CHAPTER 28
"So, what do you think?" asked Terri Hutchinson, stepping back.
Maria studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking in the bouffant hairdo, the false eyelash and bright lipstick, and the discolored mark which surrounded her left eye. She didn't look like herself. She looked like--well, Audrey. Which was just how she was supposed to look.
"After the first scene, you'll wipe off the bruise, add shadow, liner and the other eyelash, and you'll be set for scene two," the makeup artist told her. "So you think you can reproduce this?"
"I think so," the girl responded. "The black eye may take a little practice, though."
"Just remember to stipple the dark purple and a little green into the black to make it three-dimensional," Terri instructed. "Otherwise it will read flat under the stage lights and look fake."
"Well, it looks pretty darn realistic now," said Maria with a smile. "I look like I've been in a fight or something."
Terri grinned at her. "It's too bad I couldn't get down here last week," she said. "Then you could have practiced on the weekend and had a shiner for Halloween. It's kind of macabre, but bruises and wounds make for a fun costume."
"Actually, my Halloween was plenty scary by itself, without the fake bruises," Maria responded with a shudder. Seeing Terri's curious look, she prevaricated, "I had school and work. Each frightening on its own."
"Enough said," laughed Terri. "I know what you mean. You think it's bad now, just wait until you get to college." She put down the powder brush. "So, let's head out to the auditorium and get Ms. Bedinger's approval, and then you can clean up."
Together they headed down the hall towards the auditorium, where Ms. Bedinger was running a scene with the three doo-wop girls and Mark. At an appropriate break, Maria climbed up onto the stage to let the teacher study Terri's makeup design under the lights.
"Yes, that's exactly what we need," said Ms. Bedinger with satisfaction. "It will work very nicely." Maria smiled as from the orchestra pit Alex gave her a double thumbs-up.
Terri approached the stage. "I need to talk to the trio about their hair and makeup now," she told Maria. "So you can go ahead back to the bathroom and take the make-up off. You can use baby wipes for the first layer, and I left cold cream and some towels by the sink."
"Terri, thanks for your help," Maria said gratefully.
"Hey, no problem. I owed Ms. Bedinger a favor; this is an easy way to work it off," the makeup designer answered with a smile.
As she headed into the hallway, Maria looked at her watch. It was almost 4:30; she should be done with rehearsal and home in plenty of time before the rest of the gang would arrive. She should probably stop off and get some Tabasco sauce, she thought. It wasn't exactly a staple in the DeLuca household.
She idly wondered how Michael was doing. They hadn't spoken in either of the classes they'd shared, although she was aware of him watching her carefully. He seemed to have done what she asked and gone home the night before--at least she guessed so, since she hadn't felt him around during the night. She'd awakened to an early-morning phone call from Isabel, who had arranged for Max to drop her off at the DeLucas' so she could accompany Maria to school; Michael had evidently been off duty this morning as well. Hopefully he was a little more rested. Not that he looked much better, although he'd evidently pulled himself together enough to put on clean clothes before coming to school. That was at least a start.
Speak--or rather think--of the devil. There he was, coming down the hallway from the direction of the shop classroom. He must have been working on the plant puppets, she thought with pleasure. Strange how she could be so unhappy with that fact, and then just a few days later it made her giddy with happiness. She smiled as she called, "Hi, Michael," down the hall.
She was totally unprepared for the look of shock on his face that drained away in a flash to pure anger. In an instant he had rushed to her side and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you okay?" he burst out. "Who did this to you? I'll kill him." He was practically shaking with rage.
"Michael!" she cried, trying to cut through his anger, enough so that he would actually hear her. "Michael, listen to me. I'm not hurt. It's make-up for the show. I'm not hurt," she repeated firmly, reaching up a hand and wiping at the dark makeup underneath her eye. "See? It looks real from a distance, but look at it up close. It's just make-up, Michael."
