by Ray Rhamey
Marion lifted her chin. All right, she’d see what Noah Stone had to say tonight. Maybe she did need to change. But what would the consequences be?
• • •
Jewel paced on Franklin’s front porch. Rain poured down. Every time headlights appeared, she squinted into the darkness, hoping it was Franklin. Come on, come on, rehearsal had to be over by now!
The violence that seemed to explode around Hank Soldado had nagged at her, and she’d gone from uneasiness into a sure feeling that trouble was coming. Whatever she thought of the Alliance’s promise, she cared about Noah Stone. She needed to be there tonight.
A car pulled up across the street and doused its lights. It sat there for a couple of long minutes, and then a big man got out and took a step in her direction. Franklin’s cab swung around the corner and cut him off, and the man got back into his car.
Franklin pulled into the driveway, and she yelled into the house, “Chloe! Come on!”
Chloe ran out, ready in a hooded yellow slicker and rain boots. Jewel grabbed her purse off the porch swing and they ran for the cab, Chloe squealing as she splashed through puddles.
When Franklin opened his door to get out, Jewel shouted, “Take me to the campus?”
“Sure.”
As they climbed into the cab, Jewel said, “Daggett Hall. Fast.”
Franklin turned to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I got a bad feeling.”
• • •
“And now,” the dean said from the lectern on the stage, “a man who has devoted great time and energy to helping raise funds for this magnificent new facility, Noah Stone.”
Hank reached Mitch. “Hey. Good to see you.” He saw no telltale bulge of a holstered weapon under Mitch’s jacket. He looked clean.
Mitch’s response was less than enthusiastic. “Yeah. You, too.” His voice was tight. So were his eyes, his body. Good ole Mitch was stressed about something. A murmur rose in the audience, and they turned to the stage.
Noah entered from the wings to applause that blossomed into a standing ovation. He greeted it with a smile. At the lectern, he held up his arms for quiet, and the audience returned to their seats. After his trademark pause, he said, “You honor me, and I thank you. But the honor truly belongs to thousands of others who have had the courage to change themselves and our world.”
He gazed at the audience. “I’m known to be something of a Johnny-One-Note, so it may surprise you that I’m not here to recruit you for the Alliance.” That earned him chuckles. “I’m here to thank you. Through your hard work and generous donations, the university has a new language arts center.” He brought his hands together and applauded, and the audience joined him.
When the applause quieted, he said, “Although I’m not on a recruiting mission, I do have a few words for the students here. As you work on the beginnings of your adult lives, I ask you to do one thing.
“There are good people in this world today who are having a tough time. They do the best they can, they work hard, but things just don’t get better. They need help to live a decent life, and they’re not getting it in a world that’s more against them than for them.
“So what I ask you to do is this: for their sake, and for yours, make the promise. Before you leave tonight, say and mean these words: I promise to help, the best I can.”
He chuckled. “Now, I’ve been a youth, and I read Ayn Rand in college. I know that right now a bunch of you are thinking that the promise sounds like some kind of mushy altruism of the most virulent kind. Ayn Rand would have thrown up at the words of the promise.”
Answering chuckles pattered up from the audience.
“But the truth is, and what Ayn Rand missed about the nature of a helping hand, that making this promise is just about the most blatant exercise of self-interest imaginable. It is this simple: when I make your life better, mine becomes better, too.”
• • •
Franklin’s cab splashed to a stop on Siskiyou Boulevard. He pointed into the darkness and said, “Daggett Hall’s the big building on the left.”
Jewel peered through the darkness and rain. A curving sidewalk led to the building twenty yards away—what the hell did she think she was doing here, anyway? Lightning flashed, and the boom of thunder prodded her to open the cab door. She gave Chloe a quick hug and said, “You go on home with Franklin, and I’m sure he’ll read you some stories.”
Franklin said, “You bet, Munchkin.” His brow furrowed, and he looked to Jewel. “Hope everything’s okay.”
