reaching in his jacket, pulled out a small but powerful looking hand gun. Before I knew it, he had grabbed my wrist and pulling it toward him, he forced the gun into my hand. It happened so fast that I didn’t know what to do.

“What? What’s this?” was all I could utter.

Still holding my wrist, he lifted my arm so that the gun was pointing at his head. This time his grip was much stronger, it was even hurting my wrist and hand, but it held it in place even though I tried to pull away.

“Do it now, pull the trigger,” he barked.

I then heard the crowd, low at first, but then becoming louder as they started to chant.

“Do it...Do it...Do it...Do it,” voices, insistent, chanting, getting louder, all together.

“Do it...Do it...Do it...

My mind was a blur, the smoky room started to shift, my wrist hurt in his hard control. I felt the cold metal of the gun in my hand, saw it pointed toward his head, heard the crowd in what was now an almost hypnotic chant, growing in volume, mesmerizing..

I looked at the crowd, the faces expectant, the voices acting as one, all staring at me, me only me. It was overwhelming, I can’t describe the feelings in me. I was the center, it was all me they were chanting to. I felt my finger around the trigger. I felt it begin to squeeze. Suddenly, it exploded in my hand. His body flew through the air as the bullet must have shattered his skull.

The crowd burst into applause, wild clapping and yelling. I stood in shock, my body refusing to move, my mind paralyzed, the gun still in my hand. I guess I fainted, because when I woke up the police were there and I was being strapped onto a portable ambulance bed.

As I said, that was a year ago and now look at where I am. They said it was his last great stunt. I guess he will be famous forever, while I will be here forever.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here? You know you’re supposed to be in your cells, we have rules you know. I swear, even in here you can’t fit in can you? By the way, there's a letter from some guy named Michael on your bed.

THE END

copyright December 2000 by M. Nice and S. Carroll