Concerto
Sandra Miller
Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Miller.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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RITORNELLO:
The Nightmare
"Dreams that do come true can be as unsettling as those that don't."
--Brett Butler, "Knee Deep in Paradise"
The dream was always the same.
I was running, running as fast as I could, running for my life--and for someone else's. Cold sweat pasted my clothes to me, and my feet screamed in painful protest. My throat made ragged choking sounds as I struggled to pull in air.
But I knew it didn't matter. I knew I was too late.
A building loomed up ahead, a brick building with climbing ivy, a building I had to get inside. It was so close, and yet so impossibly far away. Still, it was in sight. I felt a doomed hope rush through me, and I did what I would have sworn couldn't be done--I ran even faster.
I was holding nothing back now, my muscles working so frantically there was no time for pain. One of my blood-spattered canvas tennis shoes worked itself completely off my foot on the stairs. I didn't slow down, really didn't even notice. My attention was fixed on the third-floor landing, coming into view. Just around the corner now....I had to go faster....
I heard a woman scream, but I couldn't have told you if it was me or her.
The door was cracked open. But even as I pushed it open I knew I was too late; even as I first saw her lying bleeding on the living room floor I knew I couldn't save her....
And then I heard the footsteps, and I knew I couldn't save myself.
MOVEMENT ONE:
The Nightmare Continues
I've got to tell you, there's nothing like a recurring nightmare about a brutal murder to really screw up your sleep.
Who am I? My name is Chrispen Marnett. I am a violinist, part-time artist and until this nightmare thing started, grounded realist.
This nightmare had been plaguing me for about a week. When I woke up screaming from the latest recurrence, it was three o'clock in the morning.
Now it was six-thirty that same morning, and I walked into the Green Room of the Newton Concert Hall. Rehearsal didn't start until eight, but what was the difference? I hadn't been able to sleep any more, and I was driving myself crazy pacing around my little house.
So I threw my violin in the car, picked up a big cup of steaming coffee from a convenience store, and went to rehearsal early.
I didn't really expect anyone else to be there so early. I figured I was just lucky the building was open at all. The Green Room--which wasn't green at all, performer's lingo is weird sometimes--had wide counters along two walls, and sofas and chairs clustered around low tables around the room. Usually the room was crowded with people, and I would avoid the groups at the tables, standing by a counter to warm up. But today, the room was empty and I was tired. I left my violin case on the counter and sank into one of the chairs.
The quiet of the large room was very soothing. The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioning fans. I leaned my head back against the chair. Sleep at home was out of the question, but I was surprised to find I could drift off to sleep here, no problem. It would be sort of embarrassing when people started coming in, though...
The sound of a door opening jolted me fully awake. I could hear faint voices approaching. The hallway nearest to me led to the dressing rooms and soloist lounge, but this seemed to be coming from the far hall, which led to the restrooms and the conductor's office.
Nobody was likely to be in the Green Room restrooms at six-thirty in the morning. It had to be the conductor then--Darren Johnson must have been having a meeting.
"I'm sorry, Darren, I cannot discuss this any further."
Well, now I knew who Darren was meeting so early. That particular voice always made my knees a little weak. Alexis Brooks, international superstar, accused murderer, and concertmaster of the Newton Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra.
And an ongoing fangirl crush of mine since I was sixteen, but I was pretty sure this was not a good time to be thinking about that. The voices were getting louder now, and I was about to be involved in a confrontation between the conductor and the concertmaster of the symphony I worked for.
Not a pretty place to be. Pacing the house was not looking so bad right now.
"Alexis, stop." I couldn't tell if Darren was trying to plead or command. "You aren't being reasonable, you have to see that."
"I don't care, I--" Alexis came around the corner and stopped short, staring at me. I could feel my face start burning. Terrific.
I tried to think of something to say to him, anything that wouldn't make me look like a psycho eavesdropper. But I was drawing a total blank, and so I was still standing there like a red-faced idiot when Darren came barreling around the corner after Alexis and nearly ran right into him.
"Alexis, I--oh, look, Chrispen is here!" Darren sounded like this was an unexpected gift. Whatever this argument was, he must really have been losing it. "Surely she will help us sort out this little difficulty. Won't you, Chrispen?"
I darted a glance at Alexis. He didn't say a word, just regarded me in silence. "I--you know I'm always happy to help when I can."
"There now," Darren said, as if this solved everything, "we'll soon have this settled. Let me bring you up to speed, dear girl. You are aware of our situation regarding the mid-May performance?"
Oh, boy. Mid-May--he was talking about the tribute concert. Alexis's birthday was May sixteenth, and we were featuring the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in his honor. This was not a disagreement I wanted any part of. I bit my lip and nodded.
"Naturally," Darren said. He put his arm around my shoulders as if we were old buddies. "Here's the rub, though--we can't find a soloist willing to play the Mendelssohn with us."
"Not one?" This was a surprise--with a concertmaster the caliber of Alexis Brooks, we had no problems lining up any soloist we wanted.
"Not one." Darren was emphatic. "It's his signature piece, you see? He defined it--it brought him international fame. No one is willing to play it with Alexis in the orchestra--would you sing 'Over the Rainbow' with Judy Garland in the chorus?"
I made some non-committal noise of understanding. I glanced at Alexis again, but he seemed content for now to listen, arms folded, regarding us both with what appeared to be amusement.
"So there we are," Darren continued. "A heavily advertised concert in two weeks, well on its way to selling out, with no soloist! It's untenable, you must agree. So the Board of Trustees thought, quite reasonably, that--"
"I won't do it," Alexis interjected. His tone was warning.
"Hush, dear boy. They thought, quite reasonably, that Alexis could play the solo himself. His trademark piece! First time in five years! Just think of the media stir!"
Alexis's glare could have cut stone. Whatever he was about to say, I could only assume it wasn't going to improve relations between him and Darren.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," I put in quickly, before whatever was behind that glare could find its way into words. Alexis looked at me in surprise.
Darren looked surprised too, and thoroughly deflated. "What?"
I shrugged uncomfortably. "Alexis obviously doesn't want to solo on that piece. I don't think you should force him."
Darren's eyes narrowed. "Don't think I should--now look here, does he work for this symphony or not?"
"Darren!" I protested. "You're not being fair."
Alexis threw up his hands. "That's what I said. You want to honor my birthday by torturing me? No, thank you. It doesn't matter to me whether we have the damn concert or not. I'm not playing the Mendelssohn. Period." He shook his head and made a beeline for the door.
"I can still catch him," Darren said. "I can--"
I grabbed his arm. "Darren, wait. Maybe you should let him go. Are you sure you want to push this?"
He sat down and ran a hand through his graying hair. "No. I'm not sure at all. Alexis could be anywhere, anywhere in the world he chose to go--but he's here, and we are lucky to have him. I know that. You must think I'm a heartless old man. But what can I do? The Board specifically demanded that Alexis play this performance."
I sat down across from him. "Then they aren't being reasonable, either, however you try to justify it. I'm sorry, Darren, but I wonder if the lot of you aren't blinded by dollar signs. What's the real purpose of the mid-May concert? To honor Alexis, or to make a lot of money and publicity for the symphony?"
