Fook (45 page)

He’d never been one for dancing, but seeing
the look of excitement on Katie’s face, Mark knew he’d have to put
aside his fears for at least one night. His only hope was his
date's current medical state and her father’s last words before
granting them freedom.

“Take care of my daughter and no swing
dancing,” Mr. Bishop had said.

At the time he’d been too terrified of the
uniformed father to give it much thought, but now he wondered if
he’d known the dance’s theme or if it had simply been his attempt
at humor. Either way he’d probably get his wish. He doubted that
he’d even have the strength to twirl his date around like the
professionals on stage, even if she wasn’t pregnant, and something
told him that she wouldn’t want that anyway. Either way, before any
type of dancing could occur, he needed to use the little boy's
room.

“I’ll be right back!” Mark shouted over the
loud music.

Katie turned.

“I need to use the bathroom! You going to be
alright for a moment?!”

With a squeeze of his hand, Katie nodded in
the affirmative and released her grip as Mark disappeared into the
crowd.

*****

For such an elegant building, the architect had left
much to be desired with the bathrooms. As he stood at the middle
urinal, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander up the dully
painted wall, to the simple plaster ceiling overhead. One would
think that a bathroom in a building of such ornate decor would have
at least had some type of decorative features. Even though it was
just a bathroom, there should have at least been some sort of crown
molding. The counters had not been cut from the finest marble but
instead appeared to be some sort of marble colored laminate and the
plain, countertop sinks were topped by dull, unpolished, stainless
steel faucets.

“Maybe I’m being too critical,” Mark thought
as the bathroom door opened and his new bathroom companion took up
a position in front of the urinal beside him. After all, he
acknowledged, he could be a bit critical sometimes. Since the age
of eight he’d been telling his parents that he wanted to be an
architect. Eager to encourage his dreams, they must have bought
every set of Legos, Constructs and Lincoln Logs in the state. His
room had been filled with dozens of Rubbermaid containers, filled
to the top with the blocks of creativity.

Smiling at the memory of building tiny
plastic and wooden cities, he couldn’t help but smile as the man
beside him caught his attention.

“Hey,” Mark addressed the stoic man on the
other side of the narrow divider. “Taking a break from the old
camera, huh?”

The photographer didn’t acknowledge him in
any way.

"Okay," Mark thought as he zipped his pants
and reached for the handle just as a sharp pain drew his attention
back to his neighbor.

The photographer, who had previously
pretended to be oblivious to the man beside him, was now staring
right at him, a cold blank look upon his face as his gaze slowly
shifted downward.

Following the man’s wandering stare, Mark
too shifted his vision down along the man’s shoulder, then to his
outstretched arm to his hand and eventually to the knife buried in
his side. Looking back up in shock, he was met by a simple smile on
the young man’s face as he yanked the knife from his flesh.

Stumbling backwards, Mark struck the corner
of the nearby row of stalls before bouncing off of them and
crashing into the counter. As he held his side and stared in shock
at his wound in the mirror the photographer stepped away from the
urinals.

Without anymore hesitation, Mark turned and
staggered toward the door, the now excruciating pain in his side
begging him to stop as every little movement pulled and twisted the
open wound and drew more and more blood as his pant leg joined his
shirt in adopting their new color.

“This dance is wicked,” the bathroom door
flung open to reveal Peter Broward, a member of the varsity
football team.

“Watch out geek,” Peter instantly addressed
Mark as the two almost collided in the doorway before spotting the
pool of blood on the floor beside the sink and the trail leading to
Mark. “Man, are you alright?”

Looking over his shoulder for the
photographer, “Run,” Mark addressed his new company only to find
his attacker was gone.

“What do you mean, run? What happened?”
Peter asked.

“This,” a third voice answered.

Turning, Mark spotted the photographer now
behind Peter just as the man plunged the same knife into the
football star’s right ear.

