The theater was dark except for one blue light on the stage, lit to prevent people from falling off the edge in the dark. Casey walked down the aisle, running her hand along the tops of the seats, until she stood before the stage. The polished wood on the stage floor was smooth under her fingers, and she placed her palms face down, searching for any soul, any life that had been left by actors in bygone days.
She propelled herself onto the stage, landing easily on the balls of her feet. She jumped up and took that into a spin, parrying across the stage, remembering choreography from one of her best attempts at stage combat. Romeo and Juliet.
A pencil lay in the dusty wings of the stage, and she grabbed it, holding it up like a sword.
“Draw, if you be men.”
With a yell she threw herself toward center stage, parrying, slicing, stabbing, spinning, twirling, feinting…until her breaths grew deep and fast, and sweat stood out on her face. A flat slap at Abraham, a thrust toward Balthasar…
“Part, fools!” she said as Benvolio. “Put up your swords; you know not what you do.”
She twisted her arm, her pencil beaten down by Benvolio’s sword, and stood in the center of the stage, imagining the lights on full. Ambers, and blues, and yellows. She closed her eyes.
And heard a door open.
With a few strides she was behind the curtain. Why she felt the need to hide, she wasn’t sure, but the urge was so strong it was almost suffocating. The curtain bunched at the side of the stage, and she squeezed behind the folds, wincing at the thought of her body oils touching the expensive fabric.
“So, this is your new digs?” The voice was raw. Unrefined. Too close. “Not as nice as the last, but hey, not everything can be Derby City.”
“It suffices.” Thomas. Casey would know that voice anywhere now.
“Oh, it suffices. Hear that Bone? It suffices. Glad you haven’t lost those big words since coming back to Buttfuck, Ohio.”
“Taffy…”
“Oh, sorry, Thomas. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities.”
They were silent for a few beats.
“So, Tommy boy,” Taffy said. “Is it here?”
“No, it’s not here, Taffy. I told you. I don’t have it.”
“But you’re getting it.”
“Soon. I told you.”
“Oh.” Taffy laughed. “You told me. That’s right. Ain’t that right, Bone?”
A muffled grunt. Bone, Casey guessed.
“I sure hope it’s coming soon, Tommy, because some people are getting a little concerned that it’s taking so long. They want us to make sure it’s not that you’ve forgotten.”
“You don’t have to threaten me. Or send other people after me, for God’s sake. My word is good.”
“Oh, your word is good. Too bad your luck ain’t good, too!” He laughed again, a full belly laugh this time. The laughter quickly died out, to be replaced by the same raw timbre as before. “And we’re not sending other people after you, Tommy boy. If you’ve got me and Bone, who else do you need?”
Thomas was silent.
“I asked you a question,” Taffy said. “You need reminding other than me and Bone? You need someone else? Cause if you do, we can arrange that.”
“No, Taffy. No, I don’t. I just thought…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing, Taffy. I’ll get it for you. Soon.”
Taffy grunted. “So why don’t you show us your office?”
“I don’t really have an—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. No office for the hotshot director?”
Casey peeked out the edge of the curtain, and saw the man Taffy on the audience level, looking over at Thomas. Thomas faced away from her, so she had a good look at the other guy. Big. Thick. Uncomfortable. She watched him as he talked, his eyes narrowed at Thomas, even while his voice held its mocking tone.
Gradually, however, Casey’s focus shifted as she noticed movement on the other side of the stage. Another man. Bone, probably. Walking slowly around the stage, peering into the wings, stopping between each of the legs, the partitions made by narrower curtains to hide the rigging and actors before their entrances. Slowly he made his way across the back of the stage, looking up at the flyrails, and back toward the exits. She couldn’t see his face, as his back was to her, but she could see his outline. Lean. Strong. Hungry.
Casey eased back behind the curtain and concentrated on stilling her body. Her breathing was silent, and her heartbeat slowed, pulsing…pulsing…pulsing…
She heard a footfall. A bare whisper against the wooden floor. She kept her calm, watching for the edge of her curtain to twitch. She prepared herself, easing her weight onto her right leg, deciding which way she’d attack. A quick kick to the inner thigh to debilitate, then a sprint to the exit.
She wasn’t proud.
She held the pencil in her fingers, point up. A weapon, if necessary. She hoped she didn’t need it.
And then she could sense him. He stood on the other side of the curtain. Listening. Breathing. Sensing.
Casey gripped the pencil. Clenched her teeth.
“Bone! Let’s go. Tommy boy here’s given us his word. We have to trust him, don’t we? At least for another day?”
Casey felt the man’s distraction, and his hesitation. She waited, blinking as if in slo-mo, her eyes focused on the curtain for any sudden movement. But then his feet scuffed the floor. He stepped away.
“Come on, Tommy boy,” Taffy said. Casey heard what must’ve been a slap to Thomas’ shoulder. “Get me out of this musty hole. I’m gonna be sneezing all the way back to L’ville. Bone!”
A few moments more, and Casey heard Bone jumping lightly from the stage. Casey eased down so her head was on the floor, and peeked out the crack under the curtain. The three men were making their way back up the aisle, toward the double doors. When they reached them, Taffy opened the door, gesturing grandly for Thomas to precede him. He stepped in front of Bone, following Thomas. Bone hesitated in the doorway, and turned to look back at the stage. Casey froze, narrowing her eyes so the blue light wouldn’t reflect on them.
Bone pivoted slowly on his heel, taking in every inch of the stage.
And then he turned around, and left.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Casey waited fifteen minutes, and then five more, before easing out from behind the curtain, staying in the shadow of the wings. She walked quickly to the back exit and pushed the bar, heaving a sigh of relief when the door opened. She scooted out the door and peered around the corner of the building. No one there. Feeling conspicuous in the daylight, she walked normally toward the front of the theater. She sensed no one waiting, and found herself to be correct. Looking up and down the street she didn’t see Thomas’ car or any others that looked out of place.
Grabbing her bike, she left, pedaling hard. It was difficult to concentrate on riding the rest of the way back to The Nesting Place, what with watching out for the men, and Eric’s paternity resurfacing in her mind.
She found Lillian and Rosemary finishing their lunch. She looked at them, trying to get her mind around the domestic vision of food and conversation with the image of Thomas and the men still resonating in her mind.
“Hungry, dear?” Rosemary asked.
Casey held up her bag. “Already ate. Can I put my leftovers in your fridge?”
“Of course,” Lillian said. “Wherever there’s room. Just move things around how you need to.”
Casey found a spot on the bottom shelf, beside a bag bursting with Romaine lettuce. She closed the door and stood there for a moment, thinking.
“If Karl Willems is Eric’s father,” she said, “then why is Eric’s last name VanDiepenbos?”
Rosemary’s mouth dropped open, and Lillian’s napkin fluttered to the floor. Casey went over to retrieve it. Lillian took it back, but averted her eyes.