She tried for a reassuring smile. “I’m sure I’m just being weird. Prob’ly PMS. I’ll call you when it’s over.” She stepped out and he pulled away, quickly gone into the rain and darkness. She trotted toward Daggett Hall.
Headlights hit her. A car bounced over the curb and slid to a stop in front of her.
She dodged around it, but the driver’s door was flung open and a bulky figure rushed her, arms outstretched. Floodlights from Daggett Hall gleamed off of Murphy’s fat face, an ugly snarl warping his mouth.
Panic hit her. She spun to run across the lawn toward the door. Murphy plowed into her and sent her tumbling to the grass. She rolled onto her back and looked up.
Puffing, Murphy stood over her. He grinned. “Gotcha, bitch.”
Rain stinging her face, Jewel stared up at him. Her stopper! She scrambled for her purse, snapped it open—
Murphy grabbed her wrist and yanked her arm up. The purse dropped, spilling its contents onto wet grass. Her stopper bounced to a puddle an arm’s reach away. He snapped a handcuff around her wrist and hauled her to her feet. “You’re goin’ with me. Now.”
He grabbed her other wrist and started bending her arm behind her. She fought, but his strength was too much. Chloe flashed into her mind, Chloe all alone. She wrenched, and her rain-slick skin slipped from his grip. She whirled, swinging her fist, but he stiff-armed her in the chest with both hands and knocked her onto her back.
He dove onto her, and her breath smashed out. She crashed her forehead into his nose. She heard the crunch of breaking cartilage. Murphy howled, rolled off of her, and grabbed for his face.
Jewel twisted, rolled to her stopper, and snatched it. Taking deep breaths to get her wind back, she stood.
Murphy staggered to his feet and turned toward her.
She mashed a button. A stream of whack hit him in the eyes, his howl turned into a shriek, and his hands went to his face.
Jewel’s knees wanted to give way, but she steadied herself. As she backed away from Murphy, he wiped at his eyes. Squinting at her with one eye, he pulled a big black pistol from under his coat. It was no stopper.
She took careful aim and pressed the tangle button. The white, sticky stuff expanded and wrapped Murphy’s hands and the gun, locking them together. Blinking against the rain and the sting of whack, he lifted the gun and swung it in her direction. A shot blasted, and she felt the bullet whip past her face.
Jewel lunged at him, her arm straight out. When her stopper was inches away, she pressed the last button. A dose of nap broke on the dry skin under his chin. She dodged back as he lifted his gun, and then kicked his hands away. His knees sagged. He dropped to the grass, then rolled onto his side and was still.
Jewel went to him. She shoved his shoulder with a foot to roll him onto his back. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she said, “I’ll be callin’ the cops.” With that lethal firearm trapped in his hands, she knew he was going to be in a world of hurt—and then the Keep. She drew back a foot and kicked him in the balls with everything she had. A grunt whooshed from him, followed by a low groan. Let the hurtin’ start now.
Lightning flashed and snapped her back to her mission. She grabbed up her stuff from the ground and jammed it and the empty stopper into her purse. Handcuffs dangling from one wrist, she ran for the entrance to Daggett Hall.
The Trigger Is Pulled
Marion mouthed the words as Noah said them. I promise to help, the best I can. They touch
ed her with . . . was it hope?
Noah said, “If you make the promise, you’ll need the courage to change yourself.” He grinned. “Man, do I know how hard that is.”
The audience chuckled. Noah sobered. “In me, in you, in each of us are chains that bind us to old lessons and old reflexes. They can cripple our ability to move forward, to embrace the change we need. You can break them.”
Noah’s gaze came to Marion and he said, “I know you can break them.”
Deep within her, Noah Stone’s words resonated as true. There were times when chains—and rules—needed to be broken.
• • •
Mitch leaned close to Hank and said, “He’s what I want to see broken.” He scanned the crowd around them, and then glanced at the entrance on the far side.
When he turned back, there was a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. Hank said, “What are you up to?”
On the stage, Noah said, “I have a little announcement for you tonight before we get to the punch and cookies.”
