6: MEADOW

Our performance a few nights ago was such a success that we've had a huge turnout at our annual open house today.

I smile when I read Micah's text message. I haven't heard from Onyx since he left home last night.

I spent the night crying and wondering what happened between us. The last thing that I want is to call him and apologize. I'm not wrong in my stance, and until he can see the error of his ways maybe we do need some time apart.

––––––––

MICAH: Hey, sis. I just wanted to tell you again how proud I was of you. That performance last week was stellar.

ME: Aww, you're so sweet, bro.

MICAH: Just speaking the truth. I always knew you hung out with the stars above. The other night, you shined brighter than them all.

ME: Got me over here blushing.

MICAH: LOL! I've never known you to be so humble. Also wanted to tell you that Dad was bragging about you to his friends last night during their Domino game.

ME: Thanks for telling me that. We both know he'd never share that.

MICAH: Give him some time. He'll come around.

ME: It's been two years, Micah.

MICAH: Mama said the same thing to him. In his mind, he's waiting for you to leave Onyx.

ME: Whatever.

MICAH: Heading into a meeting. Talk to you later. Love ya.

ME: Right back atcha.

––––––––

I smile, put my phone away, and turn my attention to the lady and her daughter standing in front of me.

"Welcome to Mirage. Thanks for coming out today."

"Oh, we saw you guys perform last week,na and Tiana insisted that she had to come to this studio."

"My mom's been promising for a while that she would sign me up for dance classes," the daughter says, drily glancing at her mother as she twists her lips.

Laughing, her mother replies, "Sassiest ten-year-old I've ever met."

"Aren't they all?" I ask, laughing.

"So, you've had a big turnout today. I know we're the last ones, but is there any more space?" she asks in a tone that says, "If there's not, would you please create another one?"

"Of course," I say before launching into my spiel about the programs that we offer between tap, ballet, jazz, contemporary, lyrical, and hip-hop.

We spend fifteen minutes talking before the girl is enrolled, and she and her mother say their goodbyes.

"Meadow, we're leaving," Zandra says as she and the others grab their things to leave.

"Okay, I'll see you ladies next week," I call out.

"Don't forget to lock up," Zandra says.

"I won't," I reply.

I spend the next several minutes preparing things for the next week before I hear the bells chime.

I smile at a man dressed in construction overalls and steel-toe boots who looks up from the brochure table.

"Hi, I'm Meadow."

"Hi, Meadow. I'm Jeff."

"How can I help you, Jeff?"

"Well, I came out after seeing your performance last week. You ladies were terrific."

"Thanks so much. Was that the first time that you heard about Mirage?"

"Um, yes. My wife and I don't live too far from here, and we have twelve-year-old twins. We brought them to your show because they love to dance. Naturally after the performance, they wanted to join. They pestered the heck out of my wife and me. I promised that I'd come by here after work today."

"Oh, you should have brought them."

Shrugging, he says, "They had swim practice. So, I volunteered to pick up some information and take it back home."

"That was sweet of you," I say.

I grab a few brochures and spread them out on the table as I explain the classes that we offer based on skill and age level. I go over pricing with him and then hand him my card. When we finish, I give him a tour of the three dance rooms beyond where we're standing and walk him back to the reception area.

"If you or your wife have any more questions, just give me a call."

"I'll do that. Thanks, and have a good evening, Ms. Meadow."

"You do the same, Jeff," I say, walking him to the door.

I turn back to the desk and grab my dance bag, checking to make sure that my wallet is inside. A quick glance at the trash, and I decide to run that out the back door before I leave.

Once I've dumped it into the can, I step back into the studio, and no sooner than I grab the handle to pull the door closed is when I feel an arm wrap around my waist and a hand clamp over my mouth.

I jerk my elbow back and connect with a hard midsection before I bring my foot down on my attacker's foot.

He grunts, and I twist in his arms, but I get nowhere as he squeezes me in a tighter grip until I can barely breathe.

The man brandishes a knife and pulls it against my throat. Panic swells inside of me like a raging river, and the forceful sting of tears burns the backs of my eyes.