"To honor Alexis, of course." He sounded offended.
I shook my head. "Then how can you even ask that of him? The last time he played that concerto with this symphony, his wife died. He's never played it again since he played it at her funeral. He obviously isn't ready to play it now."
Darren looked at me bleakly. He probably regretted bringing me into the conversation at all. "Then what do you suggest we do?"
I couldn't detect any sarcasm in the remark. "For now, nothing. If you try to force him on this--I don't know, he seemed pretty upset. I think he might leave the symphony before he'd agree. We'll find someone else, anyone else."
He sighed. "But the Board--they want Alexis to play..."
I considered a moment. "The Board doesn't want to lose him any more than you do. Did I hear Dmitri Kast had to cancel his appearance with us next week?"
"News certainly travels fast. Yes, he's been hospitalized with pneumonia. There's no way he'll be able to play. Another problem the Board will want an answer for..."
"Well, what if you ask Alexis to fill that hole instead? Not with the Mendelssohn, but something else."
Darren suddenly seemed to be looking right through me to something on the other side. "I think you're onto something there. Not the Mendelssohn, but something he knows just as well. Something that provides some cover in case he cracks after so many years without solo performances...maybe not a solo, then, but--how about the Bach Double?"
"That's perfect. We've all played it so many times--we'll have it ready, no problem. Dwight can play the second violin solo."
"Yes... " He stood up abruptly. "I'm going to call Alexis right now. If he doesn't show for rehearsal, you'll know it didn't go well."
He disappeared down the hall towards his office, whistling. He obviously expected it to go very well indeed.
I got up and went back to the counter. I was way too awake to nap now. May as well get some practice in, I decided.
My coffee was cold and my fingers were pleasantly warm and tingly from playing by the time other people started showing up for rehearsal. I laid my violin in its case and shook out my hands.
Alexis came back in and headed straight back to Darren Johnson's office.
A few minutes later, Dwight Richards came in. For some reason I couldn't quite put my finger on, I always felt tense when he was around. Dwight was the symphony's principal second violinist. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and really a handsome man. He'd been asking me out pretty consistently since I came to town six months ago, but I just couldn't feel comfortable enough around him to say yes. We were pretty good friends though. He dumped his violin case in a chair, stretched, looked around, and saw me.
Uh-oh. I knew that look, and I didn't feel like having the same conversation, ending with the same no, this early this morning. I picked up my styrofoam coffee cup and headed for the sink farther down the counter, hoping to discourage him.
No such luck. "And how is Ms. Assistant-Concertmaster today?" demanded a cheerful, deep voice at my shoulder as I turned the water on.
"Oh, you know, could be better, could be worse," I said evasively, rinsing the cup and lid. "I didn't sleep well. But I'm still here, which is a plus. And you?"
He didn't answer. He stood there silently at my shoulder until I threw away the cup and turned around, and I saw he was frowning.
"What?" His scrutiny unnerved me. I looked away and saw principal violist Daniella Lewis walk in, scowl at us, and cross the room to sit down.
"I knew it," he said quietly. "You look terrible. What happened?"
I sighed. I didn't really want to talk about this with Dwight--he was insanely jealous of Alexis Brooks. Just the mention of our concertmaster's name could sour a conversation. But it wasn't like this one had been going so well anyway. "There was some excitement this morning. Alexis was pretty upset. But I think it all worked out alright in the end--it sounds like you're going to play the Bach Double with him next week. Pretty cool, right?"
Dwight didn't appear to think so. He stared at me a moment longer, like he was trying to hear everything I hadn't said. "That's it? Our high-and-mighty concertmaster was upset?" He paused. "And that upset you?"
"Well, he sounded to me like he might leave the symphony for awhile there."
Dwight snorted. "And that would be a Terrible, Bad Thing, right?" He looked like he was thinking about stomping off. "Look, there was a Newton Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra before Alexis Brooks came here. I'm sure we'd survive if he left."
I shook my head. "It wasn't the same, Dwight. You were here before Alexis came, you must know that. I just got here six months ago and I can tell. Newton's too small a town, and the symphony is too new to compete with the big East Coast orchestras. You'd never get the talent you have now without him. People don't go to Juilliard to play in little mid-west symphonies."
"People don't...wait, Ms. I-Went-To-Juilliard, why did you move out here, then?"
I could feel my face turn red. "For the opportunity to work with Alexis Brooks, of course. The greatest violinist of our age--some say the greatest violinist who ever lived. And I get to share the first stand of the symphony with him. I'd have to be crazy to pass that up, right?"
Dwight was staring at me like I was sprouting horns. "And the fact that he was the prime suspect in his wife's murder--that he stood trial for it, and only got off on a technicality--that doesn't bother you at all?"
"No. I don't know how to put it but bluntly. I don't believe Alexis killed Madeleine Brooks."
Dwight's eyes narrowed. If the conversation had soured before, it was about to turn absolutely rancid.
Alexis leaned around the corner behind me, out of the hallway. "Oh, Dwight, there you are. Can you come back to Darren's office, please?" His eyes cut to me, and I swear he winked.
If it was possible, my face turned even redder. What was that about?
Alexis disappeared back down the hallway. Dwight stood looking at the corner with an unpleasant expression on his face. Then he turned back to me.
"Chris, I..." He glanced back at the hall and shook his head. "Just take care of yourself, okay? I'll talk to you later." He went down the hall after Alexis.
The room wasn't cold at all, but I shivered anyway.
I gathered up my violin and music folder and made my way out onto the stage before Dwight and Alexis came back. Tossing out my coffee was beginning to seem like a bad decision, even if it had been cold. Now that the drama was over, my lack of sleep settled over me like a feather comforter, and I didn't see how I would stay awake through rehearsal. I hoped the bright stage lights would help.
Quite a few others had come onstage too, and the hall was filling with the sound of an orchestra warming up, a distinctive cacophony of sound that is always unique, and yet somehow fundamentally the same. That sound always quickened my pulse, no matter how many times I heard it.
I had only come to Newton six months ago, so there were still a lot of people here I didn't know. I left my music on the stand and went over to one of the few friends I had made, my best friend, Kolbi Edwards.
Kolbi was a pianist, one of the best I had ever heard. But she also played several other instruments, so though she was technically part-time with the symphony, she was involved in almost every concert. For next week's concert, she was playing the harp solo in Bizet's L'Arlesienne Suite #2.
"Funny instrument, the harp," she said as I approached. "Popular culture says that angels play them. I wonder if the angels have blistered fingers and carpal tunnel syndrome like I do?"
I laughed. "I wonder if they complain as much as you do."
Kolbi laughed too. "Maybe, but not as much as you. Because the violin is the devil's instrument. So we know where are the real complainers are."
I shook my head. "Guilty as charged. How are things in the harpist's corner today?"
Her grin turned wicked. "In the Harpist's Corner, things are great. Out there where you are--maybe not so much. I hear we're deep diving today."
I tried not to groan, and was mostly successful. "Really?"
"Yup--and it can't be L'Arlesienne, because I've been released to solo practice today. So....watch yourself, Chris, Alexis hasn't been in a very good mood lately."