Students said “Awwwwww” and the audience laughed.
Mitch’s smile disappeared. “Just glad you’re free again.”
Hank knew a lie when he heard one.
• • •
Marion stepped forward to get a better look. She collided with a woman hurrying toward the aisle that led to the stage. Marion stepped back and said, “Excuse me. I’m sorry.”
The black-haired woman, a foot shorter than Marion, glanced up at her with a hard-eyed stare as though Marion were the smaller person. She moved on, and down the aisle. Those eyes . . .
Marion knew those eyes.
Noah said, “This new center is named after Raymond Daggett, the storied political science professor who raised eyebrows during his entire career at SOU because of the way he spoke out for the people. In his honor, then, I have a political announcement to make.
“As you know, we’re in the heat of a presidential campaign, and I’ve been asked over and over who I’m for. The Alliance board has met, and we have an endorsement.”
Those eyes— The militia woman. Colonel Hanson. Marion had seen her on Noah Stone’s computer monitor that morning. Along with a bullet that had his name on it.
The woman’s eyes looked just like those of the guy who’d killed Suzanne.
And she was pulling a pistol from her purse as she marched toward the stage.
Not this time! Marion ran down the aisle after Hanson.
• • •
Hank decided to get next to Noah, because the endorsement he was about to make would cause an uproar. He headed across the space in front of the stage.
He was halfway to Noah when a woman in the far aisle called out, “Noah Stone!” She raised a pistol above her head. “We want our rights back!”
It was Colonel Hanson—crazy Colonel Hanson. Hank yelled “CLEAR!” at people milling in front of him and sprinted toward her aisle. He pulled his stopper from his holster, but people jumping to their feet blocked his shot.
She fired into the air. He lowered his head and ran harder.
• • •
Mitch flinched at the gunshot and then laughed. That ought to do it. Noah Stone would run screaming from the stage. Mitch clapped his hands. He’d done it!
• • •
The sound of the shot struck Noah like a fist. He searched for the source—there, in the aisle, it was that militia woman! Fear ripped into him and he started to back away, and then the screams of the audience broke through. People could be hurt in a stampede.
He stepped forward, spread his arms out, palms down, and called out to the audience, “Be calm. Help is on the way.”
• • •
Marion cried, “No-o-o-o-o-o!”
Colonel Hanson glanced back at her, then faced Noah and lowered the gun toward the stage.
Marion ran as hard as she could, knowing that she was too late.
• • •
Hank closed on the aisle . . . two more strides . . . he leaped upward with all of his strength. As he turned in the air, rising in front of Noah, he looked up the aisle and down the barrel of Hanson’s pistol. She wouldn’t miss. Above the gun barrel her eyes glittered just like those of the guy in Chicago when he went for Noah. They glittered, they narrowed . . . She pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit his left shoulder and spun him.
Hank hit the floor on his belly, and his right hand smashed down. His stopper spun away, out of reach. Hanson didn’t even look his way. The tendons on the back of her hand stood out as she squeezed the trigger.
• • •
Noah stared at the gun centering on him. The crowd noise dimmed, and calm settled into him. He shifted his gaze to Colonel Hanson’s hard eyes. To her he said, “I promise to help, the best I can.”
Hanson screamed, a full-throated primal blast of fury, and pulled the trigger.
There was a bang, a hammer slammed him in the chest, and he fell backward.
• • •
Mitch gasped. That wasn’t supposed to happen! He shook his head as if he could deny what he’d just seen, but that didn’t stop horror from flooding his mind.
• • •
Hank surged to his feet, his shoulder a blaze of pain, but he could use the arm. He dove onto the stage and crawled to Noah.
Noah still breathed. Hank ripped Noah’s shirt open and stared at a bloody hole in his chest, way too close to his heart. Blood pumped out. Hank raised his head and roared, “I need a doctor!”
A man somewhere shouted, “Here!”
Hank leaned close. “A doctor’s coming. You’ll be okay.”