I have no idea what he wants, and I suddenly wish that I hadn't let the girls go, but they're long gone by now.

There's no one for me to rely on except for myself, so I fight. I kick, scratch and claw as much as I can until he carries me into one of the smaller rear studio rooms, locks the door, and slams me onto my back.

The air is knocked from my chest, and fear claws at my insides. Pain radiates up my back and legs as I scramble to try to get on my feet.

The man hovers over me, and I instantaneously reach out and pull the ski mask from his head.

Oh, God, please don't let him kill me,I pray silently. I'm terrified that I won't survive this ordeal.

He jumps back away from me with a devilish blue-eyed gaze and cocky sneer and says, "All I want is the money, lady."

"I have no money. I don't keep cash here."

"You're fucking lying to me!"

As he walks closer to me, I jump up on my feet. The man's large, callused hand wraps around my throat until tiny pinpricks sting me all over my body, and things start to go black.

I have to survive. I have to fight.

I swing, but he punches me in my stomach, forcing the air from within me and causing me to double over. I refuse to go down, though, because if I do, I don't stand a fighting chance of surviving.

Pain sears every part of my body, and fear rockets throughout me.

"Please...if I had it, I would give it to you. I swear!"

"I don't fucking believe you!" he shouts.

"I might have something in my purse. You can take that. Just let me go," I plead.

The man reaches behind him and pulls a gun out of the back of his pants.

"Take me to your money, now!"

I move towards the door, and he snatches my arm behind me. Blinding pain shoots through my shoulder, and I scream, "Oww!"

"Don't try anything funny either because I don't mind putting a bullet in your brain."

"Ooh...ookay," I struggle to say as I hobble down the hall and to my office. I feel the cold metal of the gun pressing against my upper back where the leotard leaves my skin exposed.

We make it to my office, and I wrack my brain for what could be used as a weapon. My eyes spot a stack of towels, some old pointe shoes, a ribbon, a hairbrush, a couple of batons, and picture frames on various surfaces of my family and friends.

Nothing. Not even the damn baton because he's blocking it.

I go to my drawer and reach for the handle of the drawer holding my purse.

"Easy there. Let me see what's inside," he growls, shoving me down into my chair as he reaches for the drawer.

He pulls my purse from inside and, holding the gun with one hand, unzips my purse with the other.

I watch as he empties it upside down onto my desk. Sorrow feels my heart at the contents of my purse. It's not the mints, gum, hair tie, cosmetics bag, or wallet that saddens me.

It's the unopened pregnancy test that I carry, always choosing to keep one close at hand, and the tampons that I'm currently using that hurt me so deeply.

"Fucking twenty-two dollars! That's all you've got in here, bitch!"

"I'm sorry. I don't carry cash. Just those cards," I say as he rips each one out of the plastic and tosses them to the floor.

"What about this?" he asks, holding my debit card in the air.

"You could take that but I don't know what good it's going to do you here."

That thought seems to take root, and then his eyes flicker for a moment before a sneer takes over his face. Waving the gun, he says, "I can get someone down here to use it for me!"

"Do whatever you need to. Just please let me go."

"You're not going anywhere, bitch, til I get some money!" he says, grabbing me by the neck and squeezing tightly.

My chair tilts back slightly, and as if it just occurred to him that if he doesn't ease up, we'll both go tumbling backward, he releases me. The chair rocks slightly, but he's no longer paying me any attention.

He's pulled a phone from somewhere, and he's on it talking to someone.

"Yeah! Exactly where I said I was going."

He sniffs and rubs the back of his nose.

"Bitch ain't got no money on her!"

For the first time, I realize that not only have I been targeted, but this guy is high which makes him even more dangerous. I have no idea what he's capable of doing if he doesn't get what he wants.

"I need you to come down here. She's got a debit card."

He listens some more and sniffs again while pacing back and forth, but his eyes never leave me.

"Fuck that! I need my shit now! Get down here!"

The man ends the call, and then glares at me as if I'm to blame for the ordeal.

