(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

Everything was a countdown. The seconds to the end of songs, the steps from right-wing to left, the words in the teachers’ complaints; Chase would predict the end, then count backwards from eight. If he was more than a second off, he pinched himself in the leg.

Janie was hiding above the other dancers. Above him. Whatever she was deliberating, she would have to deal with it alone.

(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

The town’s inhabitants were gathered in a crescent around The Theater, roaring with the thunder, unaware that The Stage was binding them in the glow of its electric foot-candles. Chase had never witnessed such a massive crowd at a Sparkle Motion show. Every spectator couldn’t possibly be related to a dancer... only a handful of the kids were from Michigan, and only teachers and dedicated parents made the cross-country trip. But why would anyone else show up?

The judges looked like a row of condoms in their clear raincoats. Four of them seemed ready to snap because Pauline refused to call off the show. Lorrie, however, smiled and bopped her head to every song. The judges scored each dance by hand instead of computer, then gently filed each scoresheet into plastic bags to be sorted and tallied before Friday’s ceremony.

April May’s station was reassembled on stage-left during a break, though it didn’t make communication with Chase any easier.

“Ha! Ha ha ha!”

Chase twirled around. The laughter was coming from a Barbie Girl, bending over and holding her kneecap. Crap. “Are you hurt, hon?” he asked.

The girl laughed harder.

He bent down and held her leg. She removed her hand from her knee to reveal gashed tights with a splinter jutting like a fence post from her kneecap.

(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

A stage dad barged through the back door. “The fucking parking lot is flooded!”

“There are kids back here!” Chase yelled, then pulled up a chair for the bleeding dancer.

“Is somebody gonna get my trailer outta the mud?” the man yelled.

The Barbie song ended (5, 6, 7, 8) and the red phone light beckoned Chase as thirteen pink girls skipped off stage-right (they loved him!) “Hold on,” Chase told the man. “Just a second, hon,” he told the girl. “What?” he asked April over the phone.

“The Stage is soaked! Run the broom!”

“What’s a broom gonna to do?” He slammed the phone before she could answer, grabbed his sweeper, and stepped to The Stage while the dads rolled off the giant Barbie boxes.

(One step, two steps, three steps, four steps...) The crowd cheered. Through the gusts and pelting sprinkles, they clapped and screamed and whistled for Chase.

“We love you, stage manager!” a group of girls yelled from the front row.

When Chase returned to the wing with a sopping broom, Pauline was waiting with a piece of paper. “It’s a drop form,” she said. 

“Only one?” he asked. “Even with the storm?”

“Mark her off your list.”

Chase let the broom smack the podium, then grabbed the sheet from his mother, found his first-aid kid, yelled “Fireflies, you’re next!” and rushed a tweezers and three bandaids to the injured girl. “Think you can pull it out?”

“Uh huh.” Her hair was frazzled. Maybe she was struck by lightning.

April May: ”Next up, we have competitive lyrical, all ages! Please welcome ‘Boston Bugs’ performing ‘Fireflies!’”

(5, 6, 7, 8)

“Pauline!” Chase shouted before his mother could run off. “This man says his car’s stuck. Give him a hand.”

He flipped through his files and found a wrinkled accident report. He stooped down to the girl, took the tweezers and put them in his teeth, then helped her adhere the third bandaid. “You need to fill this out,” he mumbled between the tweezers.

“Yes sir,” Pauline said and took the accident report.

Chase stood.

“Give it to her, Kennedy!” yelled a pirate to a girl on stage.

“The rain only started ten minutes ago,” Pauline explained to the pissed-off stage dad. “Just gun your engine. Works every time.”

Janie (Janie...) descended the corner ladder in sparkling pointe shoes. She practiced a spin and strode easily through the cluster of Barbie dads, then out of view.

Chase leaned his back against the front drape. Arms at his side, he pinched the edges of the curtain and turned around until he was standing in his own personal cave.

The music was reduced to thumping bass. He counted the thumps.

