Too Lucky to Live

by Annie Hogsett

  The museum rises off the lakefront like an icon out of The DaVinci Code. Designed by I.M. Pei, its glass pyramid is a mountain range of glittering shapes. An aficionado could spend a week and not do justice to half of it. This was Rune’s trip, though, and he was doing that kid radar thing. Seeking out what he wanted to see and ignoring the rest.

  He held tight to Tom’s hand, guided him to the escalator, and through the chaos of sights and sounds, straight to the case where The Glove of Michael Jackson revolved on its turntable, shimmering under the lights like the religious artifact it had become. Rune’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar. He was drinking it in, storing it up for a rainy day.

  The thing made me think of a domesticated falcon tethered to its perch. Its stuffed fingers curled above the pole that was slowly turning it for our viewing pleasure. Trapped and pathetic. I was sure Rune was picturing it on Michael’s actual living hand. A placard reported that he had worn it on his Dangerous Tour in 1992—back when our Runako Davis was still years and years out from being born.

  After Rune had soaked up the glitter of the glove to his heart’s almost content, he moved on to the rest of the display, describing to Tom everything there was to see. Here was the tattered red leather jacket from the “Thriller” video. I pictured the mad entourage of fabulous, choreographed zombies. A wolf mask from the video bared its teeth at us. The mood was magical. Magical and disturbing.

  Rune was wearing out from absorbing Michael’s beautiful, lost strangeness into his seven-and-a-quarter-year-old brain. I could feel it myself. The swift current of celebrity and sorrow dragging me down. I was trying hard not to remember how Michael had won his own Mondo. Seized the golden ring of celebrity. And death.

  It was the dead of night down here. Shadowy. Glittery. Fey. I was experiencing a lot of jitter and twitch. Creepy Eye was crawling over my spine, trailing cold fingers across the back of my neck. Were we live at www.tomandallietakerunetotherockhall.com? Yeesh.

  I put my hand on Rune’s shoulder, prying him away from the enchantment. Easing him out. “Why don’t we get something to eat and then we’ll go to the Hall of Fame Movie and see the real Hall of Fame?” He nodded and cast one last, hungry glance at The Glove on its lonely perch, endlessly turning.

  Goodbye, Michael.

  Then he straightened his shoulders and reached for Tom’s hand, leading him along, talking to him nonstop about the things he’d seen. We swept out of the murky rec room of Rock and Roll, moving back toward the light of day.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  The café on the third floor of the pyramid gave us a high vantage point for the gaudy riot of wonders below and a view of the lake, steaming blue in the midday sun. Rune, oblivious now to the abundance of wonderful things, focused on his food.

  He’d opted for nachos and a Coke. I had a small salad and a bottled water to offset the waffles of breakfast. Tom got a big oatmeal cookie and a cup of coffee. I would have frowned at him for being an irresponsible role model if that would have done any good.

  He grinned as he bit into the cookie and said, “It doesn’t do any good to disapprove of someone who can’t see you disapproving. I’m a free man, lady. Unless you talk to me out loud.”

  “You wouldn’t like it if I spoke my mind all the time.”

  “Try me.”

  Rune was shifting his gaze from Tom to me and back again. Anxious. “Are you guys arguing?”

  Tom shook his head and had another bite of cookie. “Nah. We haven’t hung around together long enough to have anything serious to argue about.”

  What? This was an outrageous lie, and I had the red hot memories to prove it, but Tom’s face was bland.

  Rune squinted his eyes in a way that reminded me of Margo. “Are you guys going to get married?”

  I ducked my head and started examining my salad for flaws, and then I realized that I could search Tom’s face and he’d be none the wiser. When I did, he was focused in my direction with his famous quizzical expression. “What do you think, Rune? I can’t see her. Does she look like she thinks we’re going to get married.”

  Oops. Back into the salad.

  “She’s looking at her lettuce and stuff. I can’t tell what she’s thinking.”

  Ha!

  “So much for setting your seeing eye kid on me. He doesn’t read minds.”