"Listen, someone's coming here soon. You're going to get caught, and this won't end well."

"Lie to me again! Nobody's coming here. You're closed for the evening. That fucking open house is all you had today!"

"How would you know it?"

"You've been posting about it on social media, your website, and across town."

"But how do you know about me? What made you decide to target me of all people?"

Laughing, he says, "You don't think I know who you are? You're married to one of those Maxwell people. Used to work for his daddy and...well, never mind that. I'm not doing anything more than helping myself to a slice of the pie. Why should only ten percent of the world live the way you Maxwells do? Bet John and David Maxwell would shit bricks to know that someone like me was taking something from them.

"You know John and David?" I ask incredulously, trying to keep him talking.

If I can just keep him talking, maybe he'll get distracted long enough for me to slip away somehow.

"Fuck nah. I've done nothing more than clean the bathrooms at their downtown offices," he says.

"Did they mistreat you or something? Is that why you're doing this?"

"No," he scoffs. "Bastards don't even know me. Never even seen me. Men like them walk past guys like us and never notice that we exist. The Maxwells, the Huntleys, and the Beischels. The elite of South Carolina. Fuck, the Maxwells are the elite of the entire east coast! Why wouldn't I come after that family? They've fucked over so many people I can't believe that I'm the first one to target your family. You just happened to be the easiest one for me to get to. The rest of them live their lives behind those iron gates with armed guards at their buildings. You're the only one with easy access."

A chill runs down my spine, and I think about my father's warnings. As much as I want to push them away, all I hear are the words that he spoke to me the week before my wedding.

"Baby, getting involved with people like the Maxwells will bring nothing but heartache and trouble. Wealth ain't all it's cracked up to be. Everyone will want a piece of you, and they'll stop at nothing to get it. As long as you carry that last name, trouble will come your way. Men like Johnathon Maxwell step on other people. Because of that, people will always be looking to hurt them. They won't be able to get close to him so they'll settle for the second best...his family; his children, grandchildren, and in-laws. You mark my words."

"Listen. I'm a Maxwell by marriage only. I wasn't born into the family."

"I know that, but your husband, Onyx Maxwell, was. He's another one that screws people over."

"H...how do you know him?"

"I don't personally know him just men like him. You don't think that I see the news reports? When he's buying up smaller companies, he's putting people out of work. He doesn't keep those employees on. He uses them for a while, then gives them a severance packet and sends them on their way. Fucks their lives over in the process and don't give a shit about them, lady."

"Material goods don't make or break me. I just want you to take what you want, and please leave. Just don't hurt me," I say, taking off my wedding ring and my watch and handing them to you.

He snatches them and looks them over before shaking his head and tossing them back at me.

"I ain't got time for that shit! I need cash, and I need it fast. Don't wanna be bothered with no pawn shops."

"You could—"

He slaps me. "Just shut up! I can't fucking think with all your yapping!"

The chemical taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite my tongue from the hit. Pain rocks throughout my head, and I close my eyes, trying not to weep.

I cannot show a sign of weakness because I know that he'll pounce on it.

He starts mumbling to himself and pacing back and forth. He's trying to get his next fix, and I have no idea who's coming down here to meet him. I pray that person isn't high either, but more than likely, they will be.

My prayer is that I don't end up dead at the end of this ordeal.

I pray that I have the strength to keep a clear head and make it through this.

Time seemed to stop as we waited for this person to show up. I heard my phone ringing a couple of times in the distance. I wonder if it's Onyx, Kaia, or maybe even Mak.

None of them would think to come looking for me. Onyx has left town anyway so he wouldn't be a good help to me.

An hour passes before I hear a banging noise at the front door of my studio.

"Come on," he says, jerking me by the shoulder out of the chair I've been sitting in.

A pain shoots through my shoulder again, and I wonder how much damage he's done. I'll have to get it checked out as soon as I make it through this.

"Be careful about what you do. If it's not my friend, I suggest that you send them away," he growls, pressing the gun deeply into the middle of my back causing me to stumble a bit.

