THE LAST SHOT: by

by Matayo, Amy

  “No matter how I answer, you’re going to be mad,” he says.

  He’s said this three times, but it makes no sense, and it’s also very presumptuous. One, he doesn’t know me that well. Two, my temper isn’t that quick. And three, even if I do get angry, I’m very good at hiding it. Better than most, if I had to venture a guess.

  “No, I won’t. I keep telling you that.” Men. They never listen. It’s a wonder the human race keeps multiplying with the choices women have in front of them. And sure, the choice in front of me is the twenty-third hottest thing in America with his faded blue jeans and shaggy hair and sexy voice, but still. He’s as stubborn as they come. I’ve discovered that much in the short time we’ve played this game.

  “Fine, I guess I’ll go with no.”

  No?

  He said no?

  I feel my eyes narrow. “You’re a jerk.”

  His face turns until it’s only inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. “I knew you’d get mad.”

  I press back into the wall. “Of course, I’m mad. It’s sexist.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s reality. For the record, men can’t have it all either.”

  Oh. Well, that’s a new take. “Why not? It seems both could have whatever they want as long as each steps up and pulls their weight.”

  “Except people rarely do. One winds up making the money while the other takes care of the house and kids and everything else that goes into having a family. Or—and this is the most common version—both make the money while only one still takes care of the house and the kids and the pets and everything else that comes with having a family. So I suppose the real answer is yes, women and men can have it all. But having it all usually comes with a price.”

  I bite my bottom lip because he has a point. “You speak from experience?”

  He shrugs. “I have great parents, but the balance of power usually left my mother stressed out and tired. They’re still together, though, and they seem pretty happy about it. Not everyone can say that, I guess.”

  “No, they can’t.” I can’t. The resigned edge in my voice sounds personal, like I just handed Teddy a notebook and offered him the chance to flip through my list of Man Issues. There are enough to fill an entire notebook. I should have confronted them long ago, or at least cornered my mother and demanded answers about why she was content to let me walk through so many life experiences without care or counsel. This game was supposed to lighten the mood, but I pulled the shades and painted the walls black, so to speak.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” he surprises me by saying. “Turns out, my schedule is freed up for the foreseeable future.” There’s so much sincerity in his words that I don’t know what to do with it. But talking about something so personal will produce tears, and tears will produce an aching sadness, and the two combined will send me into a state I might not climb out of. Right now, I can’t afford to take the risk. So I don’t.

  “Not really. Maybe later.”

  He nods. “Okay, later it is.”

  The room goes still as reality settles back in.

  How much later is anyone’s guess.

  * * *

  Teddy

  It’s odd how you can laugh and feel like you’re losing it at the same time.

  This game started as a way to pass the time, and it has. But it’s been quiet outside this room for a long time. Too quiet. I don’t like it.

  Jane’s stomach growls again. She’s pressed her hand to it more times than I can count to try and muffle the sound, but I hear it. Every time I hear it. There’s nothing in this room but me, Jane, bottled water, and an outfit change that seems ridiculous and petty under the circumstances. Before tonight, I spent real time worrying about the thirty seconds I had to change shirts under here and grab some water; so much time worrying that we’d practiced it down to the second. What a colossal waste of brain space and priorities.

  We’ve been in this room for less than half an hour, but I’ve aged a decade in the span. It’s so quiet on the other side of this door that I’m starting to wonder if the standoff is over and we’re the only two holdouts left. Like a bad rerun of Punk’d that will have all cameras pointing our direction when we open this door, all of America laughing at our idiocy. I simultaneously want to check and not check. The former is winning. My patience is not. I need out of this room. I want out now.

  “How long do you think it’s been since we heard anything?” It’s an odd question, but it’s the only way I can think to get to the point.

  “I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes. Why?”

  My heart does a little flip at the direction my mind is taking, but I ignore it and focus on the matter at hand.

  “I think we should open the door and see what’s going on.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “It’s not like I can’t unlock it.”

  “No.” There’s a threat inside her tone I don’t like.

  “Nothing bad will happen. The shooter won’t even notice me. I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Then be afraid of me. I’ll amend my statement. You’re not going out there unless it’s over my dead body. So if you really want to know what’s going on, you’ll have to send me out because it’s the only way I’ll let you find out.”

  I rake a hand over my face and stand up, careful to keep my shoe touching hers. I don’t want to lose contact with her in the darkness. “Jane, think about it. How long has it been since you heard a noise? A shout? A cry? Even any footsteps?”

  “A while, but I’m not going to risk you getting shot. It’s my job, remember? If anyone gets shot here, it’s me.”

  A part of me dies at that visual, so I come at it from a new angle. “What if the standoff is over and we just don’t know it? What if they’ve already apprehended the shooter and we’re just sitting here like a couple of morons? No one even knows we’re here. They’ve probably forgotten all about us, and we don’t have a working phone to find out.”

  If the lights were on, there’s a hundred percent chance I would see her leveling me a look. Even I can hear the crazy in my words.

