Maya stopped at a phone booth outside of the Redington Performing Arts Theatre and placed a phone call which lasted about two minutes, and ended in Maya's hasty "Just come, okay?" and hanging up on the party at the other end of the line.
Then, she and Bo made their way around to the back of the building, where, with Bo holding both the flashlight and the battered umbrella, she began to attack a most formidable lock installed on a massive back door.
"What makes you so sure she's here?" Bo asked nervously, watching as Maya's quick hands flew expertly over the lock with a grace even Shirley had not quite mastered. She manipulated the makeshift tools she held with an easy confidence as she replied patiently.
"I told you Bo, before she left she said-"
"I know- 'Don't worry, I won't be missing out on any fun.' But how do you know she didn't just mean the play?"
"But that's just it (pass me that cuticle compressor, will you? The small one, with the pink plastic handle)- she did mean the play. She meant she wouldn't be missing it because she would be there- she and whoever she might have arranged to meet with, for whatever purpose."
"And who might that have been?" Bo asked skeptically.
"Why, the head of T.R.A.C.E. of course." Maya said grimly, just as the lock gave a muted 'click', and she swung the door open an inch or so, whispered "Voila!", and slipped inside.
Bo followed immediately behind.
* * *
"No final requests? Last words? 'The will is in the top drawer'?"
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Shirley asked bitterly.
Grey had placed her with her back to the big, soundproof back door, and she was standing about a foot away from them, her arms at her sides.
She looked exactly like a prisoner all set for execution, right down to the black strip of curtain Grey had tied mockingly over her eyes. As if she could have seen much, even without it!
It was as black as pitch backstage, with only a small pool of dim light for Grey to see clearly enough to shoot by. It was filtered through the thick glass above the door, coming from the streetlights and moon outside.
She couldn't even hear the odd car going by- it was as if she was swaddled in a thick, flannel blanket. She was even beginning to feel oddly cozy in the dark silence.
Was this, she wondered, how she was going to die? Cut off from everything of the world outside, alone with a man who had attempted to kill her cousin and best friend, and was now going to kill her? I might have known, she thought wearily.
Then, oddly enough, just as she was beginning to feel comfortable in the warm silence, she felt a rush of cool, rain-speckled air at her back. Before she had much time to wonder what it was, she heard a voice whisper something, and, as Grey cried out in confusion, something wet and cold, with sharp, ripping prongs, thudded into her back and sent her sprawling.
At least, she thought, with some confused hysteria, I'm not dying alone.
* * *
When Maya entered the theatre, she stumbled into something warm, firm and a bit slippery, and fell into and on top of it with a muffled oath. With a much sharper, less mild oath, Bo tripped over her ankles and tumbled down onto the heap, the umbrella whistling by Maya's face as the door swung shut with a distinct click, and the flashlight fell, going out as it did. For a moment there was silence. Then somebody spoke, from the bottom of the pile of warm, dry, wet, soft, sharp and cold teenage bodies. It was familiar. It said:
"Well, am I dead yet?"
"Shirley?!" Maya gasped, struggling to sit up, pushing her heavy, floppy black rubber hood away from her face.
"Maya?" Shirley sounded puzzled.
"Shirley?!" Bo exclaimed, as Maya impatiently pushed him off her legs.
"Bo?!" Now Shirley was baffled. "What are you doing here?!"
"An excellent question," came Michael Grey's icy voice from the darkness, "And as soon as I can find a bloody light or something, I am going to get an answer!"
No sooner had he said this than had Maya scrabbled for, and found, the flashlight (okay, Maya) torch Bo had dropped. Sitting up on Shirley, she quickly flicked the light on and then off, directing the beam at the man for the briefest of seconds. It was more than enough time.
"Uncle Paul?" she whispered in disbelief. Her father's trusted, childhood friend was a cold-blooded murder; the head of a criminal syndicate that had tried, on various occasions, to eliminate her- probably on his orders. It was certainly disillusioning, alright.
"My dear Maya," he said sarcastically. "It certainly took you long enough! I thought your very own, dear cousin would provide a more enticing bait. But it seems I was wrong- I was just about to kill her."
"You would have waited." Maya said wearily, sliding off of Shirley, who breathed a quick, soft sigh of relief,. "I know you, Uncle Paul."
"So you do, my dear, so you do." he sounded pleased. "Yes, I would have waited for you. But the longer I was forced to wait, the sooner I would have shot Miss Holmes, here, whilst you looked on."