I nodded grimly. "That's par for the course, though, isn't it?"
Kolbi's short bark of laughter didn't have much humor in it. "Oh, if only you knew. Why do you suppose Jack Duncan left?"
Jack Duncan had been the assistant concertmaster before me. I glanced over my shoulder--over half of the seats were still empty. Plenty of time. "I have no idea. Why did he leave?" I pulled up the page-turner's chair and sat down.
"Jack was the concertmaster of this symphony after Alexei Brooks retired back, oh, ten or fifteen years ago. As soon as Alexis graduated from high school, Darren was after him to take his father's old job, but you can guess how that went."
I nodded. Alexis's rise to international fame touring the world immediately after high school was a well-known story.
"He came back five years ago to perform the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto for a benefit concert, but I don't think he ever intended it to be more than a guest solo appearance. He and Madeleine rented a little house, planned to stay a couple months visiting family, and have a real vacation.
"Only Madeleine--Madeleine died, and--part of Alexis seemed to die with her. He canceled all his engagements, bought the house they were renting, and just parked his life right there."
"And then the police accused him of the murder," I said, remembering the coverage, how gleefully the media had turned on their darling.
"Yes." Kolbi looked unhappy. "They....well, they did. There was never really any evidence for that. And then at the trial it came out that the prosecution had falsified the evidence they did have. The case was thrown out. Alexis, though--he was never the same. He crawled into his grief and locked the door behind him. If he had business cards, they'd say 'Alexis Brooks, Widower.'" She shook her head. "He took Darren up on his offer of the concertmaster position. So Jack was bumped to assistant-concertmaster."
"And then he left?"
"No, he didn't. He wasn't happy, but he knew what an opportunity it was for the symphony. And Alexis, he was here, but he wasn't, if you know what I mean. He played the music they gave him, and went home. Jack was still handling all the responsibilities of concertmaster.
"After a few years, though, Alexis changed. I think he got lonely. So he tried to fill that hole, the only way he knew--with music. He started the Madeleine Brooks Foundation, with the recital series and the music scholarship fund. And he started being the concertmaster, with a vengeance. The first violins had a brutal section rehearsal schedule, still do. He's always critical and pushing for more from everybody. He took over the second violins, and was even getting in the viola's business. That's when Jack left. He just couldn't take Alexis anymore."
"But you have to cut the man some slack," I objected. "Look what he's been through--how can anyone fault him for doing the best he can?"
"I agree with you," Kolbi said, plucking out a little melody on her harp. She still looked sad. "I guess what I'm getting at is--keep the faith. Don't be a Jack Duncan. Alexis needs his friends around him."
"Am I his friend?" I said, surprised by the idea. For all my fangirl leanings, I had hardly spoken to Alexis in the months I'd been here.
"You could be. You know, I really think you could be."
For some reason, Kolbi didn't look so sad anymore.
The stage was nearly full, so I figured I had better go ahead to my seat. Dwight came out to the stage, followed closely by Daniella. She was doing her best to talk to him, and he was doing his best to ignore her. It was funny, in a mean-spirited way. I pretended not to see the dirty look she gave me as she took her seat.
Dwight seemed to be in a good mood as he sat down on my left at the head of the second violins. He shot me a thumbs-up as he reached for his music. Darren must have propositioned him about that solo, then--which meant that Alexis must have accepted the arrangement. I couldn't say why that should make me feel so relieved, but it did.
Alexis and Darren were the last ones out, and both seemed in higher spirits than I had seen them that day. It seemed to raise the mood of the whole symphony.
And then Darren took the podium and said, "Today we'll deep dive into the Symphony in g-minor." The good vibe sailed right out the window, and a few people gave voice to the groan I had restrained earlier.
It was true, a deep dive on a symphony was going to take awhile. First we'd play through the symphony, then all the sections of the orchestra would split up and rehearse it individually. Finally, we'd all come back together and play it through again, presumably to show how much better we'd gotten. My theory was that a deep dive was a good way for Darren to have a rehearsal when he had other things to attend to. But I'd heard a rumor that Alexis had come up with it, which fit pretty well with Kolbi's story.
Either way, deep dives were not a favorite with the members of the orchestra. But it could have been worse. Mozart's Symphony Number 40 in g-minor was one of my favorite pieces--had been since college--and I always welcomed the chance to play it.
Our first play through was a bit rusty. To be expected, really, on the first piece of the day, but I think we were all glad to break out into sections, knowing we'd have a chance to redeem ourselves later.
I was ready for the worst. Really, Kolbi hadn't been kidding, Alexis had a habit of pushing everybody too hard. And I didn't think he'd be thrilled about my interference that morning, even if it had been Darren who really caused it. No, I figured this section rehearsal was going to be a painful slog, so I buckled down and prepared to suffer through it.
He didn't waste any time. He spread his music out on the podium while we got ourselves settled, then perched on the stool in front of it. We sat there quietly, expectantly, waiting for instructions.
"From the top," he said, counted us in, and we were off.
We made it farther than I really expected to before he lowered his violin and called out, "Wait, wait! That B-flat--I don't think we're quite flat enough on that."
I reached for my pencil to mark the offending note on my part. A moment later, he counted us back in. There was a time, not too distant, when he would have called out the offending player by name, and made them replay the phrase until he was happy with it. More than once, each of us had taken a turn playing a particular phrase over and over, seeking his approval.
Come to think of it, I supposed I did understand why none of the other sections welcomed his interference.
So this mellowness was a pleasant surprise, but I knew it wouldn't last. The other shoe would drop.
I played along with the rest, and waited for that shoe.
We were all taking our places back out onstage before I finally realized that it wasn't coming.
Wow. I thought about it as the section leads conferred with Darren in the wings. That was probably the least stressful section rehearsal we'd ever had, at least since I had been there. Was it just coincidence that we played so much better today?
The last play through was awesome. I couldn't speak for the rest of the symphony, but the first violins were on fire. Darren seemed to notice as well.
"Alexis, my boy," he said as we packed up our things, "whatever you did today, bottle it and bring it for our next deep dive. Your section was amazing today."
He patted my shoulder as he walked by. "And Chrispen, thank you for your help today. I know the Board of Trustees will be pleased with this arrangement."
What I said was, "Anytime."
But I watched Alexis pack up his violin, and what I thought was, "Hang the Board of Trustees."
Kolbi grinned at me knowingly, and I stuck my tongue out at her.
About an hour after I went to bed, the phone rang.
Late night phone calls are always scary. Nobody calls late without a reason, and the reason is usually bad. I rolled over and reached for the handset on the nightstand. What had happened? Was someone sick? Or--dear Lord, had someone died? My father had passed away when I was in high school, but my mother still lived back in Carolina, and I hadn't talked to her since last weekend. What if--
The caller ID screen said "Private."
Private? Really? Someone called me at that hour and blocked their number? I punched the talk button. If a telemarketer answered, they were never going to know what hit them.
"Hello?"
Nobody answered.
"Hello? Hello?"
Nothing.
I frowned. There was silence, but not dead air--it sure seemed like this call was connected to something.