  “Maybe not. But I do. Listen up, Rune. In about another fifteen minutes all this Mondo nonsense is going to blow over.” He paused. “Or at least die down a lot, and Alice Jane and I are going to get very married. You’re going to be in the wedding. It’ll be terribly mushy. Lots of kissing and hugging. You’ll hate that.”

  Rune was nodding his complete agreement to the last statement. Then he swiveled to me, “Is your name really Alice? Why does everybody call you Allie?” he demanded.

  I was all busy processing what Tom had said about married kissing and hugging, but I had to deal with Rune’s question.

  “Your name is Runako. How come everybody calls you Rune?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Runako is not a fun name. Everybody wants to know what it means and then they tease me.”

  “Ditto for Alice on the not fun. You may notice that Tom is teasing me about it. Tormenting may be a better word.”

  “What does tormenting mean?”

  “Big teasing. Only over and over.”

  He was digging around in the nachos container for the last bit of cheese. “I think you were doing that, Tom.”

  Tom laughed out loud. He had a great laugh. I hadn’t heard it anywhere near enough.

  I raised my water bottle. “I propose a toast.” Tom found his coffee cup and Rune picked up his Coke.

  “To more laughing for all of us,” I offered, nudging Tom’s cup with my bottle. Rune put in his Coke can, grinning from ear to ear.

  “To more laughing for all of us, and to Alice saying yes,” Tom added.

  “Did she say yes?” Rune came back around to me, his brow crunching up in confusion.

  “Yes.” I laid my hand lightly on Tom’s arm. “I said yes the very first day we met.”

  Rune hid his face in his hands. “Are you guys going to kiss?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I answered. “Don’t look for a sec.” Tom’s lips were warm. For Rune’s sake, I didn’t linger. “That was a very nice proposal, Dr. Bennington III.”

  “I already told you. We’re forever, Alice.”

  I leaned back in and spoke low into his ear, “I believe the word you used before was ‘cooked.’ And the word I used was ‘screwed.’”

  “Those, too. Now, let’s go.”

  “Is it safe to come out now?” Rune’s voice was muffled by his hands but he was smiling under his clasped fingers.

  “You better. We still need to visit the real, authentic Hall of Fame.”

  That moment. Right there. If the house of me were burning down, that’s the mental picture I’d risk my life to save.

  ***

  I made everybody take a bathroom break. Rune went with Tom, and, remembering my promises to Marie, I had a moment of second thoughts about that. We had established over the last few days that Tom, while not sensitive about his blindness, per se, was something close to rabid about his hard-won independence. Given the plans we both had for Rune, I didn’t dare start suggesting he wasn’t able to keep the boy safe. I bit my tongue and let them go.

  The ladies room was freaky because the one light over the sink, was fritzing out. Every few seconds it would buzz alarmingly and flicker the room down into darkness. A strobe. How Rock Hall was that?

  There were two stalls. One was already occupied. And here’s the thing. Once I got settled in my cubicle, I could see that the flickering shoes of the occupant were, shall we say, genderly ambiguous. I know. I know. Guy shoes and girl shoes are very often the same shoes, but these were very big shoes. This lad
y could have played for the CAVs. The person wearing the CAVs shoes was also exceedingly still. I got this huge waiting vibration. No audible breathing. Only the surreal buzz and the strobing blackness.

  Oh, boy. Was I really going to get kidnapped or killed in a bathroom? I decided I did not have to go as badly as I’d thought. I did a hasty zip-up and stepped out of my stall.

  A voice from next door. “Ma’am?” A guy voice.

  “Sir?” I was edging toward the door, but my feet were encased in cement.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I came in here to fix the light and I didn’t have the yellow folding sign to warn ladies not to come in. I thought I could just jiggle the fixture, but then I heard you coming and—I could be fired for not following procedure.”

  Geez. Discontinue CPR.

  “Okay. I promise I won’t say a word, but you’d better come out and find your sign. The next visitor is likely to run away screaming.”