Bo, lying on his back in the shadows where he had landed when Maya pushed him off her legs, was silent. He had the strangest feeling that he was watching a movie- a movie, simply because he played no part of it. Even Shirley had only a walk-on role- the central characters were Maya, and this strange, rather crazed-looking man. The dialogue was theirs, the plot was theirs; not his. Not Shirley's. Not this time.
It was an eerie feeling, the lack of control. Even when Shirley had been kidnapped by his old gang members when they had first met each other, and at that past Halloween- then, he had maintained a degree of control. But here, now, it wouldn't have felt right. They were spectators right now, not participants.
Did Shirley know?
One glance was all it took to find out- she was sitting at the edge of the gray pool of light, the blindfold (which had come loose when she fell) dangling from her fingers, watching with great intensity as the 'skit' unfolded.
She ant the two participants were in two separate worlds, and whatever happened, for at least a little while, she would simply watch as it did.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day," he muttered softly, so softly that even she didnÕt hear him.
She was only a foot away- he could have reached out and touched her. But the light-pool ended just a few inches beyond his toes, so while she was clearly visible, he was completely hidden.
He and Shirley were just as many worlds apart as were she and the two who stood, facing each other- Maya, and this ordinary-looking little man who might have been a million harmless professions . . . if only he didn't have the gun.
"Why, Uncle Paul?" May was asking, her voice sounding more tired than Bo or Shirley could ever have believed possible, "Why T.R.A.C.E.?"
"Ah, yeas, here she comes, the nosy, poking, meddling little brat I know," the man, Uncle Paul/Michael Grey, sneered. "Always sticking her nose where it doesn't belong; her mouth where it's least wanted. Always asking the questions that shouldn't be asked."
"For example . . ." Maya prompted him stiffly, the fatigue of the past little while - and, in a way, the past year - showing more plainly on her face with each second that passed.
"Oh, shall we say, 'Daddy, how come you are always the one that discovers the new leads on T.R.A.C.E.? I mean, they're practically dumped in your lap!' Or, perhaps, 'You know, it's funny how Uncle Paul is going away a lot more lately than he used to before. Do you know where he goes?'
"You meddling, nosy little brat!" He finally raged, face flushed with anger. Maya only swayed slightly, calm brown eyes opening ever so vaguely wider.
"Why?!" he ranted on, shaking his free hand at her in exasperated fury, "Why?! Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut, girl? I had it all sorted out- I'd throw T.R.A.C.E. at your father, dangle it in front of him, maybe act out a revenge killing on you or your mum, and I'd finally be even with him! Finally!"
"What did he do to you?" Maya wanted to know, although it sounded like an effort just to speak the words. Shirley suddenly wondered if her cousin had actually slept since the existence of T.R.A.C.E. had become known to Geoff Norton.
"What did he do to me?! What did he do?! I'll bloody well tell you what he did, girl! He stole my bloody job! I was better than he ever was, but he had connections." he dragged out the last word with a sneer. "So, he became C.I.S.F.A., and I, I became just another agent."
"You were a lousy agent anyhow," Maya said, recklessly bitter. "Daddy's miles ahead of you, you know? He's simply super. He ran down a Jeep in Rwanda in his bare feet when we were looking for Aunt Joanna! He can take on any man with his bare hands. He's smarter than anybody I know. You- you're just something that crossed over to the other side for a bit of extra cash. You're nothing."
The man's eyes narrowed. Raising the gun, he aimed it at a spot a half-inch above her left shoulder, and fired. She didn't even flinch.
"Don't be so rash again, Maya, or I just might decide to spare you my explanations, and simply kill you."
Shirley, settled almost comfortably on the floor, smile grimly to herself.
"He's got it all planned out," she thought. "The only thing he didn't count on was that May wouldn't cooperate and die like a good little girl." It was then that she saw their way out. Bo, watching Shirley, saw the familiar, I have to know look appear on her face, and vanish minutes later, replaced by the equally familiar look of triumph.
And in that second, Bo knew that Shirley had gone from being a bystander to an active participant once more.
She just can't keep out of anything, he thought ruefully. We'll just have to tie her to her bed or something to keep her safe.
But as soon as he had the thought, he abandoned it.
Nah- she'd either get loose, or find something mysterious about her ceiling to investigate.
He sat against the stone wall, still swaddled in the comforting darkness, and waited to see what Shirley planned to do.
"Well, Maya, it's been fascinating, it really has," Grey was saying in a bored tone. "But it's high time to end this little comedy. If you would kindly stand very still, I'll try to be obliging and kill you quickly."