I was out of patience, though. I hung up the phone and rolled over to go back to sleep. If it was important, they'd call back. If not, well, that would be even better. I was really tired.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. I swore under my breath as I grabbed the handset. It still said, "Private."
I attempted to be reasonable--it wasn't easy, given my current mood. Maybe something had gone wonky with the first connection, so I just hadn't been able to hear what they had said. Maybe they'd dumped hot coffee in their lap, and had to hang up and tend to it before they could call me back.
"Hello?"
Or maybe it was just some kid making prank calls. I hung up. I'd always heard those kind of people did it for the reaction--a total lack of response was generally the best way to handle them. I hoped my particular lack of response would encourage this particular punk to find a better hobby.
When the phone had not rung again after fifteen minutes, I started to breathe normally again. The excitement was over, so maybe I could finally get some sleep. At the rate I was going, I wasn't going to be worth anything the next day. I rolled over on my back and stared up at the ceiling fan, making lazy slow circles above me. It made me even sleepier, and without meaning to I closed my eyes.
The damned phone rang again.
At this point I was out of reasonable excuses. I also was beginning to doubt this was an ordinary prankster. The timing of these calls was too deliberate. And not once had I been asked if my refrigerator was running, or if I had Prince Albert in a can.
Silence did not discourage this caller.
Well, whatever his deal was, I was done with him. The answering machine could get it, and then it and he could make silence at each other for as long as he wanted. Maybe that would settle him.
After a few rings, the machine did pick up. I could hear my voice inform the caller that I was not available, and the obligatory beep. With quiet thus restored, I rolled over to make another attempt at sleep.
"I see you."
Oh, man. I wish I had words to tell you how totally, completely freaked out I was right then. If I lived a thousand years I would never forget that voice--rough, gravelly, and very male. He said his few words, then there was a soft click as he hung up the phone.
My skin crawled all over. This was no kid, no casual prankster. A line had just been crossed here, and I didn't see any reason to believe he would quit now.
First I unplugged the phone. Let him call all night if he felt like it. Maybe that kind of silence would discourage him.
Then I erased his message. Just seeing that red number 1 flashing in the darkness, knowing what was behind it--well, it severely creeped me out.
There was no way I was getting to sleep under my own steam now. None. I went into the bathroom and slugged down a couple of Tylenol PM with half a glass of water.
Carefully keeping my mind away from what I most wanted to think about, I made my way back to bed. Knowing that the telephone was unplugged made the silence seem unnatural.
I curled up on my side, staring at the numbers on my alarm clock and waiting for sleep to find me.
It felt like only a few minutes later when something forced me awake--doggedly, insistently nagging at the back of my mind until I couldn't ignore it. I lay still in the quiet a moment, then rubbed at my eyes, resisting an urge to cry. I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt so bone-tired.
What on earth had woken me? As tired as I was, there was no way I'd have awakened on my own. Even now, I could feel the Tylenol PM pulling me toward sleep.
It took me a moment to identify the ringing, drifting in from another room. That utterly dumbfounded me, because even with the drug clouding my brain I clearly remembered unplugging the phone. So just how did it manage to be ringing now? And why did it sound so weird?
Oh, right--the fax machine in my office. I worked that out about the time the ringing stopped and the machine picked up. This was why I hated sleeping pills. My brain felt wrapped in cotton, my wits were addled. Figuring out the fax machine was ringing felt like solving a real puzzle.
I pushed myself out of bed and trudged down the hall to the office, sleep weighing on me like a physical force. Sure enough, the fax machine in the corner was printing away. There were probably ten or twelve pages stacked up in the tray already. I raised my hand to cover a yawn. Someone was apparently trying to fax me a novel. Someone--
I froze mid-yawn, creeping horror prickling my scalp. This couldn't be connected to the phone calls, right? Because some random caller wouldn't have my fax number. And I so wanted this to be random. If it was random, this was likely to be the only night like this I'd suffer. If not--well, I didn't even want to consider that.
My hand was shaking as I reached for the stack of papers. One glance told me that this was far from random.
I
SEE
YOU
I felt faint. And I seemed to have tunnel vision--all I could see were those creepy, ransom-note letters, wavering in front of my eyes as my hands trembled. The room was suddenly very cold.
Every paper in my hands had the same message. The damn fax machine was still printing, too; another stack of messages was quickly forming.
I felt like screaming and tearing my hair. Instead, I jerked the fax machine plug out of the wall.
I gathered up all the faxes and went to the kitchen. I grabbed a box of matches, and burned each page to ashes over the kitchen sink, one at a time. Then I ran the ashes down the garbage disposal.
I couldn't have said why, but that little ritual did make me feel better. I poured myself a small measure of blueberry wine. Between that and the medicine, I figured I'd have no trouble sleeping.
At least, I hoped not.
I was up early the next morning, whether I liked it or not. I slept only as long as the medication could hold me there, then I was too freaked out to sleep more. The memories were surprisingly vivid, given the state I'd been in.
And now, in the cold light of morning, I discovered I wasn't just spooked by my strange phone friend. I also felt the first flickering of anger.
I reckoned that this was probably healthy. I was coming to recognize this type of harassment as a violation, in a way I had not understood before it happened to me. Fear was fine; fear would keep me safe, but only anger would find a way to stop this from happening again, if anything would.
So before I even gave in to the inevitable and got out of bed, I was kicking around the idea of blocking the caller.
I was pretty frustrated to find that you had to know the phone number you wanted to block. Allowing the caller to block sending their number, which was required if you wanted to block them...at that moment it felt like the system was designed to protect him, not me. Those flickers of anger were growing into crackling flames, and that didn't feel healthy at all.
So I grabbed a bagel from the kitchen and headed into my office for my morning practice, perhaps a little early today, but sorely needed if my blood pressure was any indication.
I threw a towel over the fax machine so I wouldn't have to look at it. I lifted my violin out of its case and looked it over carefully, wiping away a spot of rosin dust I had missed after yesterday's rehearsal. These older instruments could be temperamental, and a sudden change in temperature or humidity could sprout a crack or open a seam. Mine was a 1610 Maggini I called Matteo--it was the perfect shade of brown, with delicate shaping and striking grain. The purfling at the top and bottom of the back was wound into beautiful, elaborate designs. The violin was my prized possession. It was currently insured for $1,750,000, but no amount of money could really replace it.
Today's inspection revealed no flaws, so I tightened and rosined my bow, shook my hands, and started playing long, slow three-octave major scales, loosening up my fingers and warming up my vibrato.
It is one of the joys of a really fine violin that even chores like scales become a pleasure to play. I never tired of the sweet, rich voice of a violin under my ear, even if it was only playing a G major scale.
As my hands limbered up I moved to scales in thirds, and octaves, with more complex bowing patterns. I played through a few fast arpeggios to get my fingerwork up to speed.
This practice had been the perfect call, I already felt so much better. I could always count on playing the violin to even out my mood, no matter what was wrong. I spread out my parts for next week's concert and started working through those.