  “You think they’ve forgotten about you,” she deadpans. “You think they all just left, turned off the lights, and went home. You honestly think they won’t be combing every inch of this arena when this is over to make sure you’re unharmed?” She huffs as hard as one can while whispering. “Me, they’ll forget about. You, not a chance.”

  Another statement that pings my heart. She’s right; the world will forget about her. Most people in this arena would step over her to get to me, and I know it. But I won’t. Not ever. It isn’t every day that someone literally puts their life at risk for you. Especially a stranger.

  “Alright, forget it. It was a dumb idea, anyway.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  We’re sitting side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder in the dark. So it surprises me when I feel her elbow nudge me aside with a light jab to the ribs.

  “Fine, I’ll try to open the door. But you stay here just in case, do you understand?”

  “Jane, come on—”

  “I’m not arguing with you. Stay there or no deal. Agree to it or—”

  It’s then that her walkie crackles to life. After minutes of it lying useless and presumably dead on the floor, we both jump from the sound.

  The sound of a male voice comes through the receiver, hard to hear because he’s speaking in a whisper that barely registers.

  “Jane, give me your location.”

  “Andy!” Jane lunges for the walkie. I don’t know who Andy is, but he just became my new hero. Right behind Jane.

  “Andy, are you okay?” she whispers back while relief floods parts of me I never knew I possessed. Isolation is a terrible feeling, and this guy just tossed us a net. It might turn out to be filled with holes, but at least it’s something. “I have Teddy Hayes with me underneath the stage, and we’re both alright.” I hear it now, the way she wipes tears from her face as they leak down her
skin. My hand wraps around her arm, and I lean in to listen.

  “I’m fine, but stay there,” Andy says. “Police have the suspect confined to a small section of the arena, but he still has a few hostages. Everyone else has been evacuated, but the power is out, and they want you to stay put until he’s apprehended. I think he might have been after Teddy specifically. I’ll come get you when they give us the all-clear. Might be a while, though. Again, don’t move.”

  She nods vigorously while my heart descends straight into my shoes. After me specifically. Now it’s confirmed: this entire thing is my fault.

  “We’ll stay,” she assures him.

  “Who is he?” I say into the walkie, desperate to know. “Why was he after me? And how many people were hurt?”

  “Teddy…”

  I shake my head. Jane’s concern won’t trump my need to know. Thankfully Andy complies. His answer comes through loud and clear, though I soon wish it hadn’t.

  “A man, looks to be middle-aged. And a lot of people are hurt. Just stay in the room, and we’ll talk about it after I come get you. And Teddy?”

  “What?” I grip the walkie, wanting some sort of assurance I know he can’t give.

  “He was in it for the notoriety, for the fame of targeting a musician, nothing more. These kinds of people are sick and can’t be rationalized with.”

  “Okay.” His words are meant to help, but they don’t. Any way you look at it, if I didn’t exist, this situation wouldn’t either. Teddy Hayes, one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive. Teddy Hayes, unwilling participant in the murder of innocents.

  I back away and let Jane finish the conversation, my limbs and shoulders heavier than they’ve ever been.

  What drives people to do this, and why?

  I’m the first to know life is hard, but I can’t imagine dragging innocent people into my madness with me. Nothing in life could possibly be that bad.

  * * *

  I hear the rattle of the door handle before I register what’s happening.

  “You’re still going to open the door?” I ask, looking up into a face I can’t even see. As curious as I was to open it a few moments ago, now I’m desperate to stay hidden behind it. Someone is out to kill me, and I don’t want to be found. It’s the biggest catch-twenty-two I’ve faced in life, and I resent it. It makes me feel as much like a survivor as a coward.

  “Sit down against the wall. And be still while I grab my gun.”

  “Jane, what are you doing?” I slide the gun toward her, careful to keep it on the floor and pointed away from me.

  “I’m opening the door to get a look at things. And then I’ll close it. It’ll take two seconds, tops.”

  I hear the rustle of leather, the click of a belt, and the cock of a weapon. Every bit of it fills me with a dread I may never be able to shake.

  “Ready?”

  “No,” I whisper, my head lowering to my hands.

  I hear a few clicks and jiggles of the door handle, and then Jane cracks the door. Nothing but silence greets us, so she opens it a bit wider. I can’t help myself; I look up at the last second.

  A man in white shoes is the first thing I see.

  Then I see everything else.

  My blood freezes.

  My vision swims.

  I’m under the stage with Teddy, Jane told Andy earlier.

  She didn’t say we were under the walkway.

  She didn’t tell him we’re at the opposite end of the real stage.

  He didn’t realize the section the shooter is confined to…

  is ours.

  Chapter Seven

  Jane

  I quietly close the door as Teddy gasps for air behind me.

  If the shooter had turned even a few inches, he would have spotted us.

  Even though he didn’t, it still takes effort not to sob at the reality of our situation.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and cover my mouth with one hand, desperate to erase the memory of what I just saw, and frantic not to let the anguish of it leak out. I can’t manage either, so I sink to the floor instead. The gun in my hand feels like poison, so I slowly lower it. Careful to reengage the safety. Careful to slip it inside the holster. Suddenly I don’t want to touch the thing.