  Like I am. On the inside.

  A sigh. “Thank you, ma’am. Thanks very much. I will. I’ll do that.”

  I went back into the hall and waited for Tom and Rune. After a long minute a tall, nice-looking, young guy in a blue work shirt and pants, sporting some very large feet and carrying a bulky tool box, came out. Sheepish. He gave me a nod. I gave him a nod. Then the boys emerged from the men’s room and I forgot all about being scared.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  After the dazzle captured in the glass façade of the pyramid, the core of the museum—its sacred shrine—is its darkest night, enveloping visitors in the sound and the spirit of the inductees.

  The world outside vanishes. The music-makers hold sway.

  Rune was awed speechless by the theater soaring up into gloom, its three massive screens projecting non-stop images, performances, and interviews. The presentation was gripping, moving, loud. The Michael parts came soon and went by fast. Michael with the Jackson Five, his fresh round face almost as young as Rune’s. Michael grown up, transformed. The camera caressed his sculpted profile, worshipped his compelling, androgynous beauty, showed us his caricature of himself, then let him go.

  A splash of music. A flash of light. Done. We were ready to move on.

  The Hall of Fame itself is, in fact, a dim, narrow hallway. Of fame. A promise of musical immortality to the chosen few. The passageway spirals upward from the theater and is drenched in the music that spills out of it. On a wall of black glass the names and autographs of the immortals are etched in starlight.

  People moved quietly, reverently. Pointing out names. Murmuring to one another. I put my hand against the glass. Cold. Smooth. I had hoped Tom might be able to at least run his fingers over the names, but no.

  We had gotten to The Jackson Five, and Rune was inspecting them with solemn attention. He’d put a tentative finger on Michael’s name. I was getting a kick out of the smiley faces that Jermaine Jackson had drawn into his florid, rounded Js, and I’d turned away from the wall and from Rune to describe this cute idiosyncrasy to Tom when Armageddon struck.

  The fire alarm went off, whooping and wailing. The lights died. People started screaming. As I whipped around to put my hands on Rune, something came out of the blackness and struck me hard on the back of the head. The blow, the dizzying pain, the smothering darkness, the panicked shriek of the alarm brought me down. My knees buckled. I hit the floor with my palms out. Somebody stepped, full weight, on my hand. From a long distance I could hear Tom’s voice through the din, calling, “Allie? Rune!”

  From Rune, there was no sound at all.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  The sun was setting. The Rock Hall had been locked down tight for hours. We were huddled in the café. Tom had his elbows and his glasses on the table and his face buried in his hands. I was watching, without great interest, the police cars beginning to disperse from the parking lot, their headlights coming on in the dusk. There had been a lot of them. Not that it did much good. An Amber Alert had been put out for Rune. I had called Marie and Elaine. Told them he’d been stolen. They were upset. For me. With me. I’d made Maria sorry, I could tell.

  Yeah. Me, too.

  I was learning now how easily it could have been arranged. I hadn’t fooled anybody with my pathetic maneuvers. Somewhere, maybe everywhere, I’d left a loophole, probably more than one. I cursed my naiveté. The kidnappers had known we’d wind up there in that black hall, sooner or later.

  Anyone could pass as an ordinary fan of rock & roll, lurk in the gloom of the seats, and observe everyone arriving. Identify the targets. A blind man, a woman, a boy, age seven and a quarter. As we stood together in the entrance, gaping at the big screens, outlined in the muted light from the hall, that person would identify us. They would see where we sat and watch us as we watched the film. They knew the instant we rose to go.

  According to the cops, there was a fire alarm box on the wall by the door. After the three of us were well into the corridor, the watcher could pull the alarm. Its shriek was the signal for an accomplice to cut power, and our attacker was assured of a very long moment of pure chaos before the backup generators could kick in. To pounce. To clobber me and grab Rune unseen.

  Tom, with his years of honed skills and senses had an advantage the rest of us wouldn’t have had in the dark, but he’d been overwhelmed by the running, shoving, and the incessant blare of the alarm.