But all too soon, I was done with them. I folded everything shut and tucked all the music back into my black symphony folder, frowning. When I had moved here from North Carolina, I had driven here in my little Toyota, only the barest essentials with me. My music library had stayed at my mother's house--it had to, I didn't have room for it in the car. We figured she could ship it out later, when I had gotten settled, only I had never asked her for it. I couldn't say I had ever really missed it until now.
I wiped my violin down, loosened the bow and put them back in the case. Clearly it was time to ask.
I left the office, considering. I would call her--but I was going to wait awhile longer. My mother was a notoriously late sleeper, and I had no desire to disturb her if she was having better luck than me in that regard. First, I'd grab the morning paper and give it a read-through. After that, it should be late enough to call Mom and ask her to ship out my music.
I pulled open the front door, and my jaw dropped. I stared around the front yard a moment, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The image was pretty clear, but my brain flatly refused to accept it.
Copies of last night's fax plastered my lawn. The grass was strewn with them. They had been taped all over my mailbox, to my car, to the front door, across all the windows....the trunk of the big tree was wrapped with them. I even thought I could see a few caught way up in the branches.
I just stood there, trying really hard to maintain my composure. My throat was making little choking sounds.
The anger that had been smoldering all morning erupted into white-hot flames that threatened to consume me. My temples pounded, and I could hear my pulse thumping in my ears.
A neighbor walking his dog down the sidewalk looked curiously from my littered lawn to me. I couldn't blame him, but it did nothing to improve my mood. I slammed the front door shut and leaned against it, trying my best to think.
Okay, so my place was trashed. That was not cool. But standing here in the foyer hiding from the neighbors wasn't helping the situation at all. I sighed and went to get the big trashcan out of the carport.
It took forever, gathering up all those papers, prying some of them loose from whatever they had been attached to, and stuffing them into the trash can. When I pulled all the papers off the windshield of my car, I found a message in white paint on the glass.
I SEE YOU
After the trash can was finally full, and the windshield scraped and cleaned, I stood in the carport and looked around the yard again. It was hardly recognizable as the wreck that had greeted me that morning.
But in my mind's eye, I saw the same man who had made all those calls running off all those copies of that fax, the light from the photocopier casting a faint green glow on the smirking face whose features I could not imagine. I saw him creeping around the outside of my house while I tried vainly to sleep inside, taping those awful messages all over everything.
All of the sudden I had to get away from the house. Forget calling Mom--I would go out and buy a whole new library. It would take me awhile. With any luck, it would take me all day.
I locked up, grabbed my purse, and headed for the car.
An hour later I was at the House of Violins music shop, raiding their music bins. I wasn't overly concerned with what exactly I bought, as long as there was a lot of it. I wanted enough music to keep me busy for months. I wanted so much music to work on that my mind would have no time to dwell on this twisted man currently disrupting my life.
Maybe it wasn't the best coping strategy, but it was all I had.
Vivaldi's Four Seasons? Absolutely.
Paganini's Twenty-four Caprices? Bring it on.
The Devil's Trill? Yes.
Sibelius Violin Concerto? My favorite--throw it on the pile.
Brahms Violin Sonatas? Sure, why not?
I had a substantial pile of music. Not much I hadn't played before, but that didn't matter. I could still work them back up.
I pulled out a nice edition of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto and regarded it thoughtfully. That would be fun--I hadn't played that one since my freshman year of college. I thought I would really enjoy working on it again. I flipped through it, checking out the arrangement.
All at once, Alexis Brooks was standing beside me. It gave me a start--I hadn't even realized he was in the shop and I sure didn't remember him walking up to me.
"Hello," I said lamely, trying to cover my surprise.
"Hello yourself," he returned, seeming to all purposes very casual. But I frowned--in spite of his easy words he was projecting an intensity that made me nervous. "I see you're stocking your music library."
I nodded. There wasn't really much I could add to that.
"You'll like the Mendelssohn Concerto," Alexis said suddenly, looking directly into my eyes, which sort of stopped my brain, "although the included fingering--especially for the second half--is less than ideal. I think my substitutions will suit you better."
I stared at him blankly, confused. Substitutions? Now what was he talking about? Did he ever say anything that wasn't cryptic?
His smile was funny, like he'd laugh if he didn't think it would hurt my feelings. He gave me a small, controlled bow, picked up a new violin case he'd evidently just purchased, and left.
I shook my head and put my music on the counter, still confused. "What was that all about?"
The cashier shrugged and handed me a copy of the Mendelssohn, an older edition than the one I had looked at. "Maestro Brooks bought it, wrote in some fingerings, and left it for you," she said, like that explained everything. And maybe for her, it did. A gift of music--surely a usual thing for musicians. How could she have known just how strange it really was? Fingerings for solo pieces were something every musician worked out on their own; they weren't generally shared, except from teacher to pupil, or perhaps between close friends. But neither situation applied here, and it was an emotionally sensitive piece, to boot. It just didn't make sense, from any angle.
The girl shook her head and smiled, revealing a pair of dimples. "Isn't he something?"
"Yes," I agreed, watched Alexis drive out of the parking lot in his white Jaguar. "Yes, he certainly is."
The first and second violins had a combined section rehearsal that evening. I put my case on the counter and got out my violin to warm up, but no sooner did I put bow to strings than Dwight appeared in front of me. He was grinning like something great had happened.
I kept my violin and bow up a moment longer just to annoy him, then lowered them. "All right, I'll bite. What's got you in such a good mood?"
"So, are you going?" he answered, which to my mind wasn't much of an answer at all. "You are going, right?"
"Dwight, you have got to know I have no idea what you're on about."
He looked honestly surprised. "You haven't heard about the recital? But it was the front page of the entertainment section!"
"Oh," I said, remembering. "Yeah, I didn't read the paper this morning because--well, I just didn't."
"I can't believe you haven't heard! Of course, I can't believe they managed to keep it under wraps until today--I suppose he must have wanted it that way, but--"
"Dwight, what are you talking about?"
"Alexis! He's giving a recital tomorrow night! Here!"
I stared at him. It felt like my brain had missed a shift. "Alexis? But he hasn't done a single solo performance in..."
"Five years, I know!" he crowed. "It'll sell out, you watch. I'm going--do you want to go with me?"
"Gee, Dwight, thanks for asking, but I'd better pass."
He stepped in uncomfortably close to me. I wanted to take a step back, but I was already against the counter. "Come on, Chrispen, don't be like that. Would it kill you to go out with me just once?"
I blinked at him in stupid surprise.
He shifted his stance. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit desperate--see, I already have two tickets. If you won't go with me I'll have no excuse not to take Daniella, and Chris, I really, really don't want to do that."
I started to say no. I took a breath to say no, I was going to say no--but then I happened to glance over Dwight's shoulder and saw Daniella on one of the sofas, fists clenched, staring daggers at me.
I smiled weakly, swallowing my planned response. "Sure, Dwight. Okay."
So it was childish. I admit that. But I hadn't spoken two words to that woman, and she hated me. That seemed pretty childish, too. Might as well give her a reason. And it gave me a petty kind of pleasure to deliberately aggravate her.
And I'd made Dwight happy, too. He beamed at me, and for a moment I could see what Daniella saw in him. "Great! I'll pick you up about six?"