But as Maya raised her eyes to look at him, before she even had time to execute a slow, weary blink, Shirley acted.
She moved quickly and quietly, and had she been anywhere else, itÕs doubtful that Grey would have noticed her at all. As it was, she was directly behind Maya, and therefore couldn't escape observation.
Even so, Grey had only time for the hand that held the gun to falter, and drift in Shirley's direction, before she slammed all of her weight down onto the horizontal bar that opened the heavy fireproof/soundproof door, and shoved it open to the sound of shrill, earsplitting sirens.
She had been prepared for relative brightness of the night sky, and the rush of cold, wet air. She had even been partially prepared for the late night traffic on the nearby street. What she hadn't been prepared for were the ten or twelve policemen, armed to the teeth, who waited outside the door as Maya had requested when she called in. They were headed by Inspector Markey and his adversary, Detective Tremain.
The sight caused her to stumble backwards into Maya, jolting her awake, and into action.
With a gasp, the teenaged English girl ran straight into the welcoming throng of wet, startled police officers, one of whom she decided to drench even further by flinging her arms around his waist, and sobbing noisily down his front.
Shirley had been about to follow suit when a pair of arms seized her from behind, and a pair of fingers clamped about her windpipe. It was Grey- she didn't need to see him to know it- it was rather obvious, when you got right down to it. But that didn't matter.
All that mattered was the death grip he had on her throat, and the threats he was uttering to her life as the room began to swim, and purple and green spots appeared before her eyes.
Markey, she decided in a detached way, looked good in purple and green. Tremain looked awful.
"This is the police," Tremain began, "we have you surrounded."
"Release your hostage and come out with your hands above your head," Markey picked up on the line.
Grey, Shirley thought, said something. She missed what it was. She couldn't really hear all that well anymore, and the spots were turning from purple and green to blue and white. The only sounds she could hear through the ever-thickening haze of dots were her own rasping, choking attempts to breathe.
Then, something hit her in the center of her back with a dull thunk- Grey. But why?
As she fell to the ground, the world kindly slowed down for her. Somebody shouted her name. The spots changed to gray, began to melt together, turned black- as black as pitch.
That, she thought dimly, CAN'T be good. Then, Matt was right . . .
Then she slid into a cool, sweet oblivion, where she stayed for what seemed like decades, before even attempting to find her way back to where she belonged.
* * *
"Shirley?" the voice was faint at first, but grew louder. "Shirley!"
Bo. He was standing over her. She knew it, even though she couldn't feel or see him.
"Bo?" she tried to answer, but her mouth wouldn't work. And even if it had, her throat felt like it had been put through a wringer- every breath that she took was excruciatingly painful.
Where was she? It was warm, and dry.
"Shirley?"
Maya was there too, then. Shirley tried to say her name, and managed a grunt.
Oh, dear, she thought, dismayed, that hurt. It sounded awful, too.
"Shirley?" now it was her father. "Shirley, can you hear me?"
"Is she awake?" Gran.
"She made some kind of noise," Bo told her.
"What kind of noise?" Gran again.
"A kind of grunt." Now the voice was Joanna Holmes's, coming from Shirley's right. It was then that Shirley became aware of a pressure on her right hand. Mum was holding it.
"Mum?" she rasped. There was a flurry of activity.
"I'm here, Darling," Joanna said quickly, and a shadow moved closer toward Shirley.
"Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital," Joanna told her, gently squeezing her hand. "That horrible man is locked safely away, thanks to Bo."
"Bo?"
"Yes," Gran spoke, "He jumped Fraser from behind. Apparently he had escaped his notice, by hiding in the shadows. Now, one thing I can't quite understand-"
"Fraser?"
"Mm, yes. Paul Fraser is apparently Michael Grey's real name." Robert informed his daughter, coming into focus beside Gran at the foot of the bed.
"You were saying, Peggy?" Joanna prompted Gran.
"Well, I can't understand why Fraser waited until we were almost home to kidnap Shirley! And why, Maya, dear, did you ever take off for Bo's house in the middle of the night?"
"I was worried about Shirley," Maya replied calmly, "and I thought Bo might know where she had gone."
"And he magically knew she had been taken to the theater?" now Robert was skeptical.
Shirley lay in her bed, wearing a blue cotton hospital gown that was very drafty in the back, tucked in ell with blue and white sheets, and listened silently as explanations were warily demanded, and just as warily given.