There was a new thought; a certain insight that Chase had been trying to articulate since the beginning of the storm; an observation that became clearer as he coiled in the darkness. The backstage chaos—the madness and undulating insanity—became beauty on this Stage. The storm wasn’t hindering the dancers, it was energizing them. Ambition soared with the wind. Thunder spurred the pulsating spirit of cut-throat competition. These dancers were out for blood. No parent would be able to pry their child from their moment on The Stage.

When Chase unspooled from his tepee, the monster was waiting. The fur on his face was gone, and the uninhibited clarity of his expressions—that man they call Will—frightened Chase to his core. Whatever Janie was hiding, it was this man’s fault.

Chase pulled himself from William’s scrutiny and marched to the podium and checked his clipboard. “Material Girls! You’re up!” The group was listed as “Kayla’s Dance Studio,” but Kayla and Janie weren’t backstage to watch.

He spun around and marched to Will. Before he could open his mouth, the man grinned and extended his balled fist. Chase paused, then instinctively opened his hand beneath it. William released a clump of wet sunflower shells into his palm.

April May: ”Next up, we have competitive modern, all ages. Please welcome ‘Material Kids’ performing ‘Material Girl!’”

(5, 6, 7, 8)

“Looking forward to Janie’s ballet, Mr. Stage Manager?” William asked.

(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

(8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

Chase snapped his wrist. The shells hit the floor and scattered. “You bring out the worst in Janie, Mr. Carmel. I don’t know what you did to her—”

“What exactly did my daughter say, Mr. Chase?”

“Nothing yet. But she was about to tell me what you’ve been making her hide.”

“Hyde?”

“I know my mom likes you as a business partner. That’s because she’s out of her mind.” Chase pointed his finger at William’s chest. “If one thing goes wrong tonight, or if Janie gives me any indication of what you did, I’ll make sure we never see your crappy Stage again.”

Will removed his bag of seeds and poured some in his hand. “I like you, Mr. Chase,” he said. “I’ll see you for Janie’s ballet in thirty?”

Chase shook his head and turned away.

“Oh, and Mr. Chase? I choreographed my daughter’s dance. I wrote her music. And I can promise you, she exits on my side.”

Janie told her dad about his ticks.

William sauntered backwards through the hustle and bustle of incoming dancers. He dumped the seeds in his mouth and disappeared into the pandemonium.

The phone’s red light flashed as the wing filled with twenty-five goatherds and stage dads carrying plywood trees. Across The Stage, Miss Kayla unfurled herself from a Theater drapery and watched her students with sleepy eyes. Beside her, April May glared at Chase and pointed urgently at her phone. The rain threw a fresh torrent of water on the thrashing Material Girls. A bolt of lightning. A crack of thunder. Another little girl tugged on his sleeve... and Chase wanted to cry.

*  *  *

The other teachers were flustered, red in the face, and tripping over each other as if the falling water gave them an excuse for drama.

Kayla ignored them. She ignored the muttering blonde announcer. She forgot about the rain. She fixed her attention on The Stage and her only large group number of this championship show.

Her kids were fierce. Their timing was impeccable. Janie’s choreography was edgy and intoxicating and found new life amongst the storm. Kayla was proud of her girls.

There was Noah. Thirteen. Born in March. She has a pet turtle and hates Chinese food. Four dances in last month’s regionals.

Janqulin. Eight. Born in November. Takes Aderrall for mild ADD. Two dances in last month’s regionals.

Hannah B. Fifteen. Born in September. She was a straight-A student except for biology. Six dances in last month’s regionals.

Kayla knew them all. Every student, every parent, every pet. She selected the songs they liked. She gave out suckers during preschool lessons. She threw pizza parties in her own home for the older kids. She helped her seniors with boy problems...

But did she ever really inspire anyone? Would her students remember Miss Kayla for her passion? Or would they tell stories about the teacher who threw up on the first day of class; who always came late because she needed a pillow in her face to stop crying.