I nodded, but before I could speak, he glanced at the door and his expression crumpled and became sullen. The moment, it seemed, was over.
I turned to follow his gaze and found Alexis, about to walk by us.
"Alexis!" I called out, a little louder than I had intended. I couldn't let him get by--he was the only escape I could see from the corner Dwight had me backed into. "I wanted to thank you for--"
"Hush!" He grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the corner, right past Dwight. He didn't slow down though, and so we crossed the room quickly in an awkward lockstep.
"But I only--"
"Kindly," he cut me off between clenched teeth, "keep your mouth shut."
Well, that was pretty clear. Wasn't I the one always telling everyone they had to cut Alexis some slack? Turned out it wasn't as easy as I thought. I bit my tongue and stumbled along beside him, trying not to think the word jerk.
We rounded the corner into the far hallway, and he threw open a rehearsal room door. I don't think he expected to find a couple of cellists in there making out.
Alexis made a small sound of impatience. "Wrong kind of warming up," he informed them dryly, and they scattered out the door toward the Green Room in considerable embarrassment.
Alexis gave me a push into the recently vacated room, and shut the door behind us.
"Fancy a little warming up?" I quipped when he turned back around. It wasn't nice, but I was low on patience.
He rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha. You're quite a wit." He lowered his violin case into a chair gingerly, as if it had made his shoulder sore.
"So I'm allowed to speak now?"
"I'm sorry, Chrispen. I know that was rude..."
"Psycho, even," I interjected helpfully.
"...but I couldn't think of any other way. I don't think the whole symphony needs to know about the Mendelssohn."
I stared at him. I was pretty sure one of us wasn't making sense, and I hoped it wasn't me. "I wasn't planning to make a general announcement, Alexis. I was only talking to you."
He sighed and sat down heavily in a chair next to his violin. "It would be better if Dwight didn't know. He was standing with you."
As if I could have missed that. Still....it occurred to me that Dwight's problem with Alexis maybe wasn't an isolated thing. Maybe Alexis had issues of his own.
He didn't seem inclined to discuss it further, though. He sat quiet in the chair, hands on his knees, and regarded me calmly.
"So...what I wanted to say was thank you. You know, for the Mendelssohn. You were right--your way is better."
He smiled at me, and the room lit up. "I'm glad." He reached for his violin case and started digging around in the music pocket. "It gets better, though."
"It...does?" How could a person be so difficult to have a normal conversation with?
"Sure. See, you've only got half." He pulled a couple sheets of paper out of his case and handed them to me. "Here's the other half."
Honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about. The two sheets of music in my hand were utterly unfamiliar. This could have been anything. And it wasn't even labeled.
But--it was in e-minor. I looked closer, followed the melody...and all at once I could hear this in my head. I knew this. It had been on Alexis's first CD, the one he made while he was still in high school, the one that made him famous.
"This is your cadenza!" I blurted in sudden understanding. "Your cadenza to the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. The cadenza you wrote yourself."
He grinned at me. "Yes. I hope you like it."
"Like it? I adore that cadenza! But are you sure you want to share it?" I had known a couple other violinists who liked to write their own cadenzas; a cadenza was tailor-made for displaying personal strengths, and showcasing your mastery of your instrument. But I had never known a violinist who had written their own cadenza and given it to anyone else.
"I've kept this to myself for far too long," he said soberly. "I think it's high time I shared it with someone else."
I couldn't place the tone in his voice. But it felt like things had taken a left turn somewhere, and I wasn't sure how to bring the conversation back on track.
As it turned out, I didn't have to. There was a small click from the doorknob, and a second later the door was open and Dwight was standing in the doorway.
"There you two are," he said flatly. "It's about time to start, everyone's heading for the stage."
He gave me an accusing look, and for some stupid reason my face turned red.
Alexis looked at my face and laughed. "I'm running this rehearsal," he told Dwight, "it's time to start when I say it is." He turned to pick up his violin case, effectively shutting Dwight out of the conversation.
It was a move I would never have gotten away with, but it worked for Alexis. Dwight left with no further comment. None we could hear, anyway.
Alexis pulled the violin case strap over his shoulder, and motioned me toward the door. As I passed him, he leaned closer to me.
"Blushing easily isn't a crime," he said quietly, "but it sure can make you look guilty."
I looked at him in surprise, and I could feel my face burning again. Alexis laughed, and we walked out of the room.
But I couldn't stop wondering--what was I guilty of this time?
When I got home after rehearsal late that night, the phone was ringing and the answering machine light was blinking 3. I grabbed the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Chrispen, it's Kolbi."
"Oh, hey, Kolbi." I hit the playback button, and tried to keep one ear on her and the other one on the machine, while I poured myself a glass of iced tea. Multitasking: it's not just for computers anymore.
"Message One," the synthesized voice on my machine announced, and the recording began to play. "The House of Violins would like to announce their new selection of fine bows! Come in today and--"
"--and then I heard about Alexis's recital," Kolbi said, "and of course--"
"Message Two: Hi Chrispen, my girl, it's Darren. I wanted to let you know we're canceling rehearsal tomorrow to allow everyone to attend the recital, and--"
"--naturally, but five years? Seriously? I wonder--"
"I see you."
I spit tea all over the counter. The message had my full attention.
"Nice Alexis Brooks poster." My eyes cut fearfully to the collage on my living room wall--how could he know? How? "I hope your tea is just as nice. I made it just for you."
I must have repeated "oh, my God" half a dozen times before I realized I was doing it.
"Chrispen!" Kolbi's voice cut through my rising panic. I had sort of forgotten her. "What is it?"
"I have to go, Kolbi. I think--I think I need to call the police."
"Okay." She must have heard some of what had happened. "Call me as soon as you can. I'm worried about you."
I agreed and hung up the phone, but my mind was still repeating, oh, my God. This madman was in my house!
And might still be in my house...
I breathed deep, trying not to pass out. I grabbed a kitchen knife out of the butcher block and edged out into the living room, my heart crashing in my ears.
"What do you want?" My voice sounded hoarse, like a rough whisper. Like one of those dreams where you want to scream, but can't make the sound come out.
The only reply was the fluttering of the drapes hanging out of the open front window.
I felt faint. I closed my eyes and forced myself to keep breathing. Steeling myself, I pushed the playback button on the answering machine.
Nothing happened.
Someone had erased my messages.
So I called the police. I mean, this lunacy had gone on long enough, right? This guy was a nutter. He had my phone number, my fax number, and had evidently broken into my house. It made me feel ill.
Time to call in Johnny Law to put the smack down on this guy.
The police officer arrived at my house at 12:30 that morning. He introduced himself as Officer Parker, and sat quietly on the couch and listened to me tell the story of my night so far, the creepy message and the iced tea and the open window.
He brushed for fingerprints on the answering machine, but the only prints there were mine. He checked the front window, from the inside and outside. He walked through the kitchen and the living room, and spent several long minutes examining my collage poster of Alexis.
"You made this poster?" he asked, backing away a few steps to see it all at once.
