Harold, after seizing the gun, threw it into the snow, again laughing.
"Plus, your chances would have better if you'd taken off the safety." he noted with a smug tone.
Standing there looking at Harold with an exasperated look on his face, Joe intentionally didn't glance back over his shoulder. He was afraid of what he would see, or, more specifically, who he would see.
"Your eyes can deceive you Joe," Harold began. "Everything you've seen tonight. All of this. It's all been an illusion, a carefully crafted illusion, mind you."
"But I saw you ..." Joe began, only to be cut off.
"Die?" Harold finished his sentence. "No Joe, your eyes betrayed you. What you saw were special effects and not even quality ones at that. It's not like we're professionals here. We are rank amateurs at best. What you saw was a gun, much like the one you just tried to shoot me with, loaded with blanks, and a few blood packs, much like you see in movies. It was actually quite simple, especially in the dim light up on the stage where no one could get a great look at it. We simply made the suggestion and the people's minds filled in the blanks."
In fact, Harold was being too modest. The "execution scene," as they called it in rehearsal, was worked over and over in Ralph's basement. The angle of the gun, the rupture of the blood packs and Harold's reaction to "being shot" were practiced over and over again until it was perfected. Any missed movement could have given away the five before they even took control of the civic center.
Actually, the only hard part of the entire death scene was Harold being pulled off the stage by his legs. His face bounced off the steps. It was all Harold could do to not throw up his hands to soften the blow as he saw his face about to slam into the edge of the steps. He was able to resist the natural tendency and played his role as dead weight to perfection. After that, Harold did the quick change in the player's dressing room down the hall and began his time on stage, using his improvisation talents to keep the crowd in line while careful to use the megaphone to disguise his voice. Had he spoken in his normal voice, someone may have recognized it as the voice of the mayor. As for his body, or the lack there of, it would have been assumed his carcass had been thrown into the Barren Fork and was washed down river beneath its icy crust. They wouldn't be able to drag the river until the thaw and would have assumed he'd been swept miles downstream. It wouldn't be the first time a body disappeared forever in the swift river.
"But why?" Joe asked, trying to buy himself time, hoping help might arrive if he could keep Harold bragging long enough.
"Well Joe, I needed to disappear. Harold Thorn needed to go away forever," Harold said in the third person. "Besides being married to the most evil woman that ever existed, I was also having some, how do I say it, um, cash flow problems. Well, the cash was flowing out, it just wasn't flowing in fast enough.
"So, that's when I started taking loans from the city treasury to help ends meet and pretty soon it got to where I couldn't put it back. Well, it's hard to put a half-million dollars back anyway. And, making it worse was auditors came in and found it missing. It was only a matter of time until they figured out where it went, and I couldn't have that. Indictments. Prison. I wouldn't do well in prison, Joe."
Pausing for a moment to look around, making sure they were still alone in the clearing, Harold continued.
"It was during our planning sessions that I figured out that if I were dead then I could avoid all the legal problems plus I could be rid of my nagging wife without having to pay her an arm and a leg," Harold said. "Can you believe that blood sucker snuck around and took out a half-million dollar policy on me? Given time I think she would have had me offed anyway, so, by doing it this way, I get to go out on my own terms."
Looking nervously around, not seeing anyone approaching, Joe kept the conversation going.
"But where would you go?" Joe asked.
"Anywhere but here," Harold answered. "A person's options are many when they are rich, and I, my friend, am now filthy rich. What do you think honey? Costa Rica? Bermuda? Europe?"
The voice from behind Joe chilled him to the bone, much more than the weather had done that evening.
"Where ever you want, baby," came the voice of Brittany, something Joe had dreaded since first hearing the pistol click behind him.
Brittany had grabbed the gun from the front of the patrol car where Harold had thrown it when he picked up his rifle. She had kept it stuffed into her waistband until the figure, which she now knew to be Joe, had slammed into them moments before. That's when she pulled the gun.
