The Hostage

Hi, my name is Jackson.

ME: Look, whoever you are, I can pay you a lot of money to disappear about the back door, and nobody has to get hurt.
GUNMAN: What's the point of that? What's the point of nobody getting hurt?

He's taken me into my office at Prisms. I remember that the entire gay community of Rhode Island--activists, club promoters, bloggers, club rats, drag queens, etc--is sitting inside my club right now. And I have a gun pointed at me, but it's not the gun I'm worried about.

It's the bomb strapped to his chest.

All the doors have been barricaded, and the man holding the gun with the bomb strapped to his chest informed us that if anybody came near him, we'd all be blown sky high.

I don't think I've swallowed in the past hour.

All kinds of things are running through my head. How the Miracle Ball was going so well, and then the gunshots went off.

People ran for the doors, but the doors couldn't be opened.

Then the gunman got onstage--nobody seemed to know who he was--and he showed us the bomb.

That's when everybody stopped moving.

I could see people sneaking their phones out of their pockets, and sending out text messages. I think the gunman saw it too, but he didn't seem to mind. One time a flash even went off, meaning that soon his picture would be getting out and everyone would know that he was a criminal.

He didn't seem to care.

When he took me into the office, I thought maybe it was to negotiate with me.

But that wasn't it.

GUNMAN: I want you to tell me who can leave and who can stay.
ME: Excuse me?
GUNMAN: Pick ten people who can go, and the rest have to stay.
ME: And what happens to the people who stay?
GUNMAN: They evaporate.

He was asking me to pick survivors.

ME: I can't do that.
GUNMAN: Then everybody dies.
ME: This is insane.
GUNMAN: You bet it is.

The phone in my pocket was buzzing.

I looked out the window that makes up the fourth wall of my office, and saw Paige standing at the bar looking terrified.

I could send her out. I could at least save her.

But the others?

Maybe I could stall.

ME: How long do I have?

The gunman aimed the gun at my head.

GUNMAN: One minute.

And from his chest, I could hear the ticking of the bomb.