Page 3 of Caring for Cailin

“Maybe I should have flown them to the hospital,” the silver-haired man comments with a frown. “This is taking too long.”

“We can keep them stabilized here,” Webb replies. “On a helo, without proper equipment?—”

“Police! Weapons down. Hands up where we can see them!”

Before anyone can respond, a good dozen blue-clad men come swarming into the basement, all of them with weapons drawn and ready to fire.

“Weapons down!” one of the police officers shouts.“Now!”

Noelle screeches, and Webb shoves her behind his back.

The blonde man guarding Dario carefully sets his gun by his feet.

The silver-haired man turns to look at the officer and says grimly, “If I don’t keep him from moving, the knife will shift. There’s a good change he’ll bleed out. So I’m keeping my hands right here until a paramedic comes to take over.”

Something about the calm way he addresses them makes me feel better. Like as long as he’s in control, everything else will be, too.

Like as long as he’s here, Dario can’t hurt me again.

A few seconds pass in a silent standoff. Then the officer backs down. “Fine,” he replies. “If you’re tending to the wounded, keep on what you’re doing. But no sudden moves. And everyone else”—his gaze sweeps the room—“hands in the air. No arguments.”

No one argues.

With the exception of the men providing first aid, everyone else’s hands go up.

Then the police rush to the stage, and the real chaos begins.

First, the police converge on Dario, who immediately starts to kick up a stink about trespassers and private property and how he was unfairly targeted. For a moment, I’m scared the police will believe him, until Noelle snaps, “You kidnapped all of us. Forced us to act in your messed up plays.” Scowling, she explains to one of the cops, “He killed the actors when they died in the play.Killedthem. And he shot Hector and Paul because they wouldn’t do what he said. He’s no innocent victim. He’s amonster.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

It takes another minute or so of conferencing amongst themselves for the police to call the paramedics in. As they converge on Hector and Paul, Webb’s friends step back to let them take over.

I’m not sure how much time passes after that.

It’s long enough for the police to get statements from everyone.

Long enough for me to actually believe that Dario’s going to jail.

Long enough for me to think I’m actually going to get to go home.

Although, do I stillhavea home? Or did my roommates assume I took off and move a new person into my bedroom? Did they sell all my belongings to pay the late rent? Will I get back to L.A. to find myself homeless and jobless, and my bank account empty after months of automatic payments?

Now sitting in one of the seats facing the stage—ironic considering Dario was the only one who ever sat there—I hunch into myself as the weight of my new reality settles over me. I may be free, but where do I go from here? I don’t have family to staywith. My friends are really more like acquaintances. And I’m supposed to go back to L.A., a city I don’t really like, to pursue a career I can’t imagine doing anymore.

I swallow hard against the lump swelling in my throat. Pressure builds behind my eyes. As I wrap my arms around myself, I belatedly realize I’m rocking slightly.

“Hey.” The silver-haired man lowers himself onto the chair to my left, his expression dark with concern as he regards me. “You okay?”

As his gaze meet mine, a weird jolt runs through me.

He has the most incredible eyes; pale green with flecks of silver scattered through them. Fine lines crease the corners, deepening as he flashes me a quick, reassuring smile. A dimple pops in his right cheek, incongruous to his stern features. He runs a hand through his hair, which upon closer inspection I realize is more salt-and-pepper than pure silver.

“I’m Memphis,” he continues. “I flew these guys here.” He jerks his chin towards Webb, who’s sitting several seats away with Noelle cuddled on his lap. “We used to serve together.”

Curiosity has me asking, “You flew here? How?”

“In an AgustaWestland AW 609,” he replies. “One of the fastest personal aircraft on the market.”