"By the way, I want to thank you for returning my girlfriend to me," Harold said, a smirk on his face. "It was a brave thing you did, saving her and all that. There was really no reason though. She was simply going to join me in our little acting session. See, she was going to disappear too until you complicated things being Prince Charming and everything. You could have been shot, well, if Randy's gun had real bullets in it anyway. And, we've all learned tonight that Randy don't mind killing."
Brittany had accidentally become part of the conspiracy, well sort of. As Harold's wife knew, her husband was quite the player and Brittany was one of his favorite playmates, her abilities at taking dictation quite impressive. Her "talents" had put her on the fast track at City Hall, bringing her up through the ranks all the way to administrative assistant.
However, in that role, she had become aware of the mayor's illegal activities and decided she would parlay that knowledge to her advantage. Armed with their extramarital relationship and her knowledge of his dipping in the city's treasury, Brittany confronted her boss about a month ago, just after the five had started their intense planning and rehearsal of the job.
Worried she could blow the whole plan, Harold broke down and let her into the inner circle, something that didn't sit well with the rest. They worried she could be the weak link. It was then the plan was modified. Brittany would "die" just like Harold. That way the couple could slip out of town together after laying low a few days and start new lives without having to worry about "a woman's loose lips." Plus, Harold could do a lot worse than Brittany when it came to a replacement wife. People would have assumed she was thrown into the Barren Fork by the terrorists along with the mayor.
Of course, that was the original plan. Things had changed since he found Ralph dead behind the wheel of his van. Harold had become a killer, a cold blooded killer. Perhaps Randy had rubbed off on him or maybe he had just played his role a little too well.
Regardless, Harold was not the same man he had been the day before. And, as such, he had decided Brittany wouldn't be going with him into his new life. While he hated to do it, given her incredible looks, he couldn’t let her leave Centertown alive. He planned to send her into permanent sleep when they went to her house to get her things. Harold figured he would strangle her, making it nice and silent. She would struggle for a minute but then stop fighting and go limp. Maybe investigators would blame it on exposure to the bitter cold when the electricity went out.
He just couldn't take the chance she might someday return to her blackmailing ways and extort him with what she knew. She had already proven her willingness for blackmail. Besides, there would be a lot of Brittanys come along for a rich man such as himself. And, when it came down to it, the fact Brittany had blackmailed him just pissed him off.
But, for now, Brittany was the one with the gun so, as far as she knew, she and Harold were going to live happily ever after.
"How could you?" Joe asked, turning to look deep into her cold eyes.
"A girl's gotta do," she answered without emotion.
"That's my girl," Harold said, again glancing nervously around.
"Now, I'm sorry coach, but we need to get going," Harold began as he nodded at Brittany. "It's nothing personal Joe. It's just business. I hate doing this to the football team because I really think they would have done well under your leadership."
Looking at Brittany, Harold gave the order like a Mafia boss ordering a hit.
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"Brittany, take care of the coach," Harold said, directing her to shoot him.
Seeing her take aim at his head, Joe flinched, knowing he was about to die. His life raced before his eyes, the realization occurring to him he had lived a fairly boring life. That night was by far the most excitement he had ever had.
Feeling himself cringe, taking a deep breath that he assumed would be his last, Joe closed his eyes. However, the shot didn't come. Instead, Brittany asked a question.
"Promise you'll always make me laugh," Brittany said in a calm voice, the gun still trained on Joe.
"Of course I will, honey," Harold said as he stood expecting to hear the loud report of the gun.
"Not you. I'm talking to Joe," Brittany said, her retort stunning both men.
"Let's see," Joe began with his voice in a quiver. "Have you heard the one about the coach who peed his pants? True story here."
A smile crossed Brittany's face as she began to laugh. Joe nervously joined her in the laughter, not knowing whether to laugh or cry in the situation.
