Author's Note: This story concludes the Beginnings Trilogy. The Trilogy as whole serves as a prequel to The Truth Will Set You Free. I apologize for the amount of time it has taken me to finish this trilogy and thank my readers for their patience and reviews. This is such a challenging but wonderful storyline; I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed this trilogy.
Beginnings: Part Three
Sometime Ago
By Andrea Christine
Angelo crawled out of the air duct and into the film room where he, Miss Parker and Broots had watched the footage of March 15, 1953. Even though it was impossible to distinguish night from day in the levels far under the earth, Angelo instinctively felt the need for a few hours' rest. Until Miss Parker and Broots came to the room, no one else had been there, as it had been long forgotten. He curled up in the corner, assured that no one would bother him as he rested.
"Want to see truth," Angelo murmured as he fell asleep.
* * *
Jarod walked the streets of Chicago in the dark of the night, restless from the questions spinning inside his mind. Longing to escape the puzzle of his family's part in The Centre for a few precious hours, he crossed the street to a movie theatre which was just beginning its eleven o'clock showing. He had not been to a cinema before, only hearing of them in one of his simulations as a child. He bought a ticket and went inside. What attracted Jarod the most was the smell of popcorn popping at the concession stand. He was very glad that had brought plenty of cash. "Pop Corn," he read on the side of the popcorn machine. "I've heard of this," he told the young woman behind the counter.
She looked at him with a puzzled glance. Who in the world had only heard of popcorn? "Do you want some? We have small, medium, large and the one that comes in the combo."
"Yes, I'll take one. A combo. With some of the soda made with prunes," Jarod flashed the woman one of his characteristic million-watt, charm-filled smiles.
The cool darkness of the theater, a comforting change from the humid summer air outside, made Jarod's eyelids heavy. He nearly jumped out of his seat when the film projector started to roll, filling the screen with previews of movies coming soon. He dozed off again, opening his eyes within a few minutes of the start of the main feature.
On the screen, The Timothy Thompson Orchestra was standing behind the curtain, onstage in one of the many ballrooms of the Roslyn Hotel, waiting for the night's engagement to begin. Twenty-one-year old Sydney Green was visibly nervous, fidgeting with the keys of his saxophone. Whoever was in the audience must have plenty of money, Sydney reasoned, given the handsome fee they were paying the band. He had been with Thompson only a few months and had played very few shows. The young man squared his shoulders and forced a smile. What had gone on in Europe was now behind him, and he knew he had to focus on what was to come. Music, especially his newfound love of jazz, helped soothe Sydney into the stability of his current life in America. Playing in front of a large, undeniably rich audience had the potential to make any young musician secretly shudder. However, once the Master of Ceremonies announced the band and the music started, Sydney was swept away into the world of syncopation and wailing brass.
Across the ballroom, two young girls sat at a table to themselves. The shorter girl with auburn hair was lost in the music, tapping her foot to the beat. Her friend, a tall, graceful girl with long black hair and green eyes, seemed rather preoccupied.
"What is it, Catherine?" Margaret Matthews asked her best friend. "Aren't you having fun? I thought you were looking forward to this."
Catherine Jamison smiled uneasily. "I am," she began. "But there's something about these people that gives me the creeps."
"What people?" Margaret asked, glancing across the room at the crowd that had started to filter in from the hallways. "I don't see anyone I even know. Is it one of those feelings?" As long as they had been friends, Margaret knew that Catherine possessed a gift of heightened intuition, something she called her inner sense.
Catherine nodded. "Something like that. It's these men," she motioned toward the head table where several well-dressed young men, barely older than she and Margaret, were seated.
"I'm sure there's nothing wrong," Margaret reassured her friend. "Your imagination is working overtime. We're here to have a good time, to enjoy our Spring Break. Even if it is in a completely unconventional place," she giggled as she imagined their classmates on the Florida beaches.
"You're right," Catherine laughed with her friend. "Everyone else was packing swimsuits and sandals, while we had to take our winter coats!"