*****

Though she was thrilled that her father had let her
go; with Mark in the bathroom, the realization that she was
completely alone was starting to sink in. Other than Latisha, who
was apparently planning a fashionably late entrance, she’d managed
to burn the bridges to more than a few friendships over the last
few years and becoming pregnant hadn’t helped much with her social
standings either. She’d gone from moderately popular to sideshow
freak with each passing month.

She’d gotten used to the looks, well, maybe
not used to them, but it certainly wasn’t as uncomfortable as it
had been the first few weeks after her condition had started to be
noticed, and word began to spread around the school. She’d cried
herself to sleep many a night during that time.
Now
she was
excited to meet the little girl growing inside of her and everyone
else’s opinions just didn’t matter.

“Who brought the whale?” Katie overheard one
of the girls ask a nearby friend as she pointed and smiled.

“Whatever,” Katie thought as she turned to
watch the band on stage. They were pretty decent. They also looked
surprisingly young given the style of music being played. Big band
swing wasn’t exactly the hip or expected form of music for a bunch
of guys in their early twenties.

Suddenly a blood curdling scream brought all
music to a halt as each of the band members, as well as everyone on
the dance floor, and even the obnoxious girls at the table, all
turned to the back of the ballroom. Turning, Katie spotted some
commotion near the bathrooms as numerous students fled from that
direction while the remainder of the crowd remained fixed on the
sight of Peter Broward, staggering from the bathroom and collapsing
to the floor in his blood soaked tuxedo with a large knife,
protruding from the side of his head.

“Oh my god,” Katie gasped, placing her hands
to her mouth before realizing where Peter had come from.
“Mark.”

As teachers rushed to Peter’s side, Katie
too started toward the bathroom, pushing her way through the sea of
traumatized onlookers before coming to an abrupt halt at the edge
of the crowd as another man exited the bathroom. Unlike Peter, this
second man was not a student, however she did recognize him. He’d
taken their photo just minutes ago. However now, instead of a
camera in his hand, he was holding what appeared to be a gun.

Seeing the weapon, the teachers at Peter’s
side jumped to their feet and backed away as the photographer
raised the gun in their direction and very calmly approached his
victim.

Katie wanted to run. Every instinct told her
to hightail it out of there, but frozen with the same fear that was
apparently keeping everyone else in the inner circle from fleeing,
she continued to watch.

Seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of eyes
surrounding him, the photographer stopped beside Peter’s body, the
football player’s open eyes and lack of movement confirming his
condition. With a smile, the man began whistling a little tune as
he placed the leather sole of his shoe on Peter’s head and leaning
over, yanked the blade from the jock’s skull.

The crowd gasped as crying began to break
out from numerous directions.

Wiping the blade off on his khakis, the
photographer looked up at the crowd, and zeroing right in on Katie,
simply said, “say cheese,” before vanishing into thin air.

Baffled by what they’d just witnessed, the
group of onlookers remained frozen for a moment, until the same
girl who had called Katie a whale, issued another statement; this
time in the form of a high pitched scream.

Like a gunshot starting a race, the scream
sent everyone fleeing toward the exits. The bottleneck of bodies
instantly created an impenetrable wall, on the other side of which
Katie spotted her father and sister trying to fight their way
through.

“Daddy!” Katie screamed as she started
toward them.

“Out of the way!” Phil yelled at the sea of
terrified kids pushing him away from his daughter.

“Katie, were coming!” Sarah yelled as a
panicked student crashed into her, knocking her to the ground.

“Sarah!” Phil cried as he turned from Katie
for moment to help his fallen daughter.

“Katherine Bishop,” a voice behind Katie
whispered as a hand grabbed her shoulder.

Spinning around, Katie saw the photographer
standing behind her.

Anticipating the scream, the man slapped his
bloodied hand over her mouth while issuing a “shhh,” as his eyes
traveled down to her stomach and then back up to her face. “We
wouldn’t want to upset the little one now, would we."