"You shouldn't have killed Jerry," Brittany declared, the smile running away from her face, her voice deadly serious. "He was your friend. To you, I’m just another one of your whores."
With that Brittany shifted her aim toward Harold and put a bullet in his eye. The ringleader fell dead on the snow even as the shot echoed through the distance. A stunned look was forever frozen on Harold's face. His perfect plan didn't take into account the scorn of a woman.
I SHALL RETURN
In the end, it was Brittany's only option. When Harold killed his close friend Jerry in cold blood, she knew there was no way she would ever leave Centertown alive. This was especially true given the fact she had blackmailed her way into the group in the first place. Had she refused to shoot Joe, then she assumed Harold would have simply picked up his rifle and done the job himself and then put a bullet in her head, killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
Suspecting Harold was planning to leave no witnesses alive, Brittany had grabbed his pistol from the front seat and shoved it in her waistband underneath Joe's jacket which she was still wearing. Harold's delay to make sure no one was coming up from the river valley minutes before had cost him his life, that, and being dumb enough to leave his gun lying in the car. Of course, being the egotist he was, it had never occurred to him that Brittany could think for herself. She was much more than just a pretty face.
The only person more surprised than Brittany, when the shot rang out, was Harold. Actually, she would have been content to have cuddled up next to the kerosene heater in Joe's house that night and let things run their course. She could have slipped out of town the next day and laid low until the five left. However, fate, or maybe it was karma, had a rude way of coming around and kicking one in the teeth. Just yards away from safety, they had fallen into Harold's hands. She would have just as soon let the others have the money as long as she could have stayed there with Joe. She knew, deep down, that Joe was the one she had been looking for all this time. However, being exposed for the horrible, evil person she was, Brittany now worried she may have missed her chance with Joe.
He looked at Brittany, bathed in the moonlight, his ears still ringing from the shot, her hands now shaking as she still held the gun leveled at where Harold had been standing. Joe reached out and grasped the gun. Brittany broke down and burst into tears as she released her grip on the weapon. She had never killed anything before, let alone a human being. She was the type who felt guilty about killing a fly so taking the life of a living, breathing person was against every fiber of her being, even if it was in self-defense.
"It's okay," Joe said in a reassuring voice. "You had no choice."
Wiping off the gun to make sure no prints were left behind, Joe slung the weapon into the woods and reached to embrace the now inconsolable Brittany. He shielded her eyes from the horrific sight of Harold's bloody body lying on the white snow, a large hole in his face from the round which had taken off the back of his head on the way out.
"Come on, let's go," Joe whispered in her ear, leading her away toward the road, Brittany sobbing in his arms. "Let's get you warmed up. It'll be okay."
The couple walked through the frozen streets of Centertown, Brittany under his arm as the full moon finally fought off the clouds, making the winter wonderland almost as bright as day. Joe grinned to himself, realizing at the beginning of the night his most sincere wish was to spirit Brittany away from the civic center for a private moonlight stroll in the snow. His wish had come true although he could have never imagined the circumstances which led up to their romantic moonlight walk.
The pair strolled, forgetting about the cold, for nearly half an hour without speaking a word to one another before arriving at Joe's home. They never saw another living soul during their walk. It was as if the entire town was deserted. Once home, Joe pulled out his kerosene heater, its heat soon bathing the pair in warmth they had so desperately dreamed of for hours. Both had suffered frostbite to their hands and feet, scars that would forever remind them of that night. But their price was meager in comparison to the price the five had paid for their transgressions. All were laying dead, frozen stiff outside in what would go down as one of the coldest nights in Centertown history. Of course, the cold would not be what Christmas Eve was remembered for in Centertown.
Breaking the silence, feeling coming back to her hands and feet, Brittany cut to the chase, hoping the revelations about her actions had not forever ruined her in Joe's eyes.
"I never dreamed it would be like this," Brittany declared, looking at Joe, hoping to sense some kind of reaction. "I just wanted to get away and he offered me a way out of this town. There was nothing here for me ... then anyway."
