Part 1His Needle Made Them Sleeping Beauties

I was just trying to watch a movie. That was it.

But the kid behind me wouldn’t quit. He kept kicking the back of my seat, a rhythmic, dull thud that was slowly driving a wedge into my sanity. Then came the smell—stale cheese and sweat—as he propped his bare foot right next to my ear.

I snapped. I turned around, my voice tight. "Hey, keep your feet down and sit still."

He didn't listen. Instead, he grinned, a feral little look in his eyes, and jammed a needle into the side of my neck.

It wasn't a poke. It was a stab.

* * *

Sharp, white-hot pain flared instantly. I slapped a hand to my neck and pulled it away slick with warm blood.

Behind him, his mother just giggled.

"Oh, relax," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "He’s just playing with my sewing needle. Boys will be boys. It’s not like it’s poisoned or anything. Don't be such a drama queen."

That did it.

I threw my bucket of popcorn to the floor, ripped out my phone, and blasted the flashlight right into the kid’s face.

"Listen to me!" I screamed, my voice tearing through the theater's darkness. "That kid is holding a high-risk, medical-grade needle! It’s used! It’s filthy! That is HIV-positive blood!"

The beam of my flashlight caught the needle in the kid’s hand. A single drop of blood hung from the tip.

"Holy sh*t! HIV?" someone yelled.

"Run! Don't let him touch you!"

Panic is contagious. In seconds, the theater erupted. People vaulted over seats, screaming, scrambling away from the epicenter of the infection. The room descended into absolute chaos.

The woman’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, defensive fury.

"What the hell are you saying? HIV?" She stood up, screeching. "You’re cursing my son! I’ll rip your face off!"

I took a step back, my phone camera already rolling, locked onto the kid who was now looking confused, still clutching the weapon.

"Stay back!" I yelled, addressing the crowd. "Nobody knows if they have more needles! Call 911! Now!"

"This is assault with a deadly weapon! They are spreading a biohazard!"

"Block the doors! Don't let them leave!"

My hysteria was calculated, and it worked. The fear of contagion is primal. Several large men immediately moved to block the exits, their faces grim.

"Yeah, nobody’s going anywhere!"

"That is sick! Stabbing people with AIDS needles? You people are monsters!"

Suddenly, the house lights flooded on, bathing us all in a harsh, exposing glare.

The woman finally realized the gravity of the situation. She saw the rage and terror in the eyes surrounding her and snatched her son into a protective hug.

"What are you doing? You’re bullying a mother and child!" she shrieked, though her voice wavered. "It’s not AIDS! It’s... it’s red ink! It’s just red ink!"

I stared at her. I looked at her with the cold, dead eyes of someone who has already imagined their own funeral.

"Red ink?" I stepped forward. "Okay. Then tell your son to stab himself with it."

The theater went silent.

"If he sticks that needle into his own arm right now, I will get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness."

The woman choked. She looked at the jagged, bloody needle, then instinctively shoved her son behind her back.

"Why should I? You aren’t touching my son! You’re crazy!"

Adrenaline began to crash, replaced by a wave of dizziness. My knees felt weak.

Behind the woman’s screeching defenses, the kid finally realized he wasn't in charge anymore.

"Mommy! They’re being mean to me!" he wailed.

He threw the needle down. The bloody instrument skittered across the concrete floor, rolling twice before coming to a stop in the middle of the aisle.

The crowd recoiled as if the object were radioactive. No one dared to breathe near it.

"Don't cry, baby, don't cry," the woman cooed, glaring at me with venomous hatred. "You piece of trash! Scaring a child like that? It’s a tiny scratch! You’re blowing this way out of proportion!"

"You want to call the cops? Fine! Call them! I’ll sue you for defamation! I’ll sue you for every penny you have!"

She was still posturing. Still pretending she held the cards.