"The only bad thing about this trip is that Paul isn't here," Margaret lamented. The Charles family lived down the street from Margaret, and she had been in love with twenty-one-year-old Paul since she was in junior high school. Now that Paul was in the Air Force, he wasn't around much. It had surprised Margaret when Paul's father, General Charles, had invited her on the trip to Alaska when Paul wasn't able to go with them. However, the quirky charm of doing something offbeat for vacation appealed to Margaret, so she accepted the invitation, bringing her best friend along.
"Is Paul all you think about?" Catherine asked, rolling her eyes.
"Pretty much," The red-haired girl answered bluntly and sighed. "I wonder what his father has been up to this week. Have you noticed that we've hardly seen him for days?"
"That's what makes it fun," replied Catherine. "No chaperone means we can be independent. Do whatever we want." The spirit of fun in her words did not match the expression on her face.
"Ooh, here's a good song," Margaret said when the band began their next tune. "If Paul were here, we'd be dancing."
Catherine smiled and looked across the hall at the band. They were very good, not that she had paid much attention to the music until now, as the tallest saxophone player stood up to begin his solo. Even though it was a long distance from the stage to the girls' table, Catherine could see him very clearly. He was playing with his eyes closed, bending his body back and forth with every note. At the end of the phrase, opened his eyes, and found himself looking directly at the girl with the long, black hair. She returned his gaze, straining to see him as the dancers swirled past the stage. Two young men approached the table, and one of them asked Catherine to dance. She nodded and took his hand, barely aware of what she was doing, as she was still focused on the saxophone player. With every turn on the dance floor, she looked back at the stage to see if he was still watching her. He was.
After the dancing, Margaret noticed that her friend's melancholy had been replaced by an obvious fascination with the band.
"Who was that you were dancing with?" She asked Catherine.
"Hmm?" Catherine had hardly heard the question. "Oh, I don't know. Some guy from Fairbanks who manages to get himself invited to all the important parties. I didn't ask." She paused and unobtrusively gestured toward the stage. "Do you see that saxophone player, second one from the left?"
Margaret squinted in the half-darkness. "Yes, he's cute. Is he the one you've been fascinated with all night?"
Catherine shivered with a mixture of foreboding and delight. "Yes, that's him. He looked at me, and I saw..." she lowered her voice to a near-whisper, "that I'm going to know him very well. We are meant to be together."
Margaret smiled. "And you're the one who's always telling me I'm too serious about Paul! Meant to be together!"
Despite her intuition, it was impossible for eighteen-year-old Catherine to know if her impression was merely the youthful dream of finding that one special man, or whether it was more than romance.
The band took a break during the keynote speeches, not to return until afterward, when the partygoers would likely dance until the late hours of the evening. Sydney felt as if he were floating on air, still electrified by the sight of the girl with the long, black hair.
"Nice solo," Al, one of the trombonists, commented to Sydney as they stretched their legs in the hallway behind the ballroom.
"Thanks," Sydney replied. He smiled into the air, remembering how their eyes had locked during that passage of his song.
"I know that look," Al said, playfully punching his buddy in the arm. "Who is she?"
"I really don't know," Sydney answered. "She was out there at one of the farthest tables, but when I looked out there, it was as if she were standing right in front of me."
Al laughed. "You've got it bad, buddy. Do you even know her name?"
Sydney shook his head. "No, but I intend to find out."
The night wore on as the band returned for two more sets, during both of which Sydney was unable to keep his eyes off the black-haired girl. He barely listened to the speeches, some sort of celebration of the founding of a new business or corporation. All he could see was her.
"I didn't know the General was involved in this business thing," Margaret commented to Catherine during the speeches.
"Me either," Catherine's inner sense was sending messages of warning like crazy as the General took the podium and congratulated his business partners. Then a truly bizarre feeling came over her. "You really love Paul, right?"
Margaret nodded. "You know that I do."
