Slow Dance in Purgatory (2 page)

             
"Just stay out of it, Billy!"  Johnny insisted again, releasing Billy’s shirt and shoving his brother back towards his car.  "Take my car and head down the road a ways.  I'll meet you in an hour at The Malt."   The Malt was an ice cream parlor where the kids liked to hang out and flirt.  It wasn't really Johnny's scene, but he knew Billy would be safe there.

             
"What if I get caught? You know I ain’t got proof!"  Billy hated getting in trouble, and driving without a license would definitely garner some unwanted attention if the cops pulled him over.  "And what if I wreck your car?"  Billy's voice rose in panic at the thought of putting even a scratch on Johnny's car.  That would be even worse than getting caught driving.

             
"You'll be fine!  Just go!"  Screams and shouts pulled Johnny's attention from his little brother, and he shrugged out of his leather jacket, threw it at Billy, and took off at a run, barely intercepting an attempt to brain Carter with a piece of a two- by-four someone had snagged from the construction debris. 

             
Alarm sounds were jangling through Johnny's head as he realized these guys weren't playing around.  In his periphery, he noticed cars peeling out as the ladies apparently realized this was not a place they wanted to be.  Good.  One less thing he had to worry about.  And there was plenty to be concerned about, because Johnny and his friends were sorely out numbered.  What was supposed to be a man to man brawl had turned out to be 3 or 4 to one.  Johnny felt himself go cold as he cranked up the volume on the intensity of his own attack.  So where the hell was Carlton?!

             
Then, as if his question had been overheard and answered by some unseen power, Johnny saw him.  The walkway to the entrance of the school was lit up, and Roger Carlton was running towards the front doors at full speed.  Johnny forced his way through the swinging arms, landing a few shots and taking more than a couple on his way out of the writhing mass of fists and feet.  Just as he thought he would break free, someone flew into him, knocking him down and wrapping him up in the thrashing legs and arms of several people.   By the time Johnny had fought his way back out, Carlton was gone.  

             
Johnny raced toward the entrance of the school, eyes swinging left and right, and then swinging right again and stopping cold.  His baby was still parked where he had left her, but the driver's side door was hanging open as if Billy had suddenly changed his mind about leaving and bailed out in a hurry.  The front head lights were broken in.  It looked as if someone had taken a bat to the windows, too.  Rage pounded in Johnny's temples.  He had no doubt who had inflicted the damage. 

             
Looking back at the ongoing fight, there was no sign of Billy, but it was hard to see which way was up in that mess.  Billy wouldn't have been able to hold his own for too long with those guys.  He was better at using his brain than his fists, and from what Johnny could see, the guys trading blows knew what they were doing.  In fact, Carter, Jimbo, and the rest looked like they had turned a corner and were more than holding their own.  He would give the fight about 30 seconds more before Carlton's goons started running and pleading uncle.  But where was Carlton, and more urgently, where was Billy?

             
From somewhere far off, Johnny thought he heard the sounds of sirens.  Heat.  He had to get Billy and scram.  Running on instinct, he headed for the entrance to the school.  Just as he had feared, the door was unlocked.  Either someone had a key, or the construction crew had been negligent and left the school opened, which didn't make any sense.  He needed time to find Billy, teach Carlton a lesson, and get out before the cops thought to sniff around INSIDE the school.  The unlocked door wouldn't afford him much time, but hopefully the cops would assume the school was locked up tight and the fight had remained outside.

             
The entrance opened into a large three story rotunda with gleaming tiles and a great staircase that swept upward to twin balconies that edged the second and third floors. 

             
"Billy!'  Johnny called out, suddenly uncertain as to where to go.  The school seemed silent and untouched, and all at once he doubted the wisdom in coming through the doors.  If the cops caught him in here he would have more than a few bruises and a black eye to explain.  Breaking and entering maybe, even though the door had been open...  

             
A gunshot rang out, interrupting his second thoughts.  Johnny ran forward, taking the stairs three at a time, hurling himself up the wide expanse.  Oh God, please no....no... no.... the words pounded through his head as he cleared the stairs and skidded to a stop on the third floor, eyes searching both ways down a long wide hallway that ran beyond the balcony to corridors and distant rooms.  Suddenly, Billy was running toward him, his shirt untucked, his glasses gone, his face a mask of terror.  A gun in his hand.

             
"Johnny!  Johnny!  Run!  Run!  He's probably coming.  Get out!"  Billy cried out frantically as he raced down the hall, waving the gun towards the entrance as if to shoo Johnny towards it. 

             
"Billy, stop!  Put the gun down, kid!  You're scaring the hell out of me!  Where did you get that – “

             
And then he knew.  It was the gun he had taken from the trunk of the jalopy he had been servicing at Gene’s Automotive.  He had seen the gun and impulsively wanted his mother to have it.  He knew what she did for the extra money she was suddenly bringing home, and as much as he'd yelled and threatened and tried to protect her, she hadn't stopped.  He had seen that gun sitting there like an answer to prayer the very morning after she had come home roughed up at two a.m.  He hadn't let himself consider the repercussions of what he was about to do.  It was small and lightweight, and he'd thought he could teach her how to use it.  So he'd taken it.  He had never stolen a thing in his life, contrary to popular opinion, and he knew if his boss, Gene, ever found out what he'd done, he would lose his job.  But the owner of the jalopy hadn't come back looking for it.  At least not yet.  He had had it in his car for a couple of days, trying to come up with a way to sell the subject to his mother.  Obviously, Billy had found it first.

             
"Billy!  I heard a shot.  Did you shoot someone?  Did you shoot Carlton?"  Johnny didn't know how he would get them out of trouble if Carlton was shot dead somewhere in the school. 

