Janie’s fingertips brushed the meshwork edge of her cream tutu. William released his fingers from her temples, kissed the twirl of brown hair secured tightly atop her head, and backed into the shadows of the right-wing as his daughter took her position on the dance floor. 

A crack of thunder signaled another surge of applause as the girl assumed her stance, arms superbly posed and overexposed in the spotlight. For an instant her eyes met her father’s. He mouthed “Thank you,” but her stoicism refused a smile.

Her decision was final.

Kayla Reid prowled behind the seated audience. The rain pelted her lashes but she didn’t blink. One eye stayed on Brian Cavenaugh, the other searched the crowd for Baylee. Fuck strength. Fuck belief. Kayla wanted that girl to die.

The Stage was no longer a link to reaffirming childhood memories. There was no God here. Just pain. Kayla knew it before, and she knew it now.

As William awaited the music, his cinnamon gum began to lock his jaw muscles, already overworked from a month of grinding teeth. He didn’t care; he chewed more furiously and reveled in his stiffening cheeks and the sound of every squished chomp. If his jowls cramped, he would gladly take the pain.

Squinting past the lights and sprinkling rain and into the darkened sway of the audience, William knew his wife was watching. Sherlock Cavenaugh and two other police officers were also peppered in the mass; their usual navy garb replaced by inconspicuous jackets and jeans. William wasn’t worried about Sherlock and his minions; everything was proceeding as planned.

(5, 6, 7, 8) Chase watched Janie blossom as the song began. From the corner of his eye, he watched William scuttle behind the set to cross to the opposite side of The Stage.

Sarah watched the beginning of the dance from her seat in the audience. As Janie’s impeccable movement exploded across The Stage, Sarah saw in her daughter the same dedication that she once admired in Will.

She still believed that true change is impossible. But who cares? Did William Carmel love her? The script—hiding from the rain beneath her jacket—was proof that he would do anything for his family. Janie assured her that he was clean. “Wild Bill Hikock” discovered that his Theater was a prank, his wife left him... and he didn’t lose his sobriety?

It took seven months to realize it, but Sarah Carmel still loved her husband.

Inside The Stage, William’s gum-chewing slowed. He spit the wad behind the fiberglass set piece as he crossed from stage-right to stage-left where Janie was about to exit. He ran his deformed finger and thumb through soaking grey hair, then relinquished his mounting stress to that sad tune. An arabesque. A grand battement. The movements were crystal in his mind’s eye. He recalled his daughter practicing days earlier in the living room, just the two of them. Then years earlier, a different dance but the same Janie, the same living room, twirls and giggles and good times accompanied by great music; just the three of them.

He emerged into the left-wing. He tapped the choreography’s timing with his toe. He eyed the young stage manager across the floor, standing motionless for the first time today with his chin on his broom and his eyes entranced on Janie.

What William didn’t see was the dedication behind Chase’s watchful eyes. Tonight, his games had become a reality. If Janie left The Stage on her father’s side, Chase would resign; he would finish out the week, then he would tell Pauline that he would never step foot in William Carmel’s Theater again.

If, however, Janie chose his side, he would find a way to win her back. They would fight the trials of a long-distance relationship for as long as she would have him. He would buy her flowers; he may never have the talent to write a song or choreograph a dance... but tonight, he could buy her flowers.

In the center aisle of the seated spectators, Baylee broke down. William’s words were true. She was wicked.

The pot and syrup in her car was more appealing then ever. If Hyde was gone, then so was she.

The tempo increased but Janie didn’t miss a beat. William stepped forward. Chase stepped forward. The audience buzzed like TV static behind the rain. Even the thunder broke to give the child her moment. Another flawless arabesque followed by a fouetté, and the three jetés were next. Starting on stage-right, she would leap toward her father and land—off-stage—into his arms.

The first jeté began with a chassé followed immediately by the leap; arms stretched and legs split nearly three feet above the floor. Her back leg kicked perfectly and William sensed the judge’s approval. The second jeté; flawless again and he wished the corner of her lip would raise so he could see her satisfaction. Another kick of the back leg; another consummate landing.

The third jeté was the highest. Janie leapt, then twisted her head away from William to the judges in the front row. Her legs spread again, four feet off the ground and directly above the hatch William conceived and installed—unfinished—containing his daughter’s flawless landing in its dead center.

Exquisite!

The third jeté summoned uproarious accolade from the multitude and the ballerina closed her dance with three rapid steps toward a father who expected his little girl to land in his arms.

But Janie stopped. Five feet away. Her eyes locked with his. She screamed a thousand angry apologizes with that single look... and she said goodbye.

Daddy mouthed “please,” but she turned away and ran.

The crowd gasped. The judges shook their heads, muttered to themselves, and penalized her for an inappropriate exit. 

But Janie didn’t care because Chase was waiting with liquid eyes and he dropped his broom and darted forward to catch her.

The audience ovation shamed the thunder in volume and rapture.

William sat on the hardwood floor of his Stage. He watched his daughter fall into the arms of that boy... and he knew what would follow.

The announcer said something—William didn’t know what—and the next little girl in line began her lyrical number.

Sherlock was backstage within a minute. Will watched that boy pull up a chair. He watched Janie sit. He watched Cavenaugh kneel to her level. He watched her sob.

William looked up... through his tears... past the catwalk and lights... past the sky... through the dark and clouds and stars and into the void where he once knew God existed, then turned himself outside-in, alone, and asked, “Why?”

*  *  *

Three more pills and Baylee groped the air as if her arms were insect antennae sensing a path through the standing ovation. William’s secret entrance was her escape route; fifty more feet and it was downhill to the private sanctuary of her car.

A woman with red hair clung to the edge of a tent bulging with spectators. The woman stood out now because Baylee caught her staring a few minutes earlier. She spoke to a cop with blubbering—accusing—gestures.