Katie didn’t know what to do. Standing in
the center of the abandoned dance floor, she could run in any
direction but where was she going to go? There was no way she was
going to get through the fleeing mob. Her eyes darting from side to
side, she suddenly spotted a glowing exit sign on stage.

“That’s him! That’s him!” Katie heard her
sister shout, followed by her father screaming “Katie!” as he fired
a shot into the air in a desperate attempt to make a hole in the
crowd.

Taking advantage of the photographer’s
momentary distraction, Katie knocked his hand away and bolted for
the stage.

Rolling his eyes, Jason let out a sigh
before locking eyes with the advancing officer who’d finally
managed to break through the crowd, and was now charging across the
dance floor. With a grin, Jason closed his eyes and
disappeared.

Hesitating in his advance, Phil stared at
the spot where his daughter’s attacker had just stood. “What the…?”
he commented as Sarah finally caught up to him.

“Katie,” Sarah refocused her father’s
attention as they looked up to see Katie on the stage and running
for the stage right exit.

“Katie! Stop!” Phil shouted, his command
going unheard as his daughter almost crashed through the door,
sliding to a halt as she grabbed the handle and yanked the door
open.

“We’re not done yet,” Jason greeted her on
the other side as the door swung open.

Screaming, she tried to slam the door shut
again, but was out muscled by Jason as he shoved the door out of
the way and grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair as she turned to
flee.

Charging her attacker, Phil ignored the
three steps and leapt onto the stage, almost losing his footing as
the rug beneath his feet slid, knocking over a couple of microphone
stands.

“Whoa! Dad! Careful there,” Jason taunted as
he pulled Katie to his chest, pulling her head back by her hair and
placing the knife to her throat.

Pointing his gun at the man, Phil continued
to move forward.

“I don’t think you get it. You move. She
dies,” Jason clarified the assumed understood rules. “Or maybe
you’ll understand this better.” Lowering the blade from the
terrified girl’s throat, he pressed it against her stomach.

Phil stopped.

“Yeah. Now you understand.”

“Shoot him!” Sarah shouted from the dance
floor beside the stage.

Keeping himself concealed behind the crying
girl, Jason shot Sarah a look before returning his attention to her
father.

“I don’t think so, Phil. I
can
call
you Phil right?”

Phil didn’t respond, keeping his gun trained
on its target.

“While I don’t doubt your abilities with
that thing, you and I both know that you wouldn’t take the chance
of shooting your little girl…s.”

“What do you want?” Phil growled.

“I have a little business with your
granddaughter and then, I’ll be on my way.”

“My granddaughter?” Phil asked in shock,
having no idea what the unborn child could possibly have to do with
this.

“Though...I did make a promise to a friend a
little while ago,” he glanced back at Sarah again.

“Jason, put the knife down,” Sarah calmly
pleaded.

“I’ve got big plans for that one, Phil.”

“You’re not going to touch my family.”

“Really,” Jason tilted his head to the side
as he turned the knife and began fake jabbing at Katie’s stomach,
stopping the tip of the blade just before making contact with the
fabric of the pink dress while taunting, “I’m not touching her. I’m
not touching her.”

Terrified Katie squealed with each fake jab
until finally closing her tear filled eyes just as Mark came
charging across the dance floor and, diving onto the stage, toppled
Jason like an angrily thrown bowling ball picking up the spare.

Opening her eyes at the commotion, Katie
turned to see Mark and the photographer crash into a group of spare
musical instruments. Though her father was only twenty feet in
front of her, her last thought had been focused on the door to her
back, so seeing her chance, she turned.

“Katie!” Phil shouted as his daughter
disappeared through the open door. “Go! Find her!” he yelled to
Sarah before charging the pile of instruments dancing on top of the
struggling kids.

Following her father’s instructions, Sarah
leapt onto the stage and ran after her sister, leaving her father
to deal with Jason.

“Let him go!” Phil ordered as he approached
the scuffle, his gun drawn on the commotion before realizing that
it was only Mark under the pile of guitars and brass instruments.
“Mark! Where is he?!”