| “Track down this murderer, he must be found.” “Track down this animal, who runs to ground.” The cry of the mob began to rise, a roar of sound in a place that had heard no more then a whisper for decades; they had found a way to cross the lake. The crowd had docked and started trying to raise the portcullis. Erik knew it would be only minutes before they were here. He looked around the room, at all the furnishings he had acquired during his stay as the ‘Opera Ghost’. True they were just things, but now each had been infused with it’s own memory of Christen. “If they kill me I’ll finally be able to forget her.” Erik thought as he grabbed the inkwell and walked over to a bookshelf. Once there, he removed well worn leather bound book. His journal. “When I began making a written record of my life I never thought I would be able to write the ending. I was mistaken, at this moment a mob is coming to lay clam to my life, to make me answer for all of my misdeeds and sins. I find I have no fear of them, that I will welcome the end, for indeed I have had more then any man can ask. Christen has returned my love. My own sweet angel saw fit to look upon me, and with one kiss, she heeled me completely. What is the physical? Is it something that can inspire? No. What Christen give me will go far beyond that. It will carry with me to the grave.” Erik gave the paper a quick blotting and went over to his chair. The chair was special, it was once used in a magic act and had a hallow bottom. Erik had found it useful as a vault; the master copy of ‘Don Juan’ slept in here and now so would the only record of his life that wasn’t three quarters lie. After arranging the papers and locking the vault, Erik sat, trying to bring some dignity to what he knew were to be his last moments. Hearing the creak of rusty iron, the portcullis going up, brought a memory. He was walking through a fair, carts passed him, their wheels groaning and creaking. Erik did a side step to avoid one and ended up in a tent. He looked around, whoever owned the tent was not performing, so Erik tried to deduce what type of performer lived here. The decor wasn’t much help, the hangings, bobbles, and overall “exotic” look that so many of his profession favored. “Is someone there?” a voice called from one of the many draperies. “Just someone trying to stay out of the way of all the insane cart drivers.” Erik answered, as an old man appeared and made his way to where Erik was. “Mad cart drivers, not what most of the sad souls come to get rid of, but I could work up something.” the old man chuckled as he looked at Erik, “But with your secrecy,” he continued, looking at Erik’s mask “you might need something a bit more potent.” At that, the old man pulled a chain from around his neck. Hanging at the end of it was an amulet. The color of witch was constantly chaining. First, it looked red, then yellow, then blue and green at the same time. The old man, who billed himself a wizard, went on to tell Erik of a spell that, along with the amulet, would take the speaker out of any bad situation. The old man had said, “You can only use it once, and there is no undoing for this. Once you go, you can’t return.” This memory flashed through Erik’s mind and he thought, “I always wondered just what would happen.” Quickly he grabbed the black cloth that draped the chair and pulled it over him. Pulling the amulet from his watch pocket, he said the words that the wizard had told all those years ago “Arat sert, orge banosh.” The mob rushed in to the room, mad with blood lust. Little Meg pushed her way to the front and ran to the chair. Lifting the cloth, she was prepared to protect this poor man that had always helped her and her Mama. With a gasp, she let the cloth drop. He was gone. The crowd, seeing the object of there wrath wasn’t in this room, spilt and started going to the other rooms, where Meg could hear the sound of furniture being knock over. Her hand went to the chair and she picked up the white mask that lay there. Slipping it inside her shirt, she made her way back to the lake. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I’m sorry. You’re voice just isn’t what we’re looking for.” The words replayed over and over in my head. “Not what we’re looking for.” I mumbled under my breath as I needlessly punched my backpack. I sat down on a bench, trying desperately to keep from crying, thinking how many times I had heard those words, or ones just like them. “That duet was beautiful, you’re lucky to have a sister with such talent.” “We were hoping that your sister Sara would sing. If she can’t then your more then welcome to.” “Sara has such a lovely voice, I’m surprised it doesn’t run in the family.” Voices echoed from my past, all praising my older sister Sara. “Chocolate, that what I need.” I began rummaging through my bag, and thought about that morning. