“You've got to be kidding,“ I said.
“line them up,“ she said, raising the gun slightly.
“One neatly aligned set of hostages, coming up,“ I said, grabbing Luis's feet.
“That's a little better,“ she said when I finished dragging everyone into a single neat line on the floor along one wall. With, alas, space left over for me. Space I didn't intend to occupy if I could help it.
“Now,“ liz began.
“Lorelei?“
We glanced over to see Dr. Glass, the mousy therapist, standing in the doorway, holding a single red rose in his hand.
“Put your hands up,“ Liz ordered.
“Lorelei!“ Dr. Glass exclaimed, seeing the lady herself trussed up with silver duct tape. He gave a great leap, and Liz jumped back, but instead of attacking her like one of the sane, sensible heroes in his books, he threw himself on top of his wife and began rather ineffectually trying to remove the tape from her mouth.
“I said put your hands up!“ Liz shouted, and threw the flashlight at him.
He either fainted or pretended to go limp. I couldn't tell which, even while I was taping him up. So much for life imitating art.
“Now that we've taken care of that, lie down,“ Liz said.
I obeyed, as slowly as I thought I could without setting her off.
“Now – “
“Hey, what's going on in here?“
Frankie, Keisha, and Rico appeared in the door of the library, their hands full of paper, pencils, dice, and other role-playing paraphernalia.
“This is really starting to piss me off,“ Liz said through her teeth.
“Meg?“ Frankie said, looking anxious. “Is something wrong here?“
“Liz is holding us hostage,“ I said.
“I have a gun,“ Liz said. That much was obvious; she was waving it rather erratically, and the three newcomers seemed transfixed by it.
“Meg?“ Frankie bleated.
“She can't shoot all of us at once,“ I said.
“Put your hands up and drop to the floor,“ Liz said.
“Rush her. On three,“ I suggested.
“I mean it,“ Liz said.
“One.“
“Meg,“ Frankie pleaded. “What are you –?“
“Two.“
“Hit the floor!“ Liz shrieked.
“Three!“ I said, but I didn't end up jumping – Frankie, Keisha, and Rico threw themselves on the floor, scattering dice, pencils, and papers everywhere.
“That's better,“ Liz said. “Now tie – tape them up.“
I followed orders. I taped their arms and legs, and then, in deference to Liz's preference for order, I dragged them into a second neat row in front of the first.
I looked up to Liz for approval when I'd finished. I hoped she wouldn't tell me to even up the rows. The back row contained Dad, Luis, Roger, Dr. Lorelei and Dr. Glass.
The front row, with Keisha, Frankie, and Rico, was two bodies shorter.
“Fine,“ she said.
That was a relief. I could have dragged Dr. Glass from the end of the first row to even them up, but he and Dr. Lorelei were staring soulfully into each other's eyes, oblivious of the rest of us. And rubbing noses. In retrospect, perhaps I'd find that touching. At the moment, I was just glad they were quiet.
The rest of the prisoners were staring hopefully at me.
Liz was looking up and down the ranks of prisoners with visibly mounting irritation. My spirits sank. Maybe she was going to have me even up the rows. Maybe even arrange them in height order.
“Dammit, why the hell are there so many people creeping around here in the middle of the night?“ she finally snarled, stomping one foot.
Exactly the way I'd felt the previous two nights, when I was trying to skulk around an office that seemed suddenly more heavily populated than it was in the daytime.
But tonight, I was hoping a few more people would show up, and that one of them would manage to get the drop on her.
Of course, to do that, he or she would have to be actually creeping, instead of thrashing around like a drunken giraffe. If you asked me, there weren't nearly enough people creeping around.
Perhaps I could get the drop on her myself. I had been so cooperative that perhaps she was beginning to take that for granted. I worked on trying to look apathetic and despondent, while actually keeping my body tense for a leap. And holding my bandage up in plain sight, to remind her that I was temporarily disabled.
“Come on, Ninja lady,“ Frankie said. “Fun's fun – why don't you let us go now.“
“Ninja lady?“ I echoed.
“Shut up,“ Liz said.
“That's what Ted always called her,“ Frankie said. “Cause she always wore black.“
“Actually, he called her that because he'd seen her in action, negotiating a contract,“ Keisha said.
I sighed. If only I'd taken more people into my confidence, maybe I'd have found out Liz was the Ninja before the situation became quite this difficult.
Liz was digging in her purse. “Damn,“ she said. “I could have sworn I brought another clip. I'm not sure I have enough ammo for all these people.“
“Don't you just hate that?“ I said. “You plan a quiet little murder and all these freeloaders show up.“
Liz just glared at me and continued rummaging through her purse – though, unfortunately, without quite taking her eyes off me.
“What kind of heartless cynic are you?“ Rico exclaimed. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? This is serious!“
“Very serious,“ I said. “Or at least way too solemn.“ Which seemed to baffle him. He stared at me, and looking back, J could see that I was doing so from the other side of a gap – in fact, an uncrossable chasm. The chasm between people who take life very seriously and those of us who laugh to keep from crying. The people who stand around lugubriously at funerals saying things like, “At least he didn't suffer“ or “Doesn't she look lifelike?“ and those of us who want to tell tall tales about what a wonderful old reprobate he was and imagine how she'd laugh if she could see the sideshow. The people who sob long-neglected prayers on the steps of the guillotine and those of us who know God will forgive us if we have to banter with the executioner to keep our courage up, as if laughter were a gauntlet we could throw in the face of death.
Or maybe I'm just a heartless cynic. “Sorry,“ I said. “Just ignore me. It's how I cope.“
“It's called displacement,“ Dr. Lorelei said. “Patients who – “
“Shut up!“ Liz shouted. “All of you just shut up!“ They shut up. For about ten seconds. Then Frankie piped up.
“Can't we even –?“
“That's it!“ Liz shrieked. “I've had it. Gag them. Gag them all. I don't want to hear another peep out of them.“
I've heard of Stockholm syndrome, when hostages start identifying with their captives and taking their side. I didn't think I was quite at that point, but I had to agree: things were a lot more peaceful when I'd put strips of silver duct tape over everyone's mouths. I felt a little guilty, but I could hear myself think again, and since I was the only one still able to do anything about rescuing us, if she ever gave me half a chance, I figured anything that helped me keep my wits about me was a good thing.
“That's better,“ Liz said. “I can hear myself think again.“
Maybe it wasn't a good thing. It scared me that I was thinking the same thing Liz was thinking.
So use that, I told myself. If I were the one holding the gun, and my idea of what would be a nice, quiet way
