Dancergirl (18 page)

“Charlie! He’s coming. Wants to drop off a bag—” I freeze at the sound of the front door being unlocked.

I stare at Charlie, terrified.

He puts a finger to his lips and points to the closet. It’s the only place we could possibly hide. I pray the door won’t squeak.

It doesn’t. The only thing that hangs in the closet is a leather jacket, although plenty of boxes are stacked on the floor. There’s barely enough room for Charlie and me to squeeze in. He grabs the door’s painted edge, but the knob is on the outside. The door doesn’t completely close.

I pray Ryan drops the gym bag in the living room. Then he can leave the apartment, walk to the deli…

Footsteps move down the hall. They cross into the other bedroom. Okay, fine. He’ll drop off the bag in there—no! He’s already out and crossing into this room. My palms are sweaty with fear.
Omigod!
A horrible realization strikes. I’m not holding the Chinese-food delivery bag.

Did I drop it in his bedroom when I climbed in? That would explain why Ryan’s in here.

My eyes focus on the thin slice of air between the door and the frame. When Ryan crosses into view, I glance down like a little kid playing hide-n-seek.

If I don’t see you, you can’t see me.

A fist pounds the apartment door.

“Mr. Ryan?” Jacy calls. “We’re waiting.”

Ryan grunts, drops the gym bag and exits. My knees tremble with relief. The front door slams. Charlie and I tumble from the cramped closet.

“That was close,” he whispers. “Plus, it smelled so bad in there I was afraid I’d gag.”

Charlie’s right. I was so scared, it hadn’t penetrated that the closet stinks—the same smell Jacy discovered. I’m not sure if it came from the one of the boxes or the jacket but I don’t care.

“We are so gone, Charlie.”

Just as we get to the doorway, I glance back to make sure everything’s the same as when we came in. That’s when I see the delivery bag. I’d dropped it beside the desk. Charlie gives me a horrified look as I scoop it up. Then we rush into the other bedroom to find yet another shock. We’d left the window wide open!

When we get to ground level, I hit Clarissa’s number.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“In the yard. Is it safe to leave the building?”

Clarissa raises her voice. “It’s Ali.” She lowers it. “We just got to the deli. Jacy’ll tell Ryan about Samantha, so don’t come here. Meet back at your place.”

It isn’t until Charlie and I are in my living room that my breath returns to something even close to normal.

Everyone talks at once until Jacy puts a stop to it. One by one, we go over what happened—the stuff we saw in the back bedroom, the way Ryan insisted he had to go upstairs to drop off the bag, how lucky it was that Jacy pounded on the door when he did. And exactly how many times Ryan asked Jacy when he thought I would show up.

“I told him you had to buy rice and a bunch of other stuff at the market for your mom,” Jacy says. “And then you had to bring it here, so it might take a while.”

“The guy creeped me out so bad, I’m still shaking.” Clarissa shudders. “He had this look when Jacy told him about Samantha. I thought he was going to rush right out and break her neck.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. You should see his place. All those pictures of guards and dogs on the walls.” Charlie stands. “Okay. I’ll go back to my house and burn a couple of DVDs so Ali can take one to the police station.”

“Cool,” Jacy says. “Charlie, makes copies and— What’s wrong?”

Charlie’s checked his cell. “Damn, Ace. I was supposed to be at work half an hour ago. I can make copies there, although I don’t get out until eleven. That’s kind of late—”

“Police stations don’t exactly turn into pumpkins at the stroke of midnight,” Sonya observes. “They’re open 24/7.”

“I’d rather wait for my mom, anyway,” I say. “Now that we
finally
have proof I need to tell her first. And have her come with me. The police will take it way more seriously with Mom standing there, treating them to her ‘this is important so you best not ignore me’ stare.”

Jacy laughs. “Ali’s right. I’ve been the recipient of that way too many times.”

“What time does your mom get home?” Charlie asks.

“Early tomorrow morning. Even if I leave a message at the nurse’s station, she’ll never find someone to cover this late, so it doesn’t matter when you get out of work.”

Sonya shoots up. “Crap! What time is it? My parents are having their holiday blowout and Clarissa promised to play waitress with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Ali.” Clarissa looks at Sonya. “Maybe I should stay—”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. Jacy’s here. I’m just lucky you were all around to help, considering it’s the first day of vacation.”

“Woo-hoo!” Clarissa tries.

I smile. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Hugs all around, Merry Christmases, and before you know it I’m alone with Jacy. He makes a face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I have to leave for a little while, too. My weather group’s having an online chat.”

“Now? Aren’t you on vacation?”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t want the project hanging over me for two weeks, so I insisted we finish it today. We were supposed to do it earlier. Remember when I went downstairs? I had to ask
quiksilver
to move it to, like, ten minutes from now. I can’t change it again.”