At last, all parties were appeased, and at Shirley's request the adults filed out and left the teens behind.
"So it really happened that way?" she asked softly, painfully. "Bo jumped Grey- Fraser?"
"Yes!" Maya exclaimed, leaning over the bed, her long, soft brown hair falling gently onto Shirley's chest. "He was simply splendid, Shirley, really he was!"
"Then that's another one I owe you," Shirley told Bo wearily. "How ,many is that, now?"
"I couldn't tell you," Bo chuckled.
"So I'm really over my head in life-debts," Shirley attempted to joke.
"That's okay," Bo reassured her. "You can take your time paying them back, if you want."
Her hand crept across the blanket, found his, and squeezed it gently. Then the other one did the same for Maya, who squeezed back.
"What else happened?" she wanted to know. "I mean, with Markey and Tremain and all of that. And- whatÕs wrong with my throat?"
"Tremain didn't recognize you in the dark," Bo told her, "and Markey was too busy trying to find out what I was doing there to even think about you. In the end, you were loaded into the ambulance and brought here without either of them even glancing at you."
"And as for your throat," Maya added, "Uncle Paul half-strangled you, and almost crushed your windpipe. So you really should be grateful you still have one at all."
Shirley winced at the description, sinking deeper into her fat, linen-covered hospital pillows with a contented little sigh.
"So, Fraser was the head of T.R.A.C.E.?" she wanted to know.
"It seems that way," Maya sighed. "I called Daddy and told him, and he wasn't all that surprised- sometimes, I don't think I give him the credit he deserves."
"I know the feeling." Shirley thought of numerous times her father, mother, and grandmother had bested her in something. Once her pride had recovered from the initial blow, she had realized that there were some things you couldn't learn from books- those were the ones experience taught you, and you simply had to live things through in order to learn.
Maybe this was one of them- for her and for Maya.
As she was thinking this, she found herself getting drowsier and drowsier. She tried to tell Bo and Maya, explain that she had to rest, but before she could, she fell asleep.
The next time she woke up she felt more relaxed, and her throat had dulled to a painful throb. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.
"She's awake!" called someone, and the next the thing she knew, a mound of brightly-wrapped presents was deposited on her bed.
"How do you feel?" Parker demanded.
"Parker, she's in the hospital! How do you think she feels?" Alicia demanded in total exasperation, before turning to Shirley and shrieking with horror:
"Oh! Where did you get that robe?!"
"Are you any better?" Carson wanted to know.
"They said you almost died." Blake put in grimly.
"How's your throat feel?" Bart asked.
"Cool- it's like, green and brown and orange," Hype breathed. "Can I touch it?"
"They wanted to come with us," Bo grinned sheepishly at his friend, as Maya smacked away Hype's outstretched hand.
"Hey, what's this do?"
"STINK! DON'T TOUCH THAT!!" A chorus of voices rang out. The guilty party hastily withdrew his hand from a red lever, face blushed almost as bright.
"What are you all doing here?" Shirley croaked happily.
"We heard Maya and Bo were coming," said a thoroughly unexpected voice, "So- we thought we'd tag along."
Shirley stared in quite disbelief as Molly Hardy stepped forward, a small, gold-wrapped package in her hand.
"Here you are, Holmes. I can't say I was entirely sorry when I first heard the news, but- well, I realized I hadn't anything better to do, so I decided . . ."
Shirley knew it was as close to a 'Get Well Soon' as she would ever get from Molly, so she smiled calmly, and accepted the gift.
Although everybody had fallen silent during the exchange between the two enemies
"(even though not everybody there was aware that they were enemies), they now began to shout and laugh and holler as Shirley was ordered to open her gifts. They ranged from a package of fake cigarettes (Stink) to a blue sweater set (Alicia) to a small, electronic listening/recording device in a finger ring (Maya, of course).
When at last they all left, it was because the nurse had chased them out at nine p.m., leaving Shirley holding Molly's unwrapped gift in her hand.
Curious as ever, Shirley pulled back the ribbon and tapes, exposing a white cardboard jewelry box. Lifting the lid, she saw a tiny gold magnifying glass charm on a matching chain .It took only minutes to find the note in the secret compartment, which was in the teeny-tiny handle, and she read it aloud to herself with an almost absurd sense of relief.
"To the best of enemies- if anybody is going to have the pleasure of killing you, then it is going to be me. Someday, Holmes, I promise."
Shirley fastened the chain around her neck and settled back, enormously relieved to know that some things would likely never change.