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Let’s see 281 West Ave. 277, 279, 283, huh? Where is it? I stood looking for the building where today’s audition was being held. I spotted the door wedged way back from the street and entered. Once inside I filled out my paper work and began the hardest part of any try-out, waiting. “Kristina Day.” Oh, GOD. Please, just let me get through this. Please. Amen. I walked down the ales and gave my music to the piano player and my paperwork to the director. He asked, “What will you be singing for us?” “Maybe This Time, from Cabaret.” I climbed the steps to the stage and waited for the intro. It’s one of my favorite songs and I only missed a few notes, but I covered. “I could get it, I wasn’t that bad.” I thought as I finished the song and collected my music. I looked over at the director to see how I’d done. I saw stone. “Thank you, please see the choreographer, down the hall two doors on the left.” I opened the door to a changing room. There was a woman standing by the door. “Put your name on the list” she said in a monotone. I imagined that she had been saying those same words all day. She continued “Once you change you will be put in to a group of five to dance. Lockers are there,” She gave a quick nod of her head. “And the changing stalls are there.” The same nod the other way. I quickly got changed into stockings and a danskin, and then looked around. There was one girl in the room with me. We gave each other a quick nod and half smile; you know the kind, when you met someone that you could really like, but your going for the same thing. It was that one. So trying to put myself at ease, I started stretching. I have always loved to dance. It’s how I got my nickname “Little Meg”. My Great Aunt Meg was a dancer, and I was so much like her. Giving a quick sigh over days' gone bye, I noticed that woman I saw on the way in now stood in the door. “The choreographer is ready for you now.” She said to the room. Myself and the other girls quickly assembled in the studio and the choreographer, Mike, showed us the routine. After running through it a few times, Mike said we would do it once as a group and then solo. As I finished my turn and walk over to the wall one of the girls leaned over and said, “You were amazing, who’s your teacher?” another girl chimed in, “Yha, I’d pick up some lesson from them. “ Caus whoever it is, they did a good job with you.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Thank you, and remember, call backs are at 1:00, if you aren’t here you will not be considered for a lead role.” I sat, willing the tears not to come. “Why?” I thought. I saw the director coming out of a door ”Now or never”. “Sir, excuse me? Sir?” I called. “Can I talk to you for just a minute?” He looked down at his wrist and said. “One, starting now.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I’m sorry. You voice just isn’t what we’re looking for.” It played like a mantra over and over, as I dug out a Mars bar I had stashed for just this sort of thing. Trying to take my mind off life, I started studying the people walking by. The woman on her way to a mid-day meeting, the street sweeper working, that guy being hit by a car. “What the hell?! That guy just got hit by a car!!!!” I ran into the road, to where the car had stopped. The driver had gotten out and came to stand next to me; “Do you have a cell phone?” I asked. She dug in her purse and pulled one out. She handed it to me with out a word. As I called 911, I moved her careful to the bench I was just on. She didn’t even notice. Just sat there, looking at what happened with eyes that didn’t see a thing. The call connected and I heard a man on the line. “911, what is the nature of your emergency?” he asked. “I’m on the corner of 5th & Broad. A man was just hit by a car. What should I do?” The 911 worker told me to check for a pulse. “Be sure to use the wrist.” He reminded me. “You don’t want to risk hurting the neck.” As I took his hand and felt for his pulse, I looked at the man lying on his stomach in the road. One of the tires was on his face and I could see blood starting to form in small pools along his head and neck. I let off a quick prayer, “God, please help him.” The 911 worker then told me to use pressure to try and slow the flow of blood. At that point, I started alternating pressure and prayer until I heard the sirens. As the E.M.T. workers took over, I sat down on the bench next to the driver. She was talking to her self, “Pouf, there he was. I was watching, he just fell into the road. You saw it, didn’t you?” she turned to me. All I could say was, ”Uh hu.” She continued, “He just came from no where. It was like he fell onto the road.” As she talked herself into absolution, I could see blackness starting to creep around the edges of my world. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- With almost everyone down in the cellars, Meg had nothing but empty halls to make her way through. Though the halls were more then enough, the gas lamps giving off shadows that made the empty corridors extra spooky. “Margate Gary, Where have you been?” The voice Meg knew all to well cut through the air and froze her in place. “Ma’am,” Meg began. “No” came back the quick reply, cutting Meg off. “I told you not to go down there, that it wasn’t safe. So, what do you do? You disobey me and go off following the mob.” Madam Gary stood rigidly, her concern for her daughter showing in her face. Softly she said, “You worried me Meg.” Meg stepped close to her mother and gave her a hug. “The Ghost has done so much for us, I had to try to help him.” she tried to explain. The concierge held her daughter out at arms length and looked into Meg’s eyes. “And did you?” Meg reached into her vest and pulled out the mask, “He was already gone.” She said, handing the white object to her mother. Madam Gary took the mask, holding it almost reverently, “Then all we can do is pray.” |
| An Unexpected Song |
| Chapter One |
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