“Use my computer.”

He shakes his head. “Data’s in mine. We’ve been collecting it for months. Plus, your connection’s too slow. Shouldn’t take too long. Do you want to come with me?”

And watch him talk to
quiksilver?
I think not.

“I’ll be okay,” I say.

“You sure?” Jacy asks. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine. It’s just…”

“I know.” He looks like he wants to say something more. Instead, he turns toward the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I smile. “Thanks. Not just for that but, you know, for everything.”

“You would have done the same. It’s what friends do.” He swivels his head to find, and then unlock, the lock. “Close up right away, okay?”

I turn the lock and think about what he said.

It’s what friends do.

And that really is what we are, what we’ve always been—just friends. The kiss in the bedroom was a crazy mistake in an insane day.

With everything else I have to worry about, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But I can’t fool myself. Right now, it feels like a very big deal, indeed.

My cell chirps about an hour later. Jacy’s picture appears along with a text.

Come to the roof. I need you.

Why didn’t he tell me he had to go up there one final time to finish the project? I would have kept him company, helped when it got too dark for him to see. Now he’s stuck.

In the hall, I take a moment to lock the apartment door. Despite my rush, I’m not about to do anything idiotic. At the top of the roof-access staircase, I hit the push bar and step onto the tar paper.

“Jacy?”

The breeze brushes my face like a ghostly hand. Electricity crackles ominously through overhead lines. The melancholy cry of a saxophone from a nearby apartment sends a shiver down my back.

The bulb over the doorway pools light directly in front of me. Beyond that, the surrounding buildings, satellite dishes and antennae create deep shadows, all the darker when contrasted with the silvery light of a just-rising half-moon.

The wind shifts slightly as I move forward.

“Jacy! Where are you?”

A spiral of smoke drifts from my right. I can just about make out a ring of stones lying on the tar paper. The crack addict’s been back, although I don’t see him anywhere. Or is the smoke coming from the survivalist? Is that who’s been hanging on my roof all this time—

The text message I receive from Jacy at that very moment is more than a little strange: You r it.

Confused, I scan the roof. Steam vents emerge from the asphalt. Mr. Detwiler’s wooden pigeon coop takes up the northeast corner. The building’s large water tank stands in the center.

I have absolutely no idea where Jacy is.

Just as I open my mouth to call again, the fear that’s been bubbling inside breaks to the surface. Jacy would not play stupid games. Not tonight.

I wheel around.
Got to get out of here.
Before I can get inside the building, back to the safety of my locked apartment, someone steps out of the shadows, blocking the doorway so I can’t escape.

Ryan! The black pants and bomber jacket I saw in his closet make him nearly invisible in the dark.

“Don’t be scared,” he tells me. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Where’s Jacy?”

Ryan shrugs. “Haven’t seen him since the deli.”

“He’s not on the roof?” Shock cuts through the fear. “How did you get his phone?”

He laughs. “Finders keepers…”

With all the drama, Jacy must have left his cell at the deli. Or Ryan jacked it when Jace wasn’t looking. Either way…

He steps closer, but I counter the move.

“No need to be afraid, Alicia. I’ve watched over you from the street for years—and you never knew it, did you? I saw the way you grew into a beautiful woman.” His voice, which at first sounded soft, hardens. “But it got difficult to protect you once those videos went out on the net. I had to figure out a way to stop it.”

I cop a tough attitude that I in no way feel. “By dropping a camera in front of my window? Tell me. Where did you
stand?” I point to the Clinton Street side. “There? Or a little ways over there!”

I pray he’ll step away from the door to show me the specific spot. Then I can make a run for it….

Ryan doesn’t even consider moving. “It doesn’t matter where I stood, Alicia. All that matters is the plan worked. It hurt me to do it but there you were, shamelessly flaunting yourself to the entire world. You wouldn’t stop, either. But as soon as you saw how foolish you looked—no more
dancergirl.
” He shakes his head. “Still, the genie was out of the bottle. I needed a better plan to keep you safe. Had to find a way to get the cameras into your room so I could make sure you were tucked into your bed every night. That weekend you and your mother went away. I watched both of you walk down the street with overnight bags—”

The urban-survival rule Mom drummed into me countless times kicks in:
If you think there might be trouble, start screaming and run!

That’s exactly what I do. Shriek, “Help!” and dash toward the fire-escape ladder.

Ryan, however, is just as quick. He darts after me, extending an arm to hook a belt loop with his fingers. He snaps me back. Cups a large, clammy hand around my mouth.

“Not very smart.”