Baylee paused to watch the outcome of the conversation. She used her hand to shield her eyes while the mud sucked on her sandals.

Instead of listening to the woman’s plea, the officer raised a hand and lifted a walkie-talkie to his ear. Baylee didn’t know what the transmission said, but she could tell it was urgent. He clipped the device back to his belt and dashed toward The Stage.

The woman floundered beside him, still attempting to argue her case, but his mannerisms were clearly explaining that this was an emergency.

The lady had the same instinct as Baylee; she threw down her arms when he brushed her aside, then pushed back her flat orange hair and stalked the cop to The Theater.

The drugs made Baylee more nauseous than euphoric, but she pressed the sacks beneath her eyes, inhaled the heavy air, and jogged to keep up.

Inside The Theater, she hid behind a black curtain and eyed a teenage girl in a chair and a boy rubbing her back. Two cops stood guard while a third officer knelt to the girl’s level.

Nobody spoke.

But then, very slowly, the girl lifted her arm and extended her finger to a taped-off stairwell. 

The meeting erupted with pandemonium.

They found Hyde.

*  *  *

No one was allowed in the basement. Not even Kayla.

The officers attempted to disguise their urgency by whispering and walking in controlled strides, but a curious cluster was already growing around the blocked stairwells. 

Kayla drew more attention by wailing her fists into the guard’s chest.

The rising drone of police sirens cut through the storm and Theater walls and brought a flurry of Pauline Woodstock backstage. Chase stepped between his mother and the guard, backed her against the wall, and kept her focused on his words instead of the tragedy of an ambulance at her show.

Despite the confusion, several teachers offered Kayla their support. She pushed them away.

Police backup arrived. Within a minute, the horde was corralled behind a caution-tape barrier to give the experts room to breathe.

A battering-ram slammed into the chorus-room door, sending tremors through the cinderblock walls. Kayla’s knees wilted with every thump of The Theater’s fated heart.

*  *  *

Surreal were the moments before Hyde’s body was officially discovered and Pauline gave the order to cancel the show. Within that twinkle of time, those with studious eyes noticed the owner of The Theater standing amongst his congregation in the rain, a smile from cheek to cheek and grey eyes bright and eternally fixated on a dance in which he had no stake. When it was finished and the child posed and bowed, William clapped with the rest.

*  *  *

April May announced the show’s cancellation. Boos from the spectators rang like a broken trombone.

Janie had no interest in watching the incarceration of her father, or learning if Mr. Whitaker was still alive. Instead, she sought her mother in the fray.

Robin and The Channel Six News saw the oscillating red and blue halo emitting from behind The Theater and rushed their plastic wrapped cameras and fluttering blond hair to the loading dock.

William remained seated as the crowd filed through the front gate. He was discovered by Officer Middleton amongst eight-hundred-and-forty-four empty seats. He was quietly cuffed, escorted to the back of his Theater—through the cameras—and thrust in the backseat of a patrol car.

Two EMTs ascended the staircase with a stretcher. Kayla broke through the mass, guard, and tape and saw her husband’s sunken eyes and raisin skin. He didn’t speak, but he was alive.

The EMTs allowed Kayla to walk alongside the stretcher. They rolled Hyde through the backdoor and onto the loading dock. The pavement was wet, but the storm was over. They collapsed the gurney’s legs, carried the stretcher down the stairs, then reopened the legs and rolled Hyde to the open ambulance.

Kayla didn’t know how Baylee arrived heaving at Hyde’s side, but there she was, ignoring the guards and EMTs just like she had done, sobbing as if it was her husband fighting for life.

Before anyone could comprehend the awkward triangle or it’s deplorable innuendo, the driver stated that only one person was allowed in the ambulance.

Kayla stammered... she explained that she was the man’s wife and he had been missing for weeks and she loved him! The driver nodded his approval... but Hyde lifted his hand and Kayla fell silent. He took her into his eyes, then shook his head “no.” He held her hand. He squeezed it. He smiled.

Baylee clasped her hands together and nodded erratically. She touched Hyde’s whiskered face and wove her fingers between his hair... but he caught her eyes too, pulled in oxygen, and exhaled the whispered words, “No, Bay.”

The driver helped the EMTs lift the gurney into the ambulance and Hyde was immediately attached to an IV. They closed the doors and the driver hit the siren. Two police officers held back foot traffic from the front gate.

The obvious thoughts of “Who did this?” “Why’d they do it?” and “Will he be okay?” were put on hold as Kayla damned Baylee to hell while the girl’s eyes followed the ambulance.

But then something happened. Between her prayers for death on that blond demon and the sting of her husband’s dismissal, Kayla experienced a new emotion that became as prevalent as the rest; she felt empathy for Baylee. In a spontaneous moment of clarity, Kayla realized that Baylee was just a stupid girl, just like she was. Right now, they both understood abandonment better than anyone in the world. Right now, they were equal.

Kayla understood the pain the girl was feeling, but found herself above it; truly above it for the very first time.

William was right; Baylee probably had drugs on her. And if the girl was still high, she probably needed a place to spend the night.

*  *  *

Hyde dreamt of water sometime on the seventh day, but he wasn’t drinking it. He was floating in a rubber raft on a river like a bathtub, snaking down a shallow incline away from The Stage. Kayla was beside him, her hand folded gently between his. Somehow, Hyde knew the raft ride was the last moment they would ever spend together. When the trip was over, they would never be together again.

As they drifted along, they passed a single scene from their life as a couple. It wasn’t a recognizable memory, but it was a good one. Kayla squeezed his hand and said, “remember when?” but she didn’t look up, and neither did he.

Hyde didn’t love his wife in that dream, but he felt what she felt, and when he awoke in the dark, he cried.