Noah’s gaze went to the blood on Hank’s shoulder and then to Hank. He smiled. “We have just got to stop meeting like this.”
There was no smile in Hank, but he tried. “I will if you will.”
Noah looked into Hank’s eyes, deep sadness in his own. He said, “There’s so much left to do. Help me.” He gasped and then stopped breathing.
Hank started CPR.
• • •
Jewel smashed through people at the top of the aisle. Hank knelt beside a man on the stage . . . He was doing CPR. Noah!
Ahead of her, Marion Smith-Taylor flew down the aisle toward the stage—toward a small woman who held a gun. Jewel raced after Marion.
• • •
Marion screamed. The woman turned toward her and shot.
The bullet slammed into Marion’s neck—
• • •
It seemed to Mitch that the woman running at Hanson fell in slow motion. This couldn’t be real.
He ran to the aisle.
• • •
After a check of pulse and a look into Noah’s eyes, the doctor looked up at Hank, his expression stricken. “He’s dead.”
A young woman screamed, “Noah’s dead!” More screams spread through the audience alongside bellows of anger. Men raised their fists but had no one to hit.
• • •
Jewel jumped over Marion’s body, dove for the shooter, and crashed into her.
They fell, Jewel on top, gripping the woman’s wrist to force the gun against the floor. It fell from her hand, and Jewel stared into wide, insane eyes.
Fury
Loss swept through Hank. It emptied him, and then rage filled his mind. He stood and looked up the aisle. People had backed into the rows of seats, leaving the aisle clear. Mitch Parsons ran down from the top toward a woman who lay on her back in the aisle. It was Marion Smith-Taylor.
The shooter sprawled on the floor, pinned by Jewel Washington, the pistol beside them.
Hank vaulted from the stage and bolted toward them as Jewel pulled Colonel Hanson to her feet. The violence Hanson had begun flared into a storm of fury. The crowd roared.
He tore Hanson from Jewel’s grasp and spun her to face him. Her wide eyes narrowed, and she stared at him with a flat, cold gaze. He closed his hands around her throat. She grabbed his wrists with her little hands. He was going to crush her larynx with his
thumbs. He wanted her to suffer—he squeezed, but slowly.
Around him, faces were masks of loathing; fists clenched and unclenched, eager to crush something, anything. Mouths opened and shut. Hank heard only the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
Jewel yelled something that got through. “Kill her!”
He would do that. Hanson’s pistol lay on the floor. Yes. That would be justice. Gripping Hanson’s neck with one hand, he stretched down and picked it up.
Hank shoved the barrel deep into the soft flesh under her chin. Her eyes widened with what looked like the first hint of fear he’d seen from her. He tightened his finger on the trigger.
Noah’s dying words whispered inside his head. “Help me.”
A killer couldn’t do that.
The screaming faces around him were like those he’d seen in the Keep—bestial. But these were the people Noah had asked to make a promise to help. Hank’s rage ebbed. What would Noah do now?
He’d try to help them, wouldn’t he?
Suddenly, as though a switch had been turned on, the cries of the crowd crashed in on him. Jewel’s scream hit him full force. “Kill the bitch!”
Shouts came from all around. “Shoot!” “Shoot!” “Shoot!”
One hand still on Hanson’s throat, Hank lowered the pistol and stared at it. He’d loved guns and all the good things that came from them his entire life. But this thing in his hand was no more and no less than a metal tool made for killing.
He threw the gun as hard as he could, and it slid across the stage to dark recesses at the back. Hanson was safe. From him, at least.
Jewel screamed at him, “What are you waiting for?” She forced her body between Hank and Hanson and grabbed at Hanson’s throat.
Hank grabbed Jewel’s wrist, yanked her away, and twisted her to face him. “That’s not the way!”
She screamed into his face, “It’s my way!”
“It’s wrong!”
“Not by me!”
Hank released her and pointed at the stage. “It is by him!”
Jewel stared at Noah’s body, the doctor kneeling beside him. The rictus of hatred contorting her face collapsed into confusion.