The air at Blue Velvet was filled with the sounds of jazz and the chatter of the elite. Madeline and I found a seat not far from the dance floor.
“Would you mind having this dance with me?” I asked, looking at her as the music played. I took her hand and we slipped into the dancing crowd. Somewhere near the chorus of the song, Mr. Beaumont started yelling at us to evacuate the building.
“Good evening, everyone. I’ll be your detective tonight. Please do not leave the building.” The detective stormed in, along with ten other men in coats.
Everyone scattered like rats, as if they had something to hide. I grabbed Madeline’s hand and forced our way through the crowd.
“I said don’t leave! Are we just ignoring instructions now?!” The detective shouted.
We rushed through the back door of the building as I realized I had left my ID badge on our table. All I could think of was to run as far as I could. Against all expectations, a man was already waiting at the exit.
“I thought you wanted to dance.” Madeline said, clearly confused as to why I had dragged us out in such a rush.
All I could think about was the man standing in front of us.
“Excuse me—” the man said, holding out a hand to stop us.
“Just a minute,” I said right before I grabbed his collar and bashed his head with my fist.
“Lorenzo!” Madeline shouted as she rushed to stop us.
I kept punching the man until he fell to the ground. I couldn’t stop my arm from its continuous striking. I was moving without hesitation. Once I knew the man was incapable of moving, I grabbed Madeline and rushed us away from the building. My legs wouldn’t stop moving. I could hear nothing but my own breaths, not even Madeline. Getting us out of there was the only thing that mattered. Suddenly, she stumbled and fell. I helped her up and pulled us into a darkly lit corner.
“Marcus!” someone called out. “Marcus!”
Who were they referring to? The man I was back there, or the man I had been back then? Perhaps they already knew.
My brow furrowed as I stared into Madeline’s eyes. We were both trying to catch our breath.
“Who’s Marcus?” She asked.
“I–” I couldn’t reply.
“No.” She turned away. “I’d rather not know.”
Once the night had quieted down, we decided to leave. Madeline insisted we go to her house instead. She figured the investigators would swarm my house—well, Niccolo’s, technically. I spent the entire morning at a nearby beach, using the sand to scrub my body clean.