"Enough to go through anything with him? What if your life together was filled with pain?" The inner sense was flashing images through her mind which Catherine would not comprehend for years, but she knew that the bottom line would be suffering and pain.
Margaret fell silent, thinking deeply about her friend's question. "Yes," she said slowly. "I love him enough to go through anything with him. As long as we're together."
"This, this thing..." Catherine tried to explain but was at a loss for accurate words. "it will envelop all of us. If we're going to survive, we have to stick together."
"We will," promised Margaret. "You're my best friend, and you always will be."
After the speeches had ended and the men had left for the cigar room, the band was packing up their instruments. Sydney put his saxophone away with haste because something was drawing him to the now-empty ballroom.
"It's you," he said when he saw the black-haired girl standing alone in the dark.
"My name is Catherine," she said, her voice sounding almost shy.
"I'm Sydney," he smiled gently. "I couldn't help but notice you all night."
"Me too," Catherine whispered. Suddenly, a piano began to play. Sydney turned around to see Timothy Thompson, the bandleader, seated at the piano, running over the songs for the next engagement, as he customarily did after every gig. It was a slow tune, full of tenderness and wistful longing.
"Do you want to dance?" Sydney asked Catherine. She nodded and they began to sway to the music, finally holding each other in their arms as they had in their eyes all evening.
"This song, I love it." Catherine whispered as they danced.
"So do I," Sydney replied. "If I remember correctly, it's called Sometime Ago."
"Is that when I first saw you?" Catherine murmured under her breath. Sydney did not hear her, but it was just as well.
As she clung to him, Catherine began to see flashes of what the future held... her marriage to a man she did not love, a secret divorce and even more secret marriage to a man she did love with all of her heart.... the little girl whose life she wanted to be so different from her own. And, finally, liberation. And love. She looked deeply into Sydney Green's eyes, wanting to tell him what she saw but knowing she dare not say a word.
* * *
Days later, a letter arrived for Miss Parker. It was addressed in Jarod's handwriting with a warning to read it alone. Saying nothing, she tucked the letter inside her jacket pocket and did not take it out until she was home alone that evening. As she read the words of Jarod's vision, something deep inside of her started to tingle. In the same way that her mother had foreseen the chaos that would become The Centre, she was now beholding dreams of another little girl who would end up far away from all of this madness.
Miss Parker read the letter through several times before folding it up and placing it in the bottom of a large cedar chest. Unable to stand the silence, she turned on the radio, already tuned to her favorite jazz station. She stared into the fire as a wistful, haunting piano drifted through the speakers. Her heart ached because the song made her think of Jarod, who she had secretly loved all these years. As her mother had endured captivity and sadness, she would receive deliverance. And love. Always love.
Someday, they would be free.
THE END
Beginnings: Part Three
Sometime Ago
By Andrea Christine
Angelo crawled out of the air duct and into the film room where he, Miss Parker and Broots had watched the footage of March 15, 1953. Even though it was impossible to distinguish night from day in the levels far under the earth, Angelo instinctively felt the need for a few hours' rest. Until Miss Parker and Broots came to the room, no one else had been there, as it had been long forgotten. He curled up in the corner, assured that no one would bother him as he rested.
"Want to see truth," Angelo murmured as he fell asleep.
* * *
Jarod walked the streets of Chicago in the dark of the night, restless from the questions spinning inside his mind. Longing to escape the puzzle of his family's part in The Centre for a few precious hours, he crossed the street to a movie theatre which was just beginning its eleven o'clock showing. He had not been to a cinema before, only hearing of them in one of his simulations as a child. He bought a ticket and went inside. What attracted Jarod the most was the smell of popcorn popping at the concession stand. He was very glad that had brought plenty of cash. "Pop Corn," he read on the side of the popcorn machine. "I've heard of this," he told the young woman behind the counter.
She looked at him with a puzzled glance. Who in the world had only heard of popcorn? "Do you want some? We have small, medium, large and the one that comes in the combo."