"Yes." Really, poster wasn't a good word for the things I made, but I didn't have a better one. It was something like a large scrapbook style display, laid out on fabric covered plywood and coated with lacquer to protect it. This one had photos, programs, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings, and all kinds of laces and trims to make it pretty. I was very proud of it--it was beautiful--but for some reason this cop's attention was bothering me.
"I work with Alexis Brooks," I told him, perhaps a bit defensively.
"That so." He moved closer to examine individual photos. "Know him very well?"
I shrugged. "Well enough." He sounded like he wanted me to think he was just shooting the breeze. But I didn't think that, and he was making me uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable--I felt almost nauseous.
Officer Parker sat back down on the couch and looked at me with a guarded expression that did not bode well. "Miss Marnett, I don't know any other way to say it. There isn't much we can do for you."
If I hadn't felt so awful, I'd have protested. He seemed almost to expect it, pausing before he went on.
"You say a man broke in through your front window. There are no signs of forced entry, and there is no damage at all to the window. You say he left a message. There is no message. You say he erased it. There are no fingerprints on the machine. There are no fingerprints anywhere. You say he made iced tea." He made a face. "He made iced tea? A man broke into your house to make iced tea? I don't even know what to do with that one. I don't have any evidence of a crime here, and there isn't much I can do. I can file a report for you, but that's about it."
I rubbed at my pounding temples. "I see."
He looked at me and sighed. "Look, I wish I had better news for you. If you want some free advice though--stay away from that character." He jerked his chin in the direction of my collage.
"What, Alexis?"
"He's bad news. I expect you're new in town, or you would already know that. You seem like a nice lady, and you don't want to get mixed up with that Alexis Brooks."
I just stared at him. I didn't even know how to answer that.
Office Parker looked away. "If there's nothing else...?"
"No." I felt like I might be sick. "No, there's nothing else. Thank you for your time, officer."
He picked up his hat and left.
"He didn't believe me," I said flatly, rinsing the tea down the kitchen sink. I was discouraged, and I felt terrible.
There was a short silence on the phone. "What?" Kolbi managed to pack a lot of outrage into one short word.
I sighed. "He couldn't find any proof of anything I told him. He'll file a report, nothing else."
"Damn. Did you tell him how this man has been harassing you?"
"Honestly, no, I didn't. I'm really not feeling very well at all right now, Kolbi, and I don't have any evidence, since I threw out his faxes."
Kolbi sighed. "I still think there ought to be something more they can do for you."
My throat closed up all at once, and I couldn't breathe. I was panicking, trying to say something, to ask Kolbi for help, anything, but the only sound I made was a sort of strangled gasp I was pretty sure she couldn't even hear.
"Chris? Are you there?"
I tried again. The room was spinning like mad, and things were starting to look kind of speckled and sparkly.
"Chris?" Kolbi's voice rang with alarm, even over the roaring in my ears. "Are you okay? Chrispen! Are you all right?"
I wanted to answer her, I really did. But I couldn't breathe and the phone slipped from my hand, and everything went black.
Falling.
I was falling, endlessly falling, tumbling over and over in a bottomless black void. I fell faster and faster, the wind rushing in my ears....
"I think she's coming around."
The words floated by me, nagged at my attention for a moment, and were gone. The black void swallowed me again, unrelenting.
"Nah, false alarm. Should I try to wake her?"
"If you can wake her, I think you should."
Two voices, one male, one female. Beyond that--well, the pounding pain increased every time I tried to consider who they were, or where I was. Better not to think about it. I sank unresisting into the blackness.
Someone was trying to drive away my comforting blackness. Short slaps, rhythmic and sharp, stung my cheeks, forcing me to awareness.
"Come on, Chris, wake up. Don't leave us."
The female voice was pleading, and naggingly familiar. Was she the one slapping me? Why did I hang around with people who treated me like that?
Nothing made sense, and apparently I was not going to be allowed to rest in peace. I groaned and cracked an eye open a sliver.
My eye, dry and crusty, protested this vehemently until I closed it again. But I had managed to make out a Jaguar emblem embedded into the tan leather of the thing I was slumped against.
That's when it all came together, like the flip of a light switch. Alexis drove the Jaguar. Why I was there, I had no idea. But I had heard his voice earlier--his and Kolbi's. She was the one who had slapped me to awaken me.
I scrubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands. I felt like hammered hell.
The Jaguar took a sharp left and I was pitched away from the door into Kolbi, who caught me and tried to stabilize me.
"Could you drive a little slower?" she asked. She didn't sound angry, just worried.
"No," Alexis said shortly. "We're almost there. How is she?"
"I think she's waking up. She's having a hard time of it, though. Something's wrong."
"We knew that. Hang on."
The car whipped around a sharp turn and stopped hard. I forced my eyes open--I swear, I could hear them creaking--and found the world to be a dark, blurry mess. I rubbed my eyes again. I could see Kolbi's pale, strained face peering at me in the uneven darkness. "How do you feel?"
"Bad." My voice was creaky too.
The door next to me opened, and Alexis leaned in, as pale and worried as Kolbi. "Can you walk?"
"I--I think so." Actually I wouldn't have bet money on it. But since Alexis had asked, I was going to try.
He took my hand and helped me gingerly out of the car. "Kolbi, come around here and take her other arm in case she stumbles."
We were in a parking lot, in front of a large, bright building.
"Is that a hospital?" The words seemed to come from somewhere else.
Alexis nodded. "Yes. And we are taking you in there."
I didn't really have an answer for that. "Why?"
Before he could reply, before Kolbi even made it around the car, I fell onto my hands and knees and vomited on the pavement.
"Um, yeah," Kolbi said, "that's why."
"Take it easy, Kolbi." Alexis's voice was close. Was he holding my hair back? Oh, man--if there had ever been a moment in my life as mortifying as that one, I had forgotten it.
He handed me a handkerchief and helped me to my feet. My head was pounding. I ached in every muscle I had, and a few I hadn't known about. My brain was too fuzzy to sort out what had happened to me, why I felt so terrible, why I needed a hospital. I couldn't even frame the questions coherently. I just stood in the dark parking lot, shivering uncontrollably, waiting for whatever happened to me next.
Alexis took my left arm, and Kolbi took my right, and we moved toward the hospital in an awkward shaky hobble. That shaking--I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't cold outside. But I couldn't make it stop.
We made it into the emergency room, where I discovered the bright lights made my headache orders of magnitude worse as my eyes wrenched themselves trying to adjust to the sudden change. I had a vague impression of light, of shiny floors and plastic chairs, but I couldn't seem to focus on anything. I was in a tunnel, and that gleaming room was way down at the other end. The sounds of the place were tinny and faint, hard to hear over the rumbling noise in my ears.
"I think I need to sit down," I said, but I never heard the words. I saw Alexis turn to me in alarm, then the blackness swallowed me and the silence was complete.
Any concept of time I ever had was completely gone. It could have been minutes or hours later when I opened my eyes to find myself staring up at a bright fluorescent light fixture.
I tried to move, to sit up a little and adjust my position, then gave up on that notion before someone got hurt. This was unmistakably a hospital bed. Hospital beds did not make sitting up unassisted an easy thing. I was also unpleasantly surprised to discover an I.V. inserted into the crook of my right elbow--another thing that made sitting up in the bed a uniquely painful proposition.
