full minute now; she can’t seem to escape the submerged truck. In the auditorium, the audience is visibly uncomfortable. A man on the aisle gets up and leaves the theater. Another follows.
A dark oval swelled in the center of my vision. Muted music thumped outside the tank; underwater, it sounded like distant bombs. My skin went icy hot—
And I was back in the hotel bathtub. The water was scalding. The water was freezing. My lungs burned, my head throbbed, my muscles ached. I was tired. So tired. I wanted to be still, to rest.
I blinked, and through the water, I saw a blurry black form approaching, his image refracted and disfigured by the tanks and the water. He was coming to pull the plug, to drain the tanks, to stop the show.
I had failed. I had gone under. It was over.
Ella, ella, eh, eh, eh . . .
The song erupted in my mind, jarring me back to awareness. I shook my head, waving my arms at the approaching stagehand—Give me ten more seconds.
I bent in half, moving my head back in through the window, and immediately saw the problem: the zip tie around my ankles had caught on the Chevy’s window crank. As quickly as I could, I pushed my feet back into the cab, dislodged the tie, and bolted out the window.
Just as the girl finally escapes the truck, a white Kabuki cloth descends, obscuring tank, girl, and truck from the audience’s view. The stage lights flicker. The music cuts out. Three thousand people hold their breath.
Then blinding white light floods the stage, the Kabuki cloth drops—
And the truck is gone.
The audience erupts into applause—but then the applause falters, devolving into gasps as the crowd realizes:
The girl is still in the tank.
She’s free of her bonds but trapped by the padlocked lid. The girl turns toward the audience, waving her hands, her wide, bulging eyes magnified by the water.
Suddenly, lights flash onstage, blinding and bright as a bolt of lightning.
And then they fade—
And the girl is suddenly outside the tank, kneeling, coughing, soaking wet. Slowly, she stands and raises her arms in a triumphant V.
The applause is deafening as a waterfall.
CHAPTER 34
AS SOON AS THE CURTAIN hit the stage, I staggered backward on my bound legs and landed flat on my ass. Two medics appeared and muscled me into the wings. I couldn’t stop coughing—and smiling—as they shone a light into my eyes, listened to my lungs, took my vitals.
I had done it.
“She’s all right,” said one of the medics, draping his stethoscope over his neck. Then, to me, “You got lucky, miss.”
From the other side of the curtain, I could still hear the applause. Holy shit, I had done it.
“That was incredibly reckless,” said a familiar baritone.
As a stagehand clipped the zip tie off my ankles, I looked up to see Flynn Bissette’s six-foot-six frame looming over me.
“I know,” I said, trying hard to wipe the smile off my face. “I picked the wrong guy to tie me up. And I lost control in the tank.”
Flynn raised his eyebrows. “That’s incredibly self-aware,” he said. “Doesn’t make it any less stupid.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“I almost pulled the plug on you. But apparently, I’m just as reckless.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Nice job, Ms. Dante.”
Clemente motioned to Flynn, and he turned and strode onto the stage.
As soon as I opened the dressing-room door, I heard an earsplitting shriek.
“YOU WERE FUCKING AMAZING!!!”
There stood Ripley, his red hair swept back neatly from his forehead. He was wearing what I could only describe as a leisure tuxedo: the lapels were wide black satin, and the coat had tails down to the backs of his knees. He was a John Hughes character. He was an original.
He was my best friend.
I pulled him into a tight hug, and he clamped his arms around me.
“Holy. Crap. Ellie,” he said, pushing away to look me in the eye. “That was incredible!”
“I can’t even right now. Tell me in three days, when I need it.”
“Noted,” he said, and mimed locking his lips and dropping the key into his shiny breast pocket. I loved that about Ripley; even when he didn’t understand my boundaries, he respected them.
“You look handsome as fuck,” I said.
“All I did was put on a suit. You, on the other hand, look like the survivor of a horror movie.”
I laughed. I’m pretty sure there was snot involved.
Ripley grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the counter and thrust