𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 ❦ (𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐝)

Chapter 8

"Shots fired! Run!"

My blood runs cold in my veins. I'm too dumbfounded to react, I was never caught in such a situation and I can't believe that I actually heard those three dreadful words.

I can't tell where the gunshots came from. There are too many people screaming around me. People run frantically in all directions. The panicked crowd hurries erratically out of the cinema.

It's dangerous outside. I decide to hide in the cinema and I run inside to hide, convinced that the danger is in the streets. And then in a deserted hallway, I run across-

"Oh! Mister-"

As soon as he sees me, Mr. Iero grabs my wrist, plasters his back on a wall and tugs me back against him. My back against his chest. His leather-gloved hand is pressed on my mouth.

I confusedly glance back and notice that Mr. Iero is holding up a gun. My hearts is beating harder than ever before in my chest. I let out a whimper of both confusion and protest through the improvised gag.

"Shh..." He shushes softly before glancing back at the corner. I feel like my heart is about to burst. I don't know if it's because of the dangerous situation... or the dangerous man.

Who are you, Frank Iero?

"Are you hiding, Mr. Iero?" I inquire quietly. He looks at me without saying a word. I can literally feel how tense he is. "I... I know the perfect hiding spot. No one will find you. I can take you there, but first you have to let go of me."

Mr. Iero's hold loosens and he readjusts his burgundy tie. "Show me, Mr. Way."

My eyebrows rise. He remembers my name...

I lead him to the projection booth and, thank God, nobody sees us. We enter it; without surprise, it's empty. Mr. Iero runs a hand through his black hair, untensing a little. The silence is very awkward. What should I do? Maybe I should try to say something.

"This is the projector," I speak softly, pointing at the device. Mr. Iero's grave hazel eyes set on me. "Someone has to make it work so we can watch a movie, by making the crank turn during the whole movie. That makes the reel turn. Reels are composed of images that we make move really fast until it looks like actual motions. Basically."

"This is a critical situation, Mr. Way. I would appreciate that you pause your presentation on cinematographic technology. I must pay all my attention to what's going on outside."

I nervously tuck a brown strand of hair behind my ear. "Sorry, I just wanted to lighten the mood a little. I...I'm going to stop talking now."

I'm supposed to be a journalist, but I can't even handle a stressful situation. How embarrassing!

I hear a gunshot outside the room and gasp; Mr. Iero doesn't flinch. I start chewing at my nails. A deathly silence sets, at least from where we are hiding.

My heartbeat is slow, I can sense every beat in my chest. I'm conscious about my breathing, worried that it's too noisy. It feels like a century before Mr. Iero starts speaking again. "I'm going to go see what's going on outside. Stay here, Mr. Way."

He slides out of the room before I can answer and comes back after a few minutes.

"It seems that things have calmed down. We are not safe here though, we should go," he tells me. I follow him without a word. There are bullets impacts in the walls. If we hadn't hidden in the projection booth, these bullets could have reached us, I realize in dread.

Despite the circumstances, I grab my notebook by habit and start taking notes of what just occurred.

"I admire your professionalism, Mr. Way," Mr. Iero tells me as we walk. "But your life is in danger. Shouldn't safety be your priority?"