(Jav)
Jessica was quiet, keeping much to herself, her light blue eyes open wide, always scanning the area. She was a smart and savvy woman. I honestly had no doubt this woman had the physical ability to protect herself if need be. She'd scouted me out before I could even introduce myself, running to Smith three minutes after I'd been on the lookout. Past Kats, past Rupert, past Gen; she was going directly to the head of security. She was extremely fast and smooth as well. Running after her backstage, I made nine assessments about her. One, she was physically fit and was perfectly height/weight proportionate, not even breathing hard as she ran. Two, she was very health conscious and took care of herself—her body, eating right, exercising regularly. Three, her exercise of choice was clearly running. Four, as fit as she was, she was self-conscious about her looks, forever pulling her one-size-too-big shirt over her hips. She didn't like her hips or her legs. She wanted to hide those legs. More than any place else on her body, her thighs. Five, she was not accustomed to the life of a performer, slightly awkward in her movements, unsure of where she belonged, playing with her backstage pass nervously, looking at everything in wonder, taking it all in. She couldn't have been with Avi for very long at all. Six, she was head over heels with him, grinning and blushing when William mentioned his name. Love or infatuation? Only time would tell. Seven, she was street-savvy, having seen me and being well-aware my eyes were on her. Eight, she was intelligent because nine, she had a big heart and was in the healthcare profession. She was wearing those shoes that nurses and doctors wear. I'd bet money on her being a nurse.
She'd corralled Smith by the security office. "Smith—Smith—there's someone following me, a woman in her forties, brown hair, brown eyes, five foot five, blue and white shirt, blue jeans, tennis shoes."
His lips had immediately curled up, looking past her and scouting down the hallway looking for me. I had waved when he looked past me twice and he'd laughed, gesturing me forward. "Jessica, I'd like you to meet Stephanie Javorsky, Jav for short. She is part of our extended security staff that we pull for big events like this."
"I—what?" She'd looked confused and concerned, her brows crinkling.
I'd extended my hand towards her thin hands, tipped with pink nails. "I'm very sorry to have alarmed you, Jessica. I came on duty twenty minutes ago and got report and was assigned to make sure you are safe throughout the night and the performance."
Her face relaxed only a touch, brows un-crinkling though her eyes remained uncertain, trust clearly not granted easily. It was in that moment I'd deduced another thing. Someone had hurt her in the past and probably had a difficult childhood. I was guessing child abuse; I've seen too many cases in ten years of practicing psychiatry. I'd only turned to security three years ago, but it has proven to be extremely beneficial in this line of work. I have become superb at reading people, their emotions, and body language. I practically knew what people would do before they did it. And to further help me, no one ever suspected a mild-mannered non-threatening quiet me to be in the line of work I am. I'd have a threat in cuffs before he'd even realize how on to him I was.
"You're Avi's girlfriend, aren't you?" I had asked her with a warm smile. Bringing him into the conversation is what had caused her to extend the olive branch to me, trusting me. She'd blushed, grinned, dipped her head as though embarrassed, and nodded.
And now, at double green having just been announced, my mind was on high alert, my twenty/fifteen vision was keen on anyone and everyone, my ears were peeled, my nose even picking up on slight abnormalities. Why was I smelling Sandy's perfume? When Sandy was making herself scarce? I'd only seen her three times today. Once when I first got here and she'd given me a nod hello, and twice in the hallway, where on one occasion she was on her radio and looking concerned, and on the other occasion she trying to remove her underwear from her rear end. Something was up with her. I was suspicious of our own management. And Harris was sullen for some reason. I knew he and his girlfriend were having issues—could that be it or was there something more? A couple of days ago he'd agreed to talk to me me if things got overwhelming. I may have to make him. He's not acting right. Less talkative, more depressed acting, and I was certain I was smelling cigarette smoke on him lately. Up until a week ago, he had never been a smoker.
