Fly With Fire (47 page)

Claude went back to the
platform and let her stand alone on her trapeze and revel in her moment. He was
proud of her. Bursting with pride in her. All eyes were on her. And he knew why
she was the star. Now the last descent before Persephone’s rise into Earthly
spring.

Mo was almost lightheaded
from her joy. She had done it! The crowd stood, cheering and clapping. It was
as if thunder filled the huge arena. She took it in. “Thanks Gram.”  She
looked at Claude and nodded, his pride was evident. She smiled and gave the
trapeze the thrust to meet him for the final descent to Hell.

Claude stood prepared to fly
to Mo. The stage would darken while they descended. Red lights would focus on
them as the other worldly keening welcomed them to the bowels of Hades. Then Persephone
would arise alone into the sweet, cool spring of paradise.

Zeus was in place on the
platform; the concerned father who will threaten Hades a last time for the
theft of his beloved daughter. He watched as Claude prepared to fly out for his
last dance with Mo. Without hesitation he made his move.

Zack had known that Mo had
been working on perfecting her quadruple. It had worried him but he had never
mentioned that worry. Like him, she had a job to do. Every precaution was taken
but the inherent danger was always there. He watched her from his place on the
top tier. There was a web of rigging for the aerial show above and in front of
him. Cables, ropes, rings and zip lines. He had to look through them to see Mo.
See her he did as she executed her spectacular quadruple as easily as a bird
takes wing. His chest heaved out a long breath and he realized he’d been
holding it. He watched the audience go insane as Mo swung standing on the
trapeze. This was her world. This was where she belonged. This was the
culmination of a lifetime of work. He swelled with pride for her. But that
pride was checked by the gloomy realization that this was his goodbye. “I love
you, Mo,” he whispered. He needed to get back downstairs. He turned to do so
but couldn’t help but take a last look. He was shocked by what he saw.

Misha crashed into Claude so
unexpectedly the Frenchman lost his balance and fell to the net. Most of the
audience was unsure whether this was part of the show but repeaters gasped;
certain something was wrong. By the time Claude was bouncing on the net below,
Misha was reaching out to Mo, whose realization of the change came mid-air.

“Misha? Where’s Clau…” Mo
prepared for her next move automatically. It didn’t come. Misha kept her
gripped and with amazing strength pulled her up to the bar.

“Hold the bar, there’s
trouble, Mo. I will protect you. Hold on.” She grasped the bar. Misha turned
himself and in one smooth move cuffed Mo’s right wrist to the bar with
handcuffs.

“Misha what are you doing?”
She panicked, reaching at the handcuffs with her other hand and found herself
hanging, painfully by the handcuffs. Mo managed to grip with her cuffed hand
again and swung the other up to the bar. With amazing agility, Misha had
maneuvered into a standing position.

“A little change in the
ending of the story. Great job by the way. You’ll always be remembered.” He
looked around; the audience had been stunned to silence. He pulled a wireless
mike out of his leotard and turned it on while Mo tried to struggle free of the
cuff. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” His voice boomed in the sound system. Now you
have seen the great Monica Whitman perform her greatest feat you should know
you also have the privilege of witnessing her last performance. Stay put!” he
pulled the box from beneath his tunic. Nobody leaves or five bombs will go off
beneath five sections. One could be yours!” The audience gasped, a few people
screamed, nobody moved. Misha was satisfied he had their full attention.

“Little Momo. Is that what
Claude called you? Roddy? What did Linc call you in bed? What did the cop call
you?” He watched her struggle kicking her legs up to grab the bar with them.
The handcuffs wouldn’t let her hand move. Misha swung a kick at her foot as she
tried to put it over the bar. “You’re with me now.  And I call you
‘WHORE!’” He was prepared. Everything had come together just as planned. He
crouched on the swing holding the cable with one hand. The black box was
attached to a lanyard around his neck. “You said your costume felt itchy, remember?”
He looked in her eyes. Her apparent fear almost changed his mind. Almost. “Mine
too. A little thermite, sulfur, acid. Sorry about the discomfort. It won’t last
long.