  After that it was subdue the boy—gently, I prayed—and carry him away. No one would hear a child crying out when everybody in the place was hollering. Even if Rune were struggling and begging for help, it would get chalked up to the panic of the moment. They had avoided the cameras or at least there was nothing of the boy in the tapes.

  He was gone.

  I’d talked with Margo. Tom had called Skip. I kept glancing over at the table where we’d sat—it felt like moments before—and been happy. Tom had stopped short of telling Rune we’d be a family. Now I wished he’d known. That we loved him. That we’d do anything to get him back.

  “I want him back, Tom. I just want him back. I can’t stand this. I can’t be here.”

  He didn’t move from his despairing posture, but he groaned all the misery I felt.

  “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m not helping.”

  “There is no help for this, Allie. I want him back, safe and sound, like you do. I want them to contact us and I want to pay them what they ask. I want—”

  I didn’t think he was aware he’d stopped talking. I watched him follow his thoughts into the same intractable loop of fear and despair I was trapped in. There was nothing either of us could say that would change any of it. Until the kidnappers made contact, neither of us could do anything. Except wait.

  While we sat there, alone, in silence, unable to comfort each other, I had plenty of time to condemn myself. Of the two people who might have saved Rune, I was the one who could see, the one who’d been only a tiny step away when the alarm went off. I kept thinking I should be able to operate time manually. To hit replay. In that beautiful new version—which played and replayed behind my eyes—when the blow came out of the dark, I used my scrap of awareness to throw myself over Rune, covering him with my body. Holding him. Holding him tight.

  How could I have failed us all in that moment?

  Where was Rune?

  A guy was there from the FBI. He seemed nice enough, but a little too human for my requirements. I wanted a god. I wanted a guy who could fly and walk through walls and bring Rune back before he even knew he was gone.

  This guy, this Agent Steve Bukovnik, seemed competent, but not godlike.

  He lectured us on protocol, and I was trying to pay attention but my heart was elsewhere. He explained it all with extreme care. How the kidnapper or kidnappers would contact us. What we should do. What we should not do.

  The important thing was for him and his people to be in control. I didn’t think his heart was bleeding e
nough for him to be in control. He could live without Rune. He’d been doing that for his whole life, up to today. He’d manage. We wouldn’t.

  For a second I was glad when I looked up and saw Officer Anthony Valerio threading his way toward us. At least his was a familiar face. Valerio and Agent Bukovnik traded a small amount of alpha dog posturing, but Bukovnik let him through and then stepped away to a discreet distance.

  Valerio pulled up a chair and started in, glowering at me from under the monobrow. “Ms. Harper, Allie, you have something that I have to have access to now. This is not about you having tampered with evidence. I could care less. This is about the boy. I can help you, but I have to see that piece of paper.”

  Well. If he was a criminal, he was the boldest criminal I’d ever seen. Right under the nose of the FBI. I stared at him through the glaze of pain and sorrow that was distorting everything. He still didn’t look like a bad man to me. I hesitated.

  Tom made my decision for me. “Give it to him, Allie.”

  I reached into my purse.

  Valerio leaned closer, blocking Bukovnik’s line of sight. “Keep this between us. It’ll only confuse things. I need some freedom to move. Trust me.”

  Did I? Trust him? I brought out the note, smoothed and folded. I glanced at the agent. He was gazing out the window. I passed the note to Valerio. He unfolded it and stared at it for a moment. I searched his face for a clue to what he was thinking but except for the slightest tic at the corner of his mouth, his expression was noncommittal. He folded the paper back up and made it disappear. Another pivotal moment going, going, gone.

  Valerio leaned toward me. “Allie. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to do exactly what Agent Bukovnik has told you to do. Don’t pay these people. Don’t go where they tell you. I’m going to leave a phone on this chair in a minute when I leave. It has my number programmed. When you get the call, call me. And tell me where they want you to go. And don’t let FBI see you pick up the phone.” He gave me a tight smile. “I know you can get away with that.”