Hunted

Act 10; Exit

Noah knew where he was now, but he still had no idea where to go to get out of the place.

He kept wandering around, the panic he started out with that faded when he talked to Nane rising up again. When he finally worked up the nerve to ask for directions, his mind went blank and he had no idea what he prattled on about, but by the end of his monologue, no one was in front of him anymore. He scared them off, most probably, or at least made them really uncomfortable enough to walk away.

Now he somehow got into backstage, the security already so thin that they let him in. He wondered if that was okay. There was an accident earlier after all, so they shouldn't be letting strange people through so easily near the dancers.

Did he just admit to being a strange person?

He sulked.

Then looked around. It was an open space with few people around, all of which wore casual clothing. He faintly remembered a few faces from the performance earlier, but he couldn't make out who really played what in the last act he caught up to. His eyes were mostly focused on one dancer throughout the last act, after all. He sighed through his nose, then trudged on.

There must be a door with an EXIT sign over it somewhere. Wait, they were underground. Then at least an elevator for Pete's sake!

He noticed people staring at him and stopped. It was his clothes, wasn't it?

He took the first layer jacket off and folded it neatly, reminding himself of how much it costs, then loosened three buttons from his collar, letting himself breathe a little. He looked around as he hung the jacket over his arm, then fumbled his hair back to normal. He wore a hairstyle people usually commented that reminded them of High School Musical's Troy, or on bad days, Justin Beiber's first hairstyle.

He would always be a bit embarrassed when he was thought to copy well-known media people. Couldn't people assume he just liked the hairstyle for no particular reason at all? He just liked what he liked. Did everything have to have a source or basis?

He walked around for a bit, examining the wide stage in person, the empty seats of the Theatre, the high, arching ceilings that exposed metal beams and wooden frames. A few layers of cement later would be the ground floor, Noah thought. Now if only he could just jump and break a wall on the ceiling. If he could jump high enough to do that, he could jump high enough to get on the ground floor afterward.

He sighed. Wishful thinking often got everyone nowhere unless there was action taken. Then again, something only happens afterward when it was practical enough.

He searched a bit more, passing by pairs or groups of dancers that made him panic more from time to time. He couldn't ask a group of strangers. That made his nerves spike higher and he never made any sense. Pairs were easier, but they were too close to each other, and he didn't want to interrupt.

If only someone flew solo around here...

He reached a row of doors most probably designated as private dressing rooms, since he saw dressers and vanity mirrors scattered around the open area for the extra dancers. A woman stood by the last door, her back to him, and he saw it as a sign for him to ask for directions.

He approached her, but only when he was too close that he realized she was talking on the phone.

"Understand?" She demanded from the other line, though her voice wasn't angry. It was cold, calculated. Then she must have noticed his presence and looked back at him, covering the mouth of her cell as she gave him a suspicious look.

Noah felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt like he was being examined from head to toe, coughed to clear his throat and head, then regretted the action when his mind went blank.