Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I floated across the floor to my mark and set.
The theater quieted as I waited for the orchestra to start the next movement. The moment the flutist breathed life into her instrument, a calm spread through me.
“Beast,” the director had called me in the final rehearsal. I’d worked so hard to get to this moment, and as the music swelled, my adrenaline surged. Tonight, I’d be a force who commanded the audience’s attention.
Blood rushed in my ears, but the work felt effortless as I nailed every turn and soared with each leap.
It wasn’t just powerful. It was magical.
And, God, how I wished this moment could last forever. There was an electric charge in the air—one which let me know I had the audience with me. As if they were on the edges of their seats, breathless.
Finishing my final jeté, I jerked when a loud crack rang out.
The sound was disorienting, but I pushed on with my choreography, refusing to let it derail me. What was going on, and where had it come from? The boxes to the right?
A horrified scream made the orchestra peter out, and I stumbled out of my pirouette, forced to identify the sound. My blood turned to slush, awareness seizing me.
Was that a gunshot?
I turned into a statue on center-stage while the theater became a sea of chaos. People scrambled for the doors, climbing over each other while others ducked between the rows of seats.
Run, a voice in my head screamed.
I needed to get out of the lights, somewhere where there was cover. I launched forward to the edge of the stage, and when I dropped down into the darkness of the orchestra pit, my landing sent a music stand flying.
A violinist hiding there cowered, clutching his instrument to his chest.
As I crouched beside him, the sound of panicked patrons flooded the cavernous theater. Should I stay where I was? Risk fleeing for the exits like most had done?
Where was the shooter?
It was impossible to catch my breath. My stomach twisted with anxiety. Any moment, I expected to hear another gunshot—
But it didn’t happen.
I forced air into my lungs and glanced around, looking for danger. I found nothing but scared faces.
The hysterical focus in my ears widened until I noticed another unfamiliar sound. It was rasping. Someone was struggling to breathe, and my focus zeroed in on him.
Oh, my God.
Lying face up in the front aisle was an older man, ash-white and with a hand clutched to his neck, blood and life spilling out through his fingers.
Something took hold of me, and an unseen force drove me from my hiding spot. It told me to ignore the danger and that I had to hurry. My pointe shoes were silent as I stayed low and moved swiftly around upended chairs and instruments.
I was more exposed once I reached the main floor and got lower. I crawled toward the man, the edges of my tutu snagging on the carpet, but I ignored that and kept a sharp watch around me. Even in the low light, it was clear his shirt and collar were soaked a deep crimson. I didn’t understand what compelled me to do it. Maybe it was instinct.
I drew a deep breath and clamped my hands over his to try to dam the bleeding. His eyes went wide with pain, but he made no protest.
Blood soaked into my tights as I knelt beside him. There was nothing else I could do as his breathing became more labored and pain filled, longer pauses between each breath. My heart beat so fast, it ached in my chest.
“No,” I whispered.
His eyes turned glassy and his gasps slowed to a halt. I kept my hands in place even when his went limp beneath mine.
There was no sound in the theater now. Everyone had run away or hidden themselves so well I felt desperately, utterly alone. There was nothing more I could do, and I slumped back, drawing away my bloody hands.
I felt no emotions as I peered down at the dead man. Either I had too many and couldn’t sort through them, or I’d gone numb with shock. But then an eerie sensation prickled across my skin, like a warning.
It pulled my gaze up.
A shadowy figure stood in one of the boxes, just at the exit, a large case clutched in one hand and something else pointed toward me. A white flash of light made me flinch, but as soon as I focused on him, he vanished through the doorway.
I hadn’t seen his face, but it was clear he’d seen mine.
And he’d taken my picture.
The police and FBI kept everyone there for hours. I gave my account to at least three different agents and was photographed before being allowed to clean or change out of my costume. The pointe shoes I’d hoped to frame from tonight’s performance were an awful, bloodstained mess.