He froze and stared down at her face, which was lifted up to his. Suddenly seeming to realize how tightly he was gripping her shoulders, he pried his hands loose and took a halting step backwards. He was still vibrating with anger. As if dragged up from unimaginable depths, a cry of "Goddammit!" escaped him, and he turned and drove a fist violently into a locker. He continued to curse and beat on the lockers, denting a few of them, paying no heed to any damage he was doing to himself. Maria reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him; with an instinctive hiss of pain, he pulled away from her and looked wildly around the hallway.
Maria began to speak in a soothing voice. "It's all right, Michael. It's all right. Come on, let me see." Some of the wildness began to dissipate from his expression, and she reached once more for his arm, gently this time. Shying away from her hands, he took a step backwards, ending up with his back against the now damaged lockers.
"Did you hurt yourself? Let me see your hand," she commanded firmly. He reluctantly held up his right hand and she studied it without touching him. "You're going to have some nice bruises there," she said upon seeing the reddened knuckles. "Come on, let go find some ice to keep it from swelling. We can get Max to take a look at it at dinner." He didn't move, and she took a few steps closer until she was standing directly in front of him.
"I'm not kidding, Michael. We should get this fixed up," she said, reaching for his hand. He jerked his arm up out of her reach, and his jacket sleeve pulled up slightly to reveal the edge of a pale-colored cloth underneath. He immediately pulled the sleeve back down, but it was too late; she'd already seen it.
She noted the once black, now faded to gray, T-shirt he was wearing underneath his jacket. Faded thought it was, it was long way from the pale color she'd seen peeking out from his jacket sleeve. "What's that?" she asked suspiciously. Again, he didn't move, only looked away from her.
"Fine," she said abruptly. "I'll see for myself." Reaching up, she began to push the jacket unceremoniously off his shoulders. An abrupt movement of protest from Michael caused her to put one finger against his chest and say, "Stand still. I'm not going to hurt you, but I am going to take a look at your arm. You can leave if you want, but you're going to have to go through me to do it. Got that?" She freed his left arm before moving to his side to ease the jacket off the right arm, tossing the garment casually to the floor. The pale colored cloth she'd seen was wrapped around his forearm and knotted clumsily in several places. Maria felt suddenly lightheaded.
She bent down to snag his jacket and then a grabbed a fistful of his shirt, using it to pull him along with her into the nearby bathroom. He opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from her quickly closed it. "It's just the girls' bathroom, Michael. Get over it."
With her free arm, she swept the jar of cold cream and towels Terri had left to the far side of the counter, and then pointed to the counter. "Sit there," she commanded. His mouth tightened stubbornly, and she threatened, "If you don't sit up there by yourself, then I'll put you there." She looked up at him towering over her, and realized how ridiculous this idea was. As if she could just pick him up and move him wherever she wished, like a stuffed animal. Yeah, Michael the teddy bear. Not. An amused smile threatened to break through, but she managed to hold it back. "Come on, Michael. Just sit down, okay?" With a sigh, he obeyed her.
Okay. She could handle this. With trembling fingers, she reached towards his arm. "I'll try not to hurt you," she promised. Slowly she fumbled with the knots and gently unwrapped the cloth, which turned out to be strips of an old T-shirt. Maria bit back a sob at what she saw underneath.
His forearm was covered with angry red burns and white blistered spots, some of which had begun to ooze slightly. "Oh my god," Maria whispered. In shock, she looked at Michael, who was staring stonily into the distance as if to disassociate himself from what was going on. Ideas of doctors, or hospitals, or, better yet, Max rushed through Maria's head. Bracing herself, she looked down once more at the wounded arm. Her heart thudded painfully once and then froze in her chest as she realized where she'd seen him hurt like this before. Exactly like this.
It was in the round room.
He'd told her he'd tried to use his powers, and they'd backfired, hurting him.
And now here was Michael, with the same wounds he'd had then.
She knew for sure what she'd begun to suspect yesterday.
He was back.
TBC...