Read Online Forsaken by James David Jordan - Free Book Online Page A

yesterday’s news.
    I walked to the back of the stage and examined a six-foot speaker. Windy City Speaker Hut appeared in white stenciled letters across the back. I trotted down the steps to the floor behind the stage and looked around. Though people were milling everywhere, they all appeared to be part of the show. I pulled out my phone, dialed information, and within a few seconds was listening to an after-hours recording for Windy City Speaker Hut. I punched zero for the operator but got another recording.
    Only twenty minutes until the first performers were to take the stage. I bounded back up the stairs and moved from speaker to amplifier to speaker. Some of them had removable backs that I pulled away to check inside. Most were screwed shut. I shook the smaller ones to see if anything rattled. This was getting me nowhere. I headed backstage to look for Simon.
    The area behind the stage was like a train station during rush hour. Any terrorist worth a nickel could have walked in with a grenade and wiped out half ofthe traveling cast. I finally found Simon walking up the steps from the lower concourse. Behind him Elise hurried to keep up, a laptop clutched tightly under her arm. I waited for them at the top of the stairs.
    Simon carried a tattered leather Bible in one hand. He offered a tight-lipped smile and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Hi, Taylor.” His eyes moved, from me, to the stage, then back to me. Elise had been right. He was nervous.
    I gathered that this would be a poor time to talk about security details. Besides, there was little that could be done at this point. I motioned toward the stage. “I checked some things out. Maybe we can talk after the show.”
    Elise’s face darkened.
    “I mean, the celebration.”
    Simon moved over to the curtain that served as a stage door and pulled it aside. The youth choir that I had seen earlier was hustling onto the bleachers near the back of the stage. To the side of the bleachers, a rock band scrambled into position and screeched out a few tuning notes. The drummer climbed onto a glass-encased stand that held bright-orange drums of various sizes. Elevated and isolated, covered with tattoos and wearing a stocking cap, he reminded me of a clown perched on a trap door in a carnival dunking booth.
    “Don’t see any terrorists with machine guns,” Simon said with a weak laugh. He stepped aside and held the curtain open for me. “Want to take a closer look?”
    From where we were, just at the edge of the giantscreen, we could see both the stage and a part of the auditorium. People moved up and down the aisles. The floor seemed to vibrate with the buzz of thousands of conversations.
    “Machine guns aren’t what worry me at an event like this,” I said. “Bombs loaded with nails and ball bearings are what keep me awake.”
    He cleared his throat. “Right.”
    The bass player thumped out the first chords of a gospel tune. The singers swayed on the bleachers. A few of them put their hands to their mouths for a last, throat-clearing cough. In front of them the giant screen scrolled up toward the ceiling. A wave of applause began in the front row of the auditorium and washed toward the back as the rising screen revealed the stage.
    I frowned. “Hey, where did those two plants beside the podium come from?”
    Simon looked around the curtain again. “What plants?”
    “The bushy things on each side of the podium— those weren’t there twenty minutes ago.”
    “I don’t know what was there or not there. I’ve been practicing my Bible talk.”
    “It’s a pulpit, not a podium,” Elise said, nudging me aside. “Let me see.” She peered through the gap in the curtain. “It doesn’t look unusual to me. I don’t remember for sure, but it seems that we always have plants beside the pulpit, don’t we Simon?”
    He extended his hands, palms up. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
    I looked again. “I know those were not there before.”
    “Someone must have