Now poor Jessica wasn't feeling good and Gen and Pentatonix and Home Free were in the backstage hallways playing a Marco Polo game of sorts in the midst of a crisis. This would never accomplish anything but frustration. I gave Jessica a few female supplies and a bottle of Motrin as she seemed camped out deep in the bathroom of a dressing room in the makeup area. I triple locked the the makeup door behind me, leaving written instructions on the back of a computer printout with tonight's performance schedule. I placed it in plain sight; it was instructing her to only open that door to me or to someone with the password. My usual password is Princess Leia, after my favorite character in my favorite movie (Star Wars); however, I didn't even trust management or all of us in security at this point. Jessica's password was to be Breeze, after the horse I'd had as a child. I would give the actual in use password to whomever I deemed trustworthy enough to be back here with her and the performers. Sounded like it would be Gen and Pentatonix and Home Free once I got the eleven of them calmed down, under control, rounded up, and in one secure place.
I slunk out of the makeup area, listening for a minute to determine who was where, though I knew time was at a premium here. Had to use everything I had at my disposal and not waste time fruitlessly running the halls like racehorses as they were. A few seconds' thought beforehand saves time and effort in the long run. It sounded as though the performers were in the outer south hallway; Gen fast approaching in my direction. They were running scared: the performers just trying to stay alive, to physically get away from a verbal green threat, Gen frantically trying to find them to protect them the only way she knew how. All eleven of them were scared out of their wits. All eleven of them just needed to stop, regather themselves, reassess, readjust. I estimated Gen to be in the makeup hallway in three seconds, judging by her footsteps and sounds she was making. Three... two... one...
She came barreling down the hallway looking about ready to cry out of frustration and irritation (the performers had wandered off on their own in the midst of everything) and out of fear.
"Shh," I told her in a calm voice. "Slow down. Think. Slow down to speed up."
She blew out a long breath. "Gotta go up front."
"Really? I do?" I asked. "Up front?" I would, if necessary. They did, undoubtedly, need someone to calm down the crowd that was certainly frightened and the threats that were emerging one by one, each being angry and feeling the only way to get what they wanted was through violence and force.
She nodded. "Now. No time to waste. I'll talk to Home Free and Pentatonix."
"OK. Jessica is in makeup, feeling lousy, and in the bathroom of dressing room E. Knock loudly or use the key. She will be looking for a password." Test time. I was not getting bad vibes from her or feel as though she was not genuine, but I was not about to let my guard down during security threats. "Tell me, what was the first movie you ever saw in a theatre?"
Gen rolled her eyes as though she thought I was being too cautious. "E.T."
Yep, without a doubt, Gen. "Password is Breeze." She assured me that she had the performers and turned towards their voices, so I started to walk up front, my brain now analyzing every word she said. 'Gotta go up front.' She'd said 'gotta'. Not 'you gotta', not 'I gotta.' Just 'gotta.' OK, who, precisely, 'gotta' go up front? Her or me? That wasn't specifically specified. And she said she'd 'talk' to the performers. Not that she'd 'take' the performers. There was a big difference, and it could mean life or death. I turned myself back around. Yes, there were crises after crises up front, but the performers had to be protected at all costs. I started to walk back in the direction I'd come.
I could hear Gen and Home Free and Pentatonix talking just around the corner; I could also hear the door click quietly behind me, a good seven seconds after I'd walked away from it. It should not have taken seven seconds for that door to close. I turned to see Harris starting to pick up his pace. Are you telling me he up and walked away from CCTV? My eyes swept over my coworker as I turned to do what I do best—study people. Eyes. Normally a bright blue; they seemed more dark and stormy tonight. Ears. When did he get his ears pierced? I saw no earrings, but there were the distinctive pricks of holes in his (attached?) earlobes. Nose. Usually a touch on the pointy side; tonight, more rounded. Mouth. Normally thin and slightly upturned lips; tonight, they were thin and flat. Facial hair. Harris usually kept it stubbly, never at a full beard, yet he hated clean-shaved faces. His face was currently clean-shaved. Movements. He has always been fit and moved smoothly and gracefully, yet here he was with peculiarly loud footsteps. Mannerisms. The usual slight right eye tic he had absent; for some reason, our perfect-vision friend seemed to be squinting a lot tonight. No hint of the cigarette smoke that had started to follow him around lately. Something was terribly wrong. Something has gone incredibly awry. This was—