You know it’s time you burned
with me. You’ve burned with everyone else. The whole world. Everyone but me.
I’m the one who loves you. Enough to make you a true immortal.” He suddenly had
a lighter in his hand. “Want to watch the Queen of Hell burn?” His voice echoed
in the silent arena. You can watch her burn in Hell. She will burn with me! I
am King of Hell now. I am a God!” He dropped down and held the bar facing Mo.
“I will purge you of all your sins. All it takes is a spark Mo and we will be
together forever.” He hooked a cable from his waist to the bar with a
carabiner. He wanted to make sure he would not fall if he needed both hands.
And he needed both hands for the one, the only, fiery embrace he would know
with Mo.

With incredible speed Mo shot
her legs around Misha’s waist and squeezed with all the strength she possessed.
His eyes widened stunned with her movement and at her strength. He could only
fight her with one hand without finding himself swinging by his short safety
line. He held on tenuously and had to let the lighter fall. “I’ll blow it up,
Mo; it will be your fault.” Mo stopped struggling. She loosened her grip. She
knew she had been defeated. Misha ripped the mike loose and let it drop. “We’re
all alone, Mo.”

“What do you want, Misha?” Mo
tried not to scream the words. “You call me a whore. Then why would you want
me? What do you want?”

“Just you. An eternity with
you. We can be happy now. All is forgiven, my love. I’ve waited to kiss you for
so long. We should not leave this world without a kiss.” He put his strong hand
around her neck. Her shoulders were throbbing with pain.

“You dropped your lighter.
You can still stop this. You don’t need to hurt these people. I’m sorry I
angered you. I always cared. I always cared about you, Misha. Get rid of that…”
she looked at the detonator, “I’ll do whatever you say. I always cared.”

“You love me?” He hesitated.
But he was prepared. He flicked a lighter in her face. “You can prove it now.
Kiss me. We’ll show them all our love.”  He focused on the mouth he’d
dreamed of. Yes, they would end it with a kiss.

Body in pain, Mo shivered.
Blood ran from the cuffed wrist. She stared into Misha’s eyes and knew he would
not turn back. Suddenly she saw her triumph, Gram scolding and praising her to
perfection, and a last flash of regret for what she might have had with Zack.
Zack. She closed her eyes.

Misha closed in for the kiss.
He was ready. Her sweet mouth would be the last thing he’d ever know. He put
his thumb on the roll switch of the lighter. The spark might set off the
detonator but such was life. They would leave the world in flames.

He shouted with shock at the
burn that raked the back of his neck. In astonishment he glimpsed where the
detonator had hung and saw it bounce just a little on the net. He growled in
fury then pain as Mo kneed him in the scrotum. His fist was tight around the lighter
but he was too stunned to flick on the flame. He swung that fist at Mo’s face
but she kicked at him again. The fist glanced off her cheek. He reached a huge
strong hand toward her. He dropped the lighter but his hand was on her throat.

Mo knew she had gotten the
detonator away but she would stop breathing soon. She struggled flailing and
kicking as Misha tried to crush her wind pipe. Blood was dripping down her arm.
The pain of her shoulders was obliterated by the one in her throat. Her eyes
fluttered as her vision blurred. She was vaguely aware of people screaming but
unaware of the panicked exodus below. The rush of blood pounding in her ears
took over. She didn’t really feel anything now. Her mind had taken her
somewhere else. She had surrendered to the end.

But sound and pain rushed
back as Misha’s crushing hand let go. Mo gasped in air startled at being yanked
back into the world. She shook her head trying to clear it. She opened her eyes
to an amazing sight.

Zack stood on the trapeze
above Mo and Misha. He stomped repeatedly into the Ukrainian’s face. Misha
tried to pull Zack by the other leg but his hand missed the bar as Zack stomped
again. Finally, Misha grabbed Zack’s ankle. He yanked at it but lost his grip.
He reached for it again at the same time he tried to fend off the blows with
his other hand.