He pulls me to his chest. My back touches his body and I instinctively arch forward. He keeps his left hand over my lips. Something hard presses against my waist…

He listens for anyone who might have heard me scream. I know what the chances of that are. If somebody
had
heard and realized it didn’t come from a neighbor’s TV, they might bother to glance out the window—but wouldn’t see anything. They’d look down. Nobody ever remembers the roof.
And Brooklyn nights are filled with so many random noises anyhow.

Think! Stay calm!

I have my cell. I’ll find a way to beep 505. Mom will call…

Somehow, Ryan reads my mind. He gropes my pockets, pulls out the phone. His jacket stinks of sweat and sage. That’s when I understand what the smell is. It’s a ritual.
His
ritual. Just like those horrible people I read about online. Instead of making me wear a red dress, it’s Ryan who puts on the jacket and then burns the leaves that turn him into a watchdog. A sicko guardian. He wore it when he broke in to my bedroom, wore it to the dance concert—

Something cold is slapped across my mouth. I struggle, try to pull it off. Ryan grabs my arms, holds them in front of me and winds more of the silvery electrical tape around my wrists.

He pulls me to the tar-paper-covered ground. I end up facedown, right cheek pressed into the gritty asphalt. Ryan lowers himself and covers me with his body.

“I can’t share you, Alicia,” he whispers. “I had it all under control. But then those people, hundreds of thousands, started thinking they know you. Saying things about you that I knew to be untrue…”

I twist back and forth, trying desperately to wriggle out from under him. He has me pinned. A glint of something catches my eyes. A shard of glass, inches away, reflects a bit of the moon. The shard isn’t very big, but it looks sharp.

I
have
to find a way to grab it.

As if in response to my silent plea, something flutters to my left. City blackbird, or pigeon, nesting on top of the water tank. Ryan hears the noise, too. Instinctively, he rises a bit to check it out.

That’s when I make my move. I use my toes to roll onto my
shoulder and grab the glass. With a twist, I swing my taped wrists up in a desperate stabbing motion.

I aim for Ryan’s eye but scratch his cheek. It’s enough for him to rear back.

I scramble to my feet. Race for the doorway.

And he moves diagonally to cut me off. Shifting direction, I head for the closest hiding spot: behind the water tank. Ryan swears but then grows quiet. I can’t tell whether he’s going left or right around the tank—or if he plans to wait it out on the other side.

My wrists are still wrapped together, though my fingers are free, so I’m able to rip the tape from my lips. But then, just as I open my mouth, at the last moment I decide not to scream. Not only won’t it help, it’ll make things worse. Ryan will know exactly where I’m standing. He’ll get to me way before anyone else can.

Something squeaks. Blackbird. Disturbed for the second time. There’s a
whoosh
of wings. Does that mean Ryan’s circling the tank from the left? I hesitate—and am rewarded with a slight, metallic
ping.
Yes. The bird startled Ryan and he bumped into the tank….

I rise to half-toe and move right.

Ryan knows how to move quietly, too. After the ping, I don’t hear anything else. Did he switch directions? Are we countering each other in some weird water-tank dance, or heading straight into one another’s arms?

I decide to keep going. Despite the breeze, sweat trickles down my back.

Step. Listen. Step. Look.

The rush of blood in my ears is so loud I can’t hear the bird. Did Ryan get past her?

Ping.

Once again, he bumps into the tank. Good. Still coming from my left, though not as quiet as me.

But he’s smarter. I take another step. And there he is, beady eyes staring at the spot he knew I’d come from. He tosses a bunch of mints. A couple of pieces hit the tank—
ping, ping.
One of them hits my chest.

“That little game was fun, Alicia, but I’d like to go back to where we left off.”

“No!”
Unlike my first scream, there’s no mistaking this one for anything but an epic mix of fear and loathing.

“Ali!”

Jacy stands in the roof-access doorway, clearly lit by the overhead bulb.

Immediately, Ryan pulls me into the shadow cast by the tank. He covers my mouth with his hand. I yell anyway, but all that comes out is a muffled groan. Barely audible to anyone more than an inch away—unless your ears are hypersensitive because your eyes aren’t.

“Ali!” Jacy swivels his head. “I know you’re here!”

Ryan tightens his grip. I stamp on his toes. He gasps, but doesn’t release me.

It’s enough. Jacy tracks the sound. He stares directly at us, although I know all he really sees is utter darkness.

Or is it?

“Let her go, Ryan,” he says.

Nobody moves. It’s like a bad rehearsal when the ensemble gets behind the count and the group falters to a stop. But there’s no starting over on the roof, only continuation. Or moving in a new direction, which is what Ryan chooses.

He drags me toward the pigeon coop, stopping a few feet from the roof’s edge. He holds me tight, but could easily shove me over the edge.

Jacy, however, follows our progress. He walks forward cautiously, sliding one foot across the tar paper, transferring his weight when it’s safe, sliding the other foot. Slow going but Jacy doesn’t hesitate.

