Faces in Time (5 page)

Chester
’s heart sinks, but his mind snaps to attention, much to his surprise. His brain spins trying to concoct a new plan.

He turns from the main gym room, looking toward the bathroom again. All of the doors are on the left side of the hallway, the wall that is the end of the stage being at his right.

He sees the kitchen area—the first door. No one is in the room, and on the left wall the metal pull-down shutters are closed against the ordering counters, enclosing the room from the lobby. A door is open at the far end of the right wall; it must be a hallway that runs behind the bathroom. Straight ahead, he sees a sink, and one item on it catches his attention.

He steps into the room briskly. Children’s giddy voices can be heard echoing down the opened hallway. He realizes that it must lead to the backstage area where children might be changing. He makes it a point to look straight ahead at the sink, despite his urge to make sure no one is watching him from the hallway.

He focuses on a lump of steel wool. His hand fights his mind as it reaches out to steal the pad of shredded metal. It has already been forced once tonight to commit this foreign act when it lifted the hat off the folding chair, leaving it reluctant to do so again. The images come to his mind of the awful news reports that were airing when he left of Rhonda’s bizarre surgery. Finally his five-fingered grudging thief grabs hold of the steel wool, and he is quite happy to find that it’s dry. The grimy grill and un-emptied deep-fryers can attest to its unused condition. He squeezes it tightly in his fist, and its jagged edges dig into his skin slightly.

He walks out of the room quickly and makes a hard left to the bathroom. The door is opened. He steps inside, flips on the light, shuts the door, and slides its simple lock into position. He tugs on the handle to make sure it’s secure.

He fumbles in his pocket and takes out the device. Flipping it over quickly, he slides his thumb roughly over the battery panel. He drops the thin plastic cover to the ground as he hears the sound of heels approaching noisily down the hallway. He hopes it is the two he saw moments ago carrying out the trashcan, but their patter does not stop at the kitchen.

He can hear them talking loudly as they reach the door.

“
My
Stephen was the star of the show. I tell you that boy has such talent. He certainly doesn’t get any of it from his father. Now, what is this, is someone in the restroom?”

“Yes, Doris, it looks to be occupied.”

Doris raps her fingers on the door harshly, “Anyone in there?”

“Ummm, yes, it’ll be just a minute.”

“Well, please, try to hurry,” commands Doris as she turns her gaze to her counterpart, “Now, Stacey, it is truly commendable that they gave your Tabitha a song to sing this time. It’s great that they’re getting everyone involved.”

Stacey starts, “Well, she certainly did a wonderf-”

His ears block out their conversation as he places the device back in his pocket, holding its battery in his hand. Glancing up at the ceiling, he sees what he’s looking for. He sits the battery on the counter beside the sink, and then ripping the steel wool in half, he kneads a piece of it into a skinnier and denser shape. He puts the steel wool on the counter and touches the battery’s positive and negative terminals to it. The wool turns red, and the sparks move and spread across its shredded metallic fibers as if it were a virus coursing over it. He leans down and blows on it; the sparks flame up, and he holds his rolled-up play program over it. The flames scorch the program, but he continues to hold it steady and blow over the wool until the paper has its own flame.

The knocking returns to the door, followed by, “Two ladies out here need use of the facilities, sir.”

“It’ll be a minute, madam,” he says without glancing in the direction of the door.

He can hear her voice saying, “I hope it doesn’t smell horribly in there. Well, anyway, Stacey, it’s great that they’re letting your daughter try this year; it’s not right to always give the best kids the spotlight, and I always say…”

He grabs the faucet with his free hand, and places his right foot atop the small counter around the sink. With an awkward lunge, he pulls his other foot to the left side of the sink, accidentally smacking the tip of his program against the mirror. Standing straddled over the sink, he reaches up holding the still burning program and waves it directly in front of the smoke detector.

He coughs. The room is getting a little hazy. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes widen as nothing happens.

“Are you smoking in there?”

“No. Now please give me some privacy.”

“I’ll bet he’s smoking in there,” Doris says in a whisper that is more of an exasperated version of her regular speech than it is quiet.

Stacey offers, “Maybe it’s the popcorn. You know they always burn it at every school function.”

The playbill is mostly black, and it begins to fold over the back of his hand. The heat scalds his skin, and after another moment of determination, he drops it to the floor. Quickly, he twists the smoke detector free of its base and unplugs its terminal. He pops out the nine volt battery and puts it to his tongue. It gives off no charge.

Damn it, maybe it’s not getting power.

He places the smoke detector on the counter beside his feet and then grabs the dangling wires that are hanging out the base plate in the ceiling. With his other hand, he yanks at the terminal on the end of wires, trying to pull it completely off. He grunts as he struggles.

“Oh, dear,” complains from the hallway.

The terminal pops off and drops to the floor.

“What is going on in there?”

Ignoring the question, he looks at the three wires he has just exposed. He takes the bare tip of the red and taps it against the black. Sparks. The detector should have been getting power. Bending down, he picks up the detector off the sink. He wraps the black wire around the far right prong on the detector’s plug and then he shoves the red onto the other side. Lastly, he touches the green wire in the middle.

Crouching atop the sink again, he grabs a wad of toilet paper from the roll in the holder attached to the side of the counter. Then he grabs the unused lump of steel wool. Using the battery, he makes it spark again. The toilet paper catches fire quickly, and he stands with it pressed against the grill of the detector.

A faint, annoying hum is all he can hear from the unit.

“There is definitely smoke coming from in there; you need to come out right now—this is unacceptable…”

“Calm down, Doris, he’ll be done in a minute. We could just go use the bathrooms up front.”

“Use the front bathrooms afet paperhose children have been in and out of there?
No, I don’t think so.
Don’t you smell that smoke, Stacey?”

“Whatever it is, he’ll be out in a second. No one’s going to burn the building down with themself locked in a bathroom. Don’t get so excited.”

“Is that the advice that you gave your Tabitha before she went on tonight? Lord knows she could’ve used some more energy.”

“Now, wait one minute, Doris, I’ve listened to you brag about your spoiled brat of a son all night, and if you think I’m going to let you be a big old bit—”

The door swings open. Dark smoke comes out of the small room. Female faces crinkle at its presence.

“See, Doris,” she says pointing a professionally painted and manicured fingernail less than an inch from his face, “I told you he was smoking. Smoking in a grammar school.”

His face is emotionless, and his eyes are watery as he responds, “This is the gym, ma’am, and I was putting out an electrical fire.”

“An electrical fire? Did you put it out with water?”

“No, water’s a conductor; don’t use it on electrical fires. You smother it.”

Angrier than before, Doris continues, “That’s it; I’m getting the principal and some of the fathers. I don’t know what you were up to in that bathroom, but you can’t leave it all smoky. I’m going to get…”

“Get anyone you want, lady. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He makes his way into the gym with her on his heels, her knees pressed tightly together and screaming loudly for someone to do something about the exiting man and the smoke in the bathroom. He continues to walk into the lobby and out the doors without anyone approaching him.      

In his car, his mind circles around the same thoughts, while he struggles to keep his vision focused on the road.