Mind Over Matter

As the time ticked by in stunned silence, neither Asian said a word, each trying to process the events of the previous five minutes.

"I-I think I'm having a panic attack," Tina said after several minutes, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Sit down," Mike panted, still dizzy and out of breath. "Just – just relax for a second." He rubbed his forehead, his hand shaking very slightly, and winced when his palm brushed over a cut on his temple.

Tina let out a long breath, trying to steel her nerves, and reached forward to move Mike's hand aside. "Hold still," she said softly. Carefully, with her black-painted fingernails, she delicately gripped the tiny shard of glass embedded in Mike's skin and pulled it out, Mike letting out a small hiss as a tiny droplet of blood slid down his cheek after it. Tina pressed the cuff of her sleeve against the cut.

"One cut down, a thousand to go," Mike joked flatly.

"Are you okay?"

"Honestly? I'm totally freaked."

"I meant your cuts."

Mike sighed. "They're fine. Not really high up on my list of concerns, though."

"We should get you to a hospital," Tina said, sitting down on the seat beside him.

"Well, first, we should probably figure out how to get out of the school without Artie noticing us." Mike swallowed. "We're kind of up shit creek without a paddle, huh?"

Tina didn't respond for a few moments, instead focusing her energy on keeping her breathing even. "For the record," she said shakily, "I had no idea that Artie could do that."

"I figured."

"Should we call 911?"

"I don't know. This is some fucked-up Heroes shit. Next thing we know, Puck's gonna start shooting fire out of his ass."

"You swear more when you're freaked."

"Huh?"

Tina shrugged. "Just an observation."

"Well, save the observations for when we're out of here. Right now, we're just fish in a barrel."

"Yeah, you really are," snapped a third voice.

Tina froze, her eyes widening as she stared in the direction of the stage. Mike followed her gaze, immediately tensing. He swore under his breath. Artie was sitting in the middle of the stage, having entered the auditorium through the backstage door.

"Just tell me, Tina," he bit out. "Why him?"

"Artie, please," she breathed. "Mike and I weren't doing anything—"

"Like hell you weren't!" Artie shouted suddenly, making Tina and Mike flinch. A light high up above the stage smashed.

"Artie," Tina started again, standing up as she tried to plead with him. "Mike isn't a part of this. Just let him go, and then you and me can talk."

"I'm done talking, Tina," he spat. "Though I do have to admit that it's a little amusing, you leaving me for a dancer. Way to twist the knife, Tee."

"For god's sake, Artie, listen to me!" Tina cried.

"I did listen!" he yelled, and the lights in the ceiling flickered. "I listened when you lied about your stutter! I listened when you were having a hard time dealing with your shyness! I listened when you wanted to know about my accident! I listened to everything!" Another stage light shattered. "And now, I'm done listening."

There was a creak from the back of the theater, and Tina and Mike looked over their shoulders to see the doors swing shut with a resounding boom. The sound of the locks sliding into place echoed throughout the auditorium, and Tina could almost feel her heart stop.

"Artie, what are you—"

"No, Tina," Artie stopped her. "Your turn to listen."

Will had just gotten home to his apartment and was in the middle of taking off his coat when his telephone rang. He threw his jacket over the back of one of the dining room chairs and answered the phone in the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Schue, I need you back at school immediately," Figgins' voice said on the other end, sounding strained.

Will frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

"There's been an incident involving your Glee club."

Will had dropped the phone and was back in his car before the apartment door could swing shut behind him.

When he pulled into the school parking lot, there were red lights flashing at the entrance, and his heart sank. He parked his car by the sidewalk, not caring that it was illegal to park there, and ran over to the ambulance, getting there just as a small team of EMTs was exiting the school, a gurney between them. Will froze, gaping as they lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, the person on it covered in a white sheet.

There was a body.

There was a body.

Oh, God.

He forced himself to approach one of the EMTs. "Excuse me," he started, his heart pounding. "What – what happened?"

The EMT glanced at his clipboard. "There was a fight of some sort in the auditorium and the kid got electrocuted."

"Who?"

He peered at the clipboard again. "Some kid named Artie. He a friend of yours?"

Will didn't answer, staring blankly at the body in the back of the ambulance. That wasn't Artie. That couldn't be Artie.

"William!"

Will's head snapped up to see Figgins standing grimly at the top of the steps. The ambulance doors were closed and then the vehicle slowly pulled out of the parking lot. "William, I need to see you in my office," Figgins called.

In a haze, Will cast one last look at the ambulance driving away and followed his boss inside. "God, what happened?" he asked as they walked down the corridor.

"I'm not sure," said Figgins gravely. "We're still trying to figure it out. As far as we know, there was a conflict of some sort between Mr. Abrams and Mr. Chang and Miss Cohen-Chang, and possibly some faulty equipment in the auditorium, but that's as far as my knowledge serves me."

"Mike and Tina were involved in this?"

Figgins nodded. "Miss Cohen-Chang is in my office now, but Mr. Chang was in need of medical attention, so he's in the nurse's office."

Will's heart skipped again. "Mike was hurt? How badly?"

"Nothing he'll have to go to the hospital for – only some scrapes and bruises," Figgins answered. "It was Mr. Abrams who bore the brunt of it."

"Jesus Christ," Will breathed. "How could this happen?"

"Maybe you ought to take a look yourself," Figgins said, gesturing towards the auditorium door as they approached it.

Will took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever could be waiting behind the door, and pulled it open. When he saw the damage done to the auditorium, the air left his lungs in a heavy whoosh.

The stage had been destroyed.

All of the equipment suspended above the stage had come crashing down to the floor and had turned the stage floor into a heap of rubble – cracked spotlights, tangled and frayed electrical wires, bent suspension rods… and Artie's empty wheelchair in the middle.