Joe remained silent, holding his hands to the heater, looking into the flame deep in thought.
"He was charming at first," Brittany continued, talking about Harold. "He made me feel special, the things he did and the things he said."
Still getting no reaction from Joe, Brittany placed her hand on his shoulder, hoping to get his attention.
"He even said he would leave his wife for me," Brittany said with a deep sigh. "Later on I found out I wasn't the only one. I felt like such a fool but by that time I was in too deep. I couldn't get out. And, frankly, the idea of being rich seduced me. I was stupid. I know that now."
Joe looked back toward Brittany with a poker face, leaving her unable to read his thoughts.
"Can you ever forgive me?" Brittany asked, her big brown eyes looking into those of Joe, flickering in the light of the heater.
"There's nothing to forgive," Joe shot back without reflection. "You did what you had to do. We've all made mistakes in our lives, although most people's don't involve committing multiple felonies. Plus, on the bright side of things, you saved my life."
Brittany smiled, knowing she was forgiven by the only person who mattered. She also realized Joe was right; she had saved his life.
"Well, I guess I owed you one," Brittany said, her eyes shining. "Does that make us even?"
Thinking for a minute, Joe shot Brittany a mischievous grin.
"Not really," Joe began. "As I recall you said if we made it out of this you were going to do something. Now what was that?"
Her memory still fresh to her promise, Brittany delivered, pressing her soft lips to his, the pair embracing one another on the couch in front of the flickering light of the heater.
Explosives experts had arrived by the time Sheriff Randolph returned to the West Bridge following the firefight. Taking initiative, Special Agent Carl Adams had already deployed an advance bomb disposal robot across the bridge to the tractor trailer which clogged the four lane passage into town.
"What's it looking like?" the sheriff asked as he approached, looking toward the robot which had been sent over next to the big rig.
"It's looking like nothing," revealed the bomb disposal expert, robot remote still in hand.
"What do you mean?" th
e sheriff asked.
"I mean it's clean. There are no explosives anywhere near the truck or the trailer," Adams said.
With the all clear, Sheriff Randolph and a handful of officers began advancing across the bridge, slipping and sliding across the solid sheet of ice. Reaching up to grab the flashing green disk, Randolph pulled it off the fuel tank of the truck and offered it to the bomb expert.
"What is this?" the sheriff asked, handing it to the officer.
"Looks like a flashing green light," the officer smarted off as he casually tossed it aside. "It's harmless."
Turning back to the officers on his side of the bridge, the sheriff ordered them to move the truck off the bridge. Five minutes later a convoy of vehicles was creeping toward the civic center, part of them splitting off to head to the power company hoping to restore power to Centertown.
Meanwhile, Sheriff Randolph, perplexed by the silence of the hostage takers, issued a warning on the police radio given the fact the bad guys had monitored its channels all night.
"This is Sheriff Randolph," he began. "I require a response from those who have taken the arena hostage."
The request got no response, prompting the sheriff to up the stakes.
"If you do not respond I will have no option but to take the arena by force," the sheriff said, hoping to push the gunmen into answering and suspecting the flashing green lights were all a bluff.
Still there was no answer. Neither was there any movement as they pulled up to the civic center as the clock hit three in the morning. The only sign of life was two patrolmen who were still on guard outside the civic center. The sight was surreal. There were hundreds of cars packed into the parking lot yet not a soul around the dark building.
It didn't take the bomb experts long to discover the flashing green disks which ringed the civic center, inside and out, were just like those on the tractor trailers which ringed the town - harmless flashing lights. In actuality, the flashing green lights were simply another of the five's optical illusions. The cars which had been blown up earlier to intimidate police and those inside the building had actually been wired earlier in the week by Randy and left parked at strategic areas of the parking lot. Their trunks had been packed with gasoline to give their explosions a "wow factor" when they detonated.
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