"Whomever it is will see you when we stand in front of that glass door."

"I'll stay back out of sight, but the minute you let someone else in, I'm killing them, and their blood will be on your hands."

We stop at the end of the hallway where he grips the back of my neck. Tears prick my eyes, and I ball my fists at my side.

"We're going to move forward carefully. Don't do shit you might regret," he says.

Slowly, we move forward toward the door and he moves to the side just before we reach the door. His gun is aimed at me.

"Her name's Amy. If it's her, let her in."

I unlock the three locks on the door and stare at a tall, lean woman with dishwater blonde hair, dull brown eyes, and bad acne. She's sniffling and looking around in paranoia.

"Amy?" I ask hesitantly.

She nods. "Yeah."

The man jerks my arm and shoves me sideways. "Get in here," he tells Amy, pulling her inside and throwing me behind him before he tells her to lock the door again.

She scratches her arms and looks at me. "Nothing like I thought she'd look," she says.

I want to ask, "Bitch, I know you're not judging me" but I'm not in a position to get sarcastic or make demands.

"Here, tell her your PIN!" the man orders, handing the woman my debit card.

I contemplate giving her the security pin that would trigger an alarm to the police, but that won't help me. The minute that she doesn't come back, or if she sends a text to his phone that she didn't get the money and things didn't go well, that could be the end for me.

I'd rather let them take me for every dime and save my life than try to hold onto something meaningless if I'm not here to spend it.

"The code! And don't try any funny business!" he barks, shoving the gun under my chin.

"Zero. Five. Two. Six."

"Good. What's your balance?"

"I...I don't know," I lie.

"How the fuck you don't know your balance?"

The force of the gun jutting into my chin causes my teeth to clash together violently.

"A little over ten grand."

"Whooohooohoo! Sweet baby Jesus! We've come into the money!" he says, dancing.

"They ain't gonna let me take that kinda cash out at once, Jesse," Amy says.

That's his name. I tuck it away for later.

"Nah, they won't, but we can hold her until we get every penny out of there. However long that might take," he says, sniffling with a renewed spark of interest in his eyes.

"Somebody might come for her," Amy says.

"No shit, dumb fuck. That's why when we get back, we're taking her out of here."

A new fear fills me. I know that nobody will come looking for me. It's Saturday evening, and the studio is closed tomorrow. Onyx won't be back until a couple of days from now.

It might be too late, then. I'll have to figure out how to get out of this situation.

We spend another twenty minutes with him pacing and mumbling and me trying to figure out how to get out of this situation before Amy returns.

When the knock sounds at the door again, we make the trek back from my office to the front door.

"Got five Gs on one go! This is a rich bitch! We don't get more than five hundred in a day from ours!" Amy chirps as she walks through the door.

The answer comes to me just as the door is about to close. I see Chopper, the owner of a bike shop across the street, locking his doors. His son, JC, and another worker, Cruz, stand by talking as they wait for him.

I rush through the door screaming, "Fire!" and they all turn in my direction, along with a few other people walking down the sidewalk.

"I'll be back for you, bitch!" I hear Jesse call out behind me.

JC, Cruz, and Chopper, in that order, come running in my direction as I shout, "He's got a gun!"

I hear a shot ring out, but I know that he hasn't hit me because I don't feel anything while I'm still running toward the bike shop.

JC and Cruz pass me up, and I hear them taking shots at Jesse just as Chopper pulls me into his arms.

"You all right?" he asks, holding me.

I'm shaking like crazy and too scared to speak, let alone open my eyes.

"It's okay. They'll get the piece of shit. They don't have him yet, but his ass is wounded," Chopper says.

I tell him what happened as I turn to see JC and Cruz coming in our direction.

"He got away," JC says.

"Where's the lady?" I ask.

"Over there," Cruz says, pointing to where the woman sits on the sidewalk surrounded by a few passersby determined not to let her go.

"We'll get them, honey, I swear, but first we need to call and report it," Chopper says.

"You got someone you need to call," JC asks.

I think about my husband and sadly shake my head.

"No, I don't."