             
"No!  I just wanted to scare him, you know?  I was in your car.  He didn't know I was there, and all at once he was smashing the windows and sides of your car with a bat.  I got down on the floor, and there was this gun under your seat.  I grabbed it.  I thought if he saw it he would stop, and he did!  When he saw me, he took off running toward the school, so I followed him."  Billy was spitting the story out as fast as he could, and Johnny grabbed his shoulders to slow him down. 

             
"I told him to leave me alone and to leave Momma alone, but the gun went off accidentally, and the bullet broke a window back there."  Billy's face screwed up in worry.  "I don't know how much windows cost.  I hope I have enough saved to cover it."

             
"Billy!  You aren't gonna tell anyone about the gun or the window.  We're getting out of here right now."

             
"Johnny!  Look out!" Billy cried out and stumbled back against the balcony railing as Carton hurled himself out of the shadows.  He had circled around and come down the other end of the long hallway.  Johnny's back had been to him the whole time, and Billy had been too distracted and upset to see him coming up the dark corridor.  The air whooshed out of Johnny in a painful blast as Roger Carlton tackled him from behind.  Billy cried out again, and the gun discharged once more.  Johnny felt something burst in his chest as he plowed into Billy, unable to stop or even slow his momentum.  He wrapped his arms around his brother, trying to cushion the impact, unintentionally pinning Billy’s arms at his sides and forcing him back.  They hurtled over the balcony railing and flipped end over end, unimpeded as they plunged to the unforgiving tiles two floors below.

***

             
Johnny tried to open his eyes and resisted the magnetic pull that fought to wrench him from himself.  It was like the pull of the undertow, and for a moment Johnny thought he was dreaming.  He thought he was back at the beach - ten years old - feeling the sand being sucked out beneath his toes, his mom and Billy back on the blanket, the sun bright overhead.  But the pull was much stronger, and Johnny fought for something to anchor himself to.  His hands didn't want to work, and his legs felt like they had fallen asleep.  His chest burned like he had been too long underwater.  He curled his toes inside his boots and fought against the pull with all his might.  Why was he wearing his boots at the beach?

             
In terror, he realized what the pull was, and he forced his eyes open to find his brother.  Billy lay beside him. 

             
"Billy?" He tried to form the words, but he could not. 

             
"Billy!"  He tried again and heard only a whisper of breath.   Billy wasn't fighting the pull like Johnny was.  He was lying on his back, and his eyes were opened.  There was blood beneath his head, and he wasn't moving.  He wasn't moving, and he wasn't breathing. 

             
Johnny screamed inside his head.  He screamed, and he fought the pull and demanded an audience with the source of the power trying to disconnect him from his body. 

             
"I'm not going anywhere!" he raged over and over, over and over, until the pressure built and exploded in white light and brilliant sparks like a blow torch on metal.  Johnny felt a snapping and a shredding.  But there was no pain, only pressure, and then a giant crack, like a million balloons simultaneously popping.  And then…nothing.  

2

“SOUND OFF”

Vaughn Monroe - 1951

November, 2010

             
  Maggie swung one long leg up behind her and unfolded her arms like a great bird lifting itself off the water.  Rising on relevé she felt the beauty of the movement and smiled to herself.  This was the best kind of dancing: no one around, the dance floor all yours, no critics, no fans, just music.  Singing to herself, Maggie swung around and faced her reflection in the mirror.  Wide blue eyes met wide blue eyes for an instant before a long dark cloud of hair obscured her vision.  Swinging her hair back in a practiced movement, Maggie yelped as she caught another reflection standing just beyond her.

             
"Sorry, Miss Margaret."  Gus Jasper looked abashed.  "I didn't mean to scare you.  I just need your help now." 

             
Old Gus was the school's long time maintenance man, which made him her boss.  Gus was as good natured and gentle as he was patient, which was fortunate for Maggie, because this wasn’t the first time he’d had to come find her after school.  Luckily, he never seemed to mind.

             
Maggie looked dejectedly at the clock.  Yep.  Time was up.  For the last three months, Maggie had worked as a janitor almost every day after school.  Cleaning the school was a giant pain, but it gave Maggie the money she needed to be on the dance team, and Gus was sweet to give her a key to the dance room so that she could squeeze in some dancing in the evenings when her work was done and early in the morning before school started.  She hadn't meant to lose track of time.  Usually she knew better than to allow herself to stay after last period, which was when the dance team rehearsed.  She had just wanted to dance by herself for a minute, and then she got a little carried away.  Before she knew it, a half hour had passed.

             
"I'm sorry you had to come looking for me, Gus."  Maggie smiled her apology.  She scrambled for her duffle bag, pulled her sweatshirt on over her leotard, and shoved her feet into her worn out Chuck's.  Her dance pants were loose and comfortable and would do as well as her jeans.  She couldn't exactly change in front of Gus.  Leotard notwithstanding, she didn't want to embarrass the sweet, old guy.  Plus, she was pretty sure Aunt Irene would not think it was ladylike.  Maggie smiled at the thought.  Aunt Irene was nothing if not ladylike. 

             
Irene Honeycutt had been the lovely daughter of wealthy business owner, Jackson Honeycutt.  Honeyville had been founded and named for Irene's own grandpa, and if there was a first family of Honeyville, the Honeycutts were it.  Irene had married young to a promising son of Honeyville and lived the rest of her life in the confines of the Texas town.  Her husband had turned out to be all promise, no prince.  He had squandered Irene's inheritance, run Honeyville industries into the ground, and controlled Irene with an iron fist until the day he died.  When he did, Irene had finally been able to bring Maggie to live with her.  And she had finally been able to pursue Gus to her heart's content.  Apparently, it was never too late for love.  Maggie smiled again.  Aunt Irene denied it, but Maggie was pretty sure she had a thing for the gentle, black janitor.