I leaned back against the pillows. A heavy fabric curtain on a metal rail separated my bed and a wooden chair from the rest of the room.
In the chair I found Alexis, watching me and looking worried.
"Where's Kolbi?" My voice sounded like gravel under hard shoes.
"She stepped out to call your mother. Are you awake?"
I frowned, trying to make sense of that. "I think so. Why is she calling my mother?"
Alexis leaned forward and took my hand. "Honestly, you haven't been doing very well. You've been talking, but nothing that made sense. Hallucinating. You stopped breathing once, and gave us all a scare." He shook his head. "We just thought she should know. They drew blood to try to find out what caused this, but...." He shrugged, looking away uncomfortably.
I shivered. That sounded horrific, and I was glad I didn't remember any of it.
The curtain slid back, and a doctor in green scrubs stepped in, pulling it shut behind her. She gave Alexis a stern look over the top of her reading glasses, then turned to me.
"Miss Marnett, I'm Dr. James. How long have you been taking Valium?"
I goggled at her. "Valium? I've only ever taken it once, years ago."
She frowned and made a note on her clipboard. "And tonight?"
I shook my head, but Alexis cut me off before I could speak, squeezing my hand. "Once before tonight, obviously."
Dr. James favored Alexis with that sharp look again. "Is this true, Miss Marnett? Did you take Valium this evening?"
All at once I saw where Alexis was going with this. I didn't want to admit I that I had a drug in my system I did not voluntarily ingest either. A wild story about drugged tea might get me pegged as an abuser. "Yes. Yes, I did."
She looked at me a moment. "May I ask where you obtained this drug?" She obviously could tell something was up. In my condition, quick thinking seemed beyond me.
"She just moved here a few months ago," Alexis said, covering my loss for words, "and--"
This time Dr. James sent some sharp words along with the look. "Mr. Brooks, can the lady speak for herself, do you suppose?"
Her cutting tone would have sent me looking for cover, but Alexis regarded her evenly. "I don't know. She seems very ill to me."
"It's all right," I put in quickly. "Alexis is right. I did just move. My old doctor prescribed me some Valium before I left, in case moving away from my family alone proved too stressful. Tonight I couldn't sleep, so I took one."
She made another note on her clipboard. "I see. Well, don't take any more. You are allergic to Valium, Miss Marnett."
"That's what all this was?" I blurted. "Just an allergic reaction?" I thought of an allergic reaction as itching, maybe some hives. This--well, I figured my tea must have been laced with rat poison or something.
"Yes, and it could have been fatal. You have been very lucky." She wrote something else, and turned toward Alexis. "Mr. Brooks, I want you to know that we are not unaware of your history. We will be keeping our records on this matter, and if you are ever discovered to be involved in administering this drug, we will use these records to assist in your prosecution."
"Naturally," Alexis said coolly, unfazed.
She clicked her pen shut and left.
I stared after her, floored. "Did she--did she just--" I couldn't seem to speak coherently.
Alexis smiled at my outrage. "Try not to be too upset with her. She's only trying to look after your safety."
I tried to think about it that way. After all, she clearly believed Alexis to be dangerous. And his prompting me with answers--he could have been helping me not to look like a druggie. Or, to a more suspicious mind, he could have been concealing his hand in slipping me a drug I had not meant to take. It was, I supposed, a question of how suspicious your mind was.
I shivered in a sudden chill, my hand tightening convulsively around his.
How suspicious was my mind?
I kept telling them it wasn't necessary, but both Kolbi and Alexis insisted on helping me into my house. In truth, it was probably best that they did. I couldn't remember ever being so shaky and weak before.
They helped me back to my bedroom, and got me settled in bed. Kolbi brought me a glass of water, and leaned over to pat my shoulder. "I'm going to head home," she said quietly.
"Thank you, Kolbi. I think you saved my life," I said seriously. "But can I ask you something?"
She looked surprised. "Sure, anything."
He wasn't even in the room, but I lowered my voice anyway. "Why did you bring Alexis?"
Kolbi appeared to consider it. "I couldn't come over here alone, not knowing what had happened to you. There aren't many people you know you can call at one-thirty in the morning. Besides--I knew he'd take good care of you."
She winked at me.
I was still picking my jaw up off the floor when she laughed and left the room. I had just gotten settled back against the pillows and gotten the burning in my face under control when Alexis leaned around the door jamb, saw I was awake, and came into the room. "How are you feeling?"
"I'll live. I do wish I hadn't run that tea down the sink, though. I wonder if the police would have believed me if they had tested it."
Alexis shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't had good experiences with the police around here, though."
I nodded. We sat in an awkward silence for a moment, then I cleared my throat. "I guess you'll have to be leaving then?" I didn't really enjoy the prospect; I couldn't say I looked forward to the rest of the night alone in the dark, after everything that had happened.
He looked surprised. "No. I came to ask if you have an extra blanket I can borrow. I'm bunking on your couch."
I pushed myself up from the pillows. "What?"
"There's only one reason to put Valium in someone's drink, Chrispen. Whoever did this wanted you to sleep--really sleep." His expression was sober, and it scared me. "He intended to come back here. And I intend to be here if he does."
I hoped I didn't look as pale as I felt. "But you have to get some sleep--you have your recital tomorrow."
"I do," he said, looking at me evenly. "And I'd like you to be alive to see it."
On that, I could agree.
It felt inhumanly early when I opened my eyes, but light was coming in around the curtains. I groaned and put my feet on the floor. May as well greet the day. Maybe it would be nicer to me than yesterday.
I padded over to the window on feet that felt swollen and sore. I put my hands at the base of my back and stretched backwards--it sounded like someone stepping on bubble wrap. Yes, certainly today would be nicer to me than yesterday had been. It could hardly be meaner.
I pulled the curtain open and realized there was something stuck to the outside of the window glass.
I SEE YOU
I let out an unlovely shriek and dropped the curtains back over the window.
Alexis burst into the room, his shirt and hair rumpled. "What is it? What happened?"
He raked over the room in one wild glance, found nothing to justify my outburst, and looked to me for answers. And all at once the last two days crashed down on me--the terror, the sleeplessness, and the physical collapse--and I was sitting on the floor with my face in my hands, bawling like a little girl.
"Oh--no," Alexis said helplessly, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just--I'm sorry..."
"No--it's not--your fault." I gave up trying to be coherent through my tears and waved a hand at the window.
Alexis stepped over me, and flipped a curtain back with a twitch of his hand. His face stiffened, and he dropped the curtain back into place.
"It's all right," he said, kneeling in front of me. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but it's going to be okay. Let's get you off that floor."
He held out his hands and helped me to my feet. I sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the box on my nightstand.
"Better already, right?" Alexis smiled at me, and I tried to smile back, but it felt a little shaky.
"Sure," I said. I sounded a little shaky, too.
"I'm going to go get that thing off your window. I'll be in the living room if you want to talk." He turned and went back out into the hallway.
I sighed and went into the bathroom to get cleaned up. It looked like today was going to be a mean one after all.
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