“Let. Ali. Go,” he says.

“Well, well, well.” Ryan acts like he just noticed we had company. “If it isn’t our little blind boy.”

“Looking right at our cameraman. Who loves listening in on private conversations,” Jacy retorts. “But I’m not blind yet. Not for a bunch of years. Let her go! I’m the one who figured out what you did. Not Ali. If you’re mad at anyone, it should be me.”

Ryan removes his left hand from my mouth. His right hand, however, holds my upper arm tightly. “Tell him, Alicia. Tell him how I protect you.”

“Jace—” So much fear has settled in, I can’t make my tongue work.

“It’s okay, Ali,” Jacy says. “Did he hurt you?”

Yes,
I want to cry. “I’m fine. He’s got my arm—”

“Okay. She doesn’t want you to touch her, Ryan, so let go.”

He stiffens. “That’s part of the problem. You let this kid tell you what to do, Alicia—”

Mom’s second rule roars at me:
If screaming and running don’t do it, go for the balls.

I slam my knee up as hard as I can. Ryan doubles over. Surprised, he releases my arm. Immediately, I dart over to Jacy. Grab his elbow. It’s awkward. My wrists are taped, Jacy’s off balance. He trips on a steam vent. He falls, taking me with him. By the time I right myself, Ryan’s on us.

Jacy, however, refuses to give up. Somehow, he finds a broken antenna. He whips it around, catching Ryan in the nose.

“Run, Ali!” Jacy screams. “Get help!”

But I can’t leave. Even if Jacy could see perfectly, he’s no match for Ryan. The ex-cop is taller, heavier and trained to hurt people.

It’s over in seconds. Ryan twists Jacy’s arm until the antenna drops, then pitches it over the edge. The metal rod clatters into the alley six floors below.

“You’ll be down there next if you don’t behave,” Ryan growls.

He pushes Jacy to the edge of the roof, grabs a piece of cable and ties him to the coop.

Then he turns to me. “You’re going to behave nicely now, too, aren’t you, Alicia? Because if you don’t, I’ll untie your little friend and off he goes. Every cop knows accidents happen all the time on rooftops….”

Behind Jacy’s back, a light flickers. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the flashlight he had with him earlier in the day. On, off, on. An SOS signal?

Luckily, Ryan’s too busy scaring the bejesus out of me to notice.

“Then again,” he continues, “perhaps his death won’t be ruled an accident but a different kind of tragedy. Suicide is so sad because it could be prevented.
If only we’d known he was so depressed.
That’s what parents always say….”

He’s gotten to within inches of my body. Something alerts him and he turns. “What the—”

In seconds, Ryan pounces on Jacy again and wrestles the flashlight away.

“What do you think this is?” He uses the light to smash Jacy across the cheek. “A cartoon adventure—”

I run toward them. “Mr. Ryan, please. Don’t hurt him!”

Jacy’s expression changes. The fear is gone, replaced by
something else. His genius brain, thinking madly, has come up with a plan.

“You’re right,” he says. “I’m not much of a superhero. But Ali—”

Another smash to the face. Rage deepens Ryan’s voice. “Her name is Ali
cia!
”

Blood drips from Jacy’s mouth. His eyes search for mine. I can’t tell whether he sees me or not. Doesn’t matter.

I know exactly what he wants me to do.

There’s only one chance to get it right. With as unobtrusive a movement as possible, I shift so that I’m directly in front of Ryan. With Jacy to my left, my feet slide into fifth position. Just like Quentin preaches, I shift my entire weight onto the back leg…waiting…waiting…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan,” Jacy tells him. “What I meant to say is, Alicia is Batman’s Queen!”

No hesitation. The instant he says the last word, Jacy ducks out of the way. My forward leg comes up at the same time. High, fast, straight. A perfect grande battement. Toes pointed, aiming directly for the spot underneath Ryan’s chin.

Shoe crunches bone. Ryan’s head snaps up and back. His knees buckle, and he collapses onto the tar-paper roof.

The rest of the night is a blur. Sirens, police, somebody cuts the tape around my wrists but I don’t remember who.

The one thing I’m certain about, though, is Jacy’s excitement. As soon as Ryan went down, I pulled the cable from Jacy, grabbed his arm, and we hustled into the stairwell. He couldn’t stop talking.

“Once I got onto the roof and locked onto you, Ali, I was
there.
I could tell when he pulled you away, where he stopped, when he got close again. I couldn’t see, but I knew. It wasn’t
only sounds, either. I sensed it. How scared you were, how crazy he is…”

My knees are like Jell-O. Jacy feels that, too. He puts his arm around me and leads me to the elevator.

Confidently, like he knows just how many steps it will take.