Mo did the only thing she
could think of as she realized Zack’s danger. She reached out through the pain
and fog. Her strength was almost gone as she reached for the carabiner. It took
everything she had to unclip it from the bar.

Zack watched Misha fall
toward the net. He reached down toward Mo but almost lost his balance. His
right side was covered in blood. He couldn’t stay on the bar any longer. It had
taken everything in him to hold onto the zip line, then the trapeze and do what
he could to stop Misha from choking her to death. He would have shot him except
for fear for Mo and others. He had stood helplessly by. Then he had launched
himself with a fury onto the zip line. The pain had been excruciating. He had
stopped the madman. But Mo wasn’t safe yet.

He couldn’t get to the
handcuff. He wouldn’t be able to get it off. He couldn’t haul her up. He saw
Mo’s strength ebbing. There was too much weight for the other aerialists to
pull the trapeze in with the tow line. He looked in Mo’s eyes, then turned away
from her and fell.

He kicked his legs out and
hit the net with a hard bounce. Pain burst with a blinding flash from his
shoulder and side. He was vaguely aware of the police latching on to Misha,
with Claude’s help, as he scrambled for the detonator. Zack’s last sight before
darkness closed in was of Mo being pulled toward the platform.

Mo had been in seclusion
recovering from the injuries she had sustained. Deb had replaced her
temporarily and was doing an adequate job if not a stellar one. Mo thought with
experience she’d continue to improve. Roddy had wanted to call off the show.
But Mo had insisted Deb could do it. Roddy had relented and Mo had spent a
great deal of time in her room thinking and planning and dreaming.

What if they had two or more
troupes traveling to different cities performing different themes at the same
time?  Deb was getting better and better. Haaken was almost as good as
Claude. She knew there had to be a few people that could do what she and Claude
did as well as they did it. If they could train enough people, they could have
shows touring Europe, America and even Asia, all at the same time. They needed
well trained understudies as well. Recent events had cemented in her mind the
urgent need for that.

The cost of having several
themes traveling at once would be stupendous. But the profits would be
limitless. The demand only increased. What about a Las Vegas show? A fixed show
with changing themes in the pleasure palace of the United States. She’d have to
think more about that one.

The soreness limited her
drawing. She set her sketchpad down and gingerly pulled her laptop over. She
winced with pain, her bandaged wrist throbbing. She lost enthusiasm for the diversion
she had been using to keep her mind off Zack.

Zack had been taken to the
Greendale Hospital emergency room then transferred south to Oak Lawn Hospital.
He’d had surgery to repair damage done to his clavicle and the plate that had
been dislodged while he fought with Misha. His side had had to be restitched
for several inches. She had insisted on going to see him when she had been
released from the hospital.

She held her hand up to her
bruised throat and recalled with sadness not being able to see him. How she had
wanted to. She’d gone almost mad with fear for him. She wasn’t on the visitor
list, he had given express orders she not be allowed in. She had been
devastated. Mo had not left her room for days afterward. She had avoided papers
and TVs and anything that might remind her of what had happened. Mo had
reminders enough. She didn’t need reminders to make her think of Zack.

Mo tried hard to think about
the future. Her many ideas would take her mind away for a few minutes but her
mind would drift to Zack again and again. It was not meant to be she told
herself. She’d have to live with it. She could live with it. If only he hadn’t
pushed her away.

He had saved her. Once again.
He had saved her in so many ways. He had come into her life at an awful time
and had shown her passion and compassion and love. He had helped her embrace
the carefree child inside she had lost. He had saved her very life while
risking his own and now he didn’t even want to see her. She was deep in these
thoughts when the phone rang.

When she put it down she
sighed. She thought about Ling and how much she missed her vibrant presence.
She would have talked all this over with Ling. She would have been the butt of
some friendly ridicule and would have dished out some of her own. They would
have cried then laughed at the vicissitudes of life. Ling was gone. Linc was
gone. He had called her when everything that had happened was national news. He
was okay, starting a new life while grieving the old. He’d made a decision. He
would not be back.