  I cry without tears.

  I cry without noise.

  I cry from a place that’s dry and desolate. A place filled with unbelief and terror. A place stacked with pain on pain on pain. That place only exists in the worst of circumstances, and I’ve never once visited. Not in my childhood, not when my dad left, not when he replaced me with a whole other family.

  Even when I didn’t have him, I still had my life. I can’t say the same for everyone outside.

  The arena looked both eerie and haunting, a fog-filled graveyard before sunup had a chance to clear the area of a heavy haze of fear. And the shoes. The sight of them right in front of us will forever haunt my dreams.

  It’s an easy section to barricade. I remember it, the way it snaked around the soundboard and computers, already cordoned off to keep the fans away from expensive, irreplaceable equipment. They’re all right here. Closed in. Too close. The sight was almost too much to bear.

  The fact that Teddy and I are still alive, still tucked safely in this room, puzzles me more than anything. This isn’t the way things work in horror movies. I’ve seen enough to know the normal sequence of events. The low hum of foreboding music. The overhead lights that quit working at the worst possible time. The victim’s clumsy fall that gives the bad guy time to catch up and overtake the helpless girl. The jab to the heart, the horrified scream, the rivers of blood, the chilling laugh...on to the next victim. The good guys always get hurt while the bad guys return in a sequel and begin the morbid events all over again.

  We’re right behind him.

  Any minute now, he’s bound to find us.

  We wait a long time in shock, both of us breathing heavily, backs pressed against the wall as we sit in shock. Teddy’s hand is once again wrapped firmly around mine while I squeeze back like our contact is the only thing standing between me and a bullet. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s why I can’t let go. Because letting go feels a lot like being alone, and alone is the last place I want to be right now. Terror snakes through my insides and coils around my lungs, but as long as I don’t let go, I can convince myself that I’m safe. Cared for. Connected to another soul that I didn’t even know earlier today.

  Dying alone would be the worst kind of tragedy.

  Having a partner in this nightmare is the best and most horrible gift.

  “How long do you think this will take?” he asks so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Feels like an eternity already.”

  It feels like so much more. Like a lifetime lived in one night. What ifs keep playing in my mind like a dying man’s last wish. What if had tried the exit door myself instead of relying on Andy? What if I had pulled my gun on the shooter and at least fired a single shot? What if I had more time?

  I would do everything differently if I had more time.

  I realize I’ve dozed off when my head falls forward, startling me awake. Sleep really is the best coping mechanism, though, as far as I know, Teddy hasn’t slept at all. I slide myself upright and shake my head a little to clear it. I’m cold and sore from thirty minutes of tense muscles. What I wouldn’t give to climb underneath my purple and brown down blanket at home and bury my head for days. It’s what I plan to do the moment this ordeal is over. I’m known as a workaholic; sick days, vacation days, and personal days are piled around me like matchsticks because I’m always afraid to use them. Not after this. The second we get out of here, I’m cashing in my vacation days and taking time off. It’s long past time to put my normal routine on hold.

  The light on my phone comes on; Teddy studies it. The glow illuminates his face in the darkness, making his features clearer to see. He’s a mess of tangled hair and downturned eyes and resignation. “It
’s almost nine.”

  My body sags against the wall. “So, we’ve been here nearly an hour.”

  “I guess so.”

  I imagine the gunman pacing outside the door, keeping tabs on stragglers, making sure no one has easy access to a working door. I imagine him busting down this door and pelting us with bullets. An overactive mind can often be a girl’s worst enemy, even a girl trained to keep emotion out of her job.

  Teddy turns off the phone and the room goes black once again, though I feel his eyes on me even in the blindness.

  “My cousin wants me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. The maid of honor, actually. It’s in February.” There are a hundred things I might have expected him to say, but this one catches me off guard.

  “Excuse me, what?”

  “Yep, maid of honor. That’s the text she sent me right before I went on stage tonight. At first, I said no, but then I gave in when she promised me I wouldn’t have to wear a dress.”

  “That might make for a nice headline.” I know what he’s doing. He’s giving us something else to think about besides our grim reality. It’s what we both need, and I’m grateful.

  He sighs. “That’s what I was afraid of. What it would look like if the press got a hold of the story? Teddy Hayes In Drag.” He accents each word like one could imagine it written in lights. “Seems like such a stupid thing to worry about now, doesn’t it?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I think we worry about a lot of things without realizing worse things are around the corner. Doesn’t mean the original worry was stupid. A better conclusion might be that it’s pointless to worry about anything. Today’s worry becomes tomorrow’s laughed-at dinner conversation. For the record, I worked your show tonight because a friend wanted floor tickets for her boyfriend because he couldn’t afford them, so I applied for the job. And now I’m not sure ‘friend’ is the word she’ll use to describe me after this.”

  He sucks in a breath and tightens his grip on my hand. “There’s no way you could have known this would happen. But I’m sorry, Jane. You should be out there checking on him and not stuck in here watching over me.”