Even tonight The Theater kept her strong. The bandshell asked her to find herself in its walls, to remember that the prank happened for a reason. The floor clamored with children’s footfalls and told her of its ability to separate the wheat from the shaft; and her husband didn’t make the cut. The velour drapery rippled in the wind and whispered secrets, telling her that life would continue without Hyde; that teaching dance to lovely kids wasn’t a bad alternative.

But she would give it all up to have him back.

The thunder pummeled the bandshell in response: Stay strong, Kayla. You’ll be okay.

In its feeble attempt to “stay strong,” her mind developed a defense mechanism that employed a disorienting tunnel vision to block out unnecessary pain. So when William Carmel approached her from behind the fiberglass set and squeezed her shoulder with his hooked fingers, her periphery world faded to black and she stood with the man in nothingness.

“I love this Stage,” she said.

“How are you holding up?”

She shrugged. “I don’t see demons at your Theater anymore. I did before, but now they’re gone.”

“Demons aren’t real, honey.”

“You’re very naive.” She tilted her head and grinned.

“How are you dealing with your missing husband?”

Kayla’s head remained on tilt, but her smile faded. “Sometimes I feel like he’s here.” Her eyes scanned the blackness of the nothing where they stood. “Was it you, Will?” She kept her eyes moving. “Did Hyde tell you about the prank and you murdered him?”

“No, Kay. I’ve known about the prank for months.”

Her eyes caught his. “I see.” Her head nodded. “I’m sorry, Will.”

“Child,” he said, “I forgive you.”

“I’ve been waiting for two years to hear those words.”

“I should have said them sooner.”

Kayla looked at her feet and shook her head.

“I have gifts for you,” he said.

“What are they?”

“They’re presents that will help you move on.”

“Oh?”

“Do you want to move on?”

(Stay strong, Kayla, said the catwalk bars. You’ll be okay.)

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready for gift number one?”

“Yes.”

“I’m working on a new project. It’s a secret right now, but when Pauline takes over management, I’m going to need dancers and teachers.”

“Oh?”

“I thought of you for both.”

“How sweet!”

“We’ll finally be able to use our talents to inspire. Can you help me when the time comes?”

She nodded. “It sounds amazing.”

“Are you ready for gift number two?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to watch me when I walk away. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to walk out the front of The Theater and into the audience. The next girl you see me approach will be the girl that Hyde was sleeping with when he went missing.”

The nothingness vanished. Kayla was at The Stage with the storm, the slipping girls, and the blaring music. The audience chirped for the Material Girls and Kayla remembered the locusts. She remembered Hyde as the beast from the Earth and William as the dragon. Her breath quickened. A hummingbird lodged itself in her heart and could not escape.

“Breathe, honey,” Will said.

She couldn’t. She tried. She closed her eyes and remembered her first pair of pointe shoes, the Best in Category award she received for her last dance as a senior, her seventy-eight-year-old ballet teacher who could strip down to a rhinestone necklace without a hint of shame. The Stage helped her access the memories, but as her dancers bowed and exited on the opposite side, Kayla belched and vomited at William’s feet.

“Ew!” screamed a boy dressed as a groom.

“Cool!” said his bride.

The announcer rolled her eyes and phoned the stage manager. “Get over here,” she said. “Bring your bucket.”

Kayla wiped her mouth with her arm.

William stepped over the puddle and embraced her. “I need you to stay calm. I wouldn’t tell you this if you couldn’t put it to good use.”

Kayla pushed him away and spoke with her eyes, What do you mean?

As he explained, the tunnel vision returned.

“Her name is Baylee. Right now—tonight—she’s carrying a bottle of illegal prescription drugs in her pocket. Her car is parked outside of your house with marijuana in the glove box; probably other paraphernalia as well. Find Brian Cavenaugh, tell him you noticed a girl offering questionable pills to the teenage dancers; that’ll give him probable cause to search her person. When he finds the pills, he’ll have cause to search her car by your house. If he does that, the succubus who stole your husband will be arrested.”

Kayla nodded again in the blackness. “And there will be one less demon on our Stage.”