"Yes, I'll take one. A combo. With some of the soda made with prunes," Jarod flashed the woman one of his characteristic million-watt, charm-filled smiles.
The cool darkness of the theater, a comforting change from the humid summer air outside, made Jarod's eyelids heavy. He nearly jumped out of his seat when the film projector started to roll, filling the screen with previews of movies coming soon. He dozed off again, opening his eyes within a few minutes of the start of the main feature.
On the screen, The Timothy Thompson Orchestra was standing behind the curtain, onstage in one of the many ballrooms of the Roslyn Hotel, waiting for the night's engagement to begin. Twenty-one-year old Sydney Green was visibly nervous, fidgeting with the keys of his saxophone. Whoever was in the audience must have plenty of money, Sydney reasoned, given the handsome fee they were paying the band. He had been with Thompson only a few months and had played very few shows. The young man squared his shoulders and forced a smile. What had gone on in Europe was now behind him, and he knew he had to focus on what was to come. Music, especially his newfound love of jazz, helped soothe Sydney into the stability of his current life in America. Playing in front of a large, undeniably rich audience had the potential to make any young musician secretly shudder. However, once the Master of Ceremonies announced the band and the music started, Sydney was swept away into the world of syncopation and wailing brass.
Across the ballroom, two young girls sat at a table to themselves. The shorter girl with auburn hair was lost in the music, tapping her foot to the beat. Her friend, a tall, graceful girl with long black hair and green eyes, seemed rather preoccupied.
"What is it, Catherine?" Margaret Matthews asked her best friend. "Aren't you having fun? I thought you were looking forward to this."
Catherine Jamison smiled uneasily. "I am," she began. "But there's something about these people that gives me the creeps."
"What people?" Margaret asked, glancing across the room at the crowd that had started to filter in from the hallways. "I don't see anyone I even know. Is it one of those feelings?" As long as they had been friends, Margaret knew that Catherine possessed a gift of heightened intuition, something she called her inner sense.
Catherine nodded. "Something like that. It's these men," she motioned toward the head table where several well-dressed young men, barely older than she and Margaret, were seated.
"I'm sure there's nothing wrong," Margaret reassured her friend. "Your imagination is working overtime. We're here to have a good time, to enjoy our Spring Break. Even if it is in a completely unconventional place," she giggled as she imagined their classmates on the Florida beaches.
"You're right," Catherine laughed with her friend. "Everyone else was packing swimsuits and sandals, while we had to take our winter coats!"
"The only bad thing about this trip is that Paul isn't here," Margaret lamented. The Charles family lived down the street from Margaret, and she had been in love with twenty-one-year-old Paul since she was in junior high school. Now that Paul was in the Air Force, he wasn't around much. It had surprised Margaret when Paul's father, General Charles, had invited her on the trip to Alaska when Paul wasn't able to go with them. However, the quirky charm of doing something offbeat for vacation appealed to Margaret, so she accepted the invitation, bringing her best friend along.
"Is Paul all you think about?" Catherine asked, rolling her eyes.
"Pretty much," The red-haired girl answered bluntly and sighed. "I wonder what his father has been up to this week. Have you noticed that we've hardly seen him for days?"
"That's what makes it fun," replied Catherine. "No chaperone means we can be independent. Do whatever we want." The spirit of fun in her words did not match the expression on her face.
"Ooh, here's a good song," Margaret said when the band began their next tune. "If Paul were here, we'd be dancing."
Catherine smiled and looked across the hall at the band. They were very good, not that she had paid much attention to the music until now, as the tallest saxophone player stood up to begin his solo. Even though it was a long distance from the stage to the girls' table, Catherine could see him very clearly. He was playing with his eyes closed, bending his body back and forth with every note. At the end of the phrase, opened his eyes, and found himself looking directly at the girl with the long, black hair. She returned his gaze, straining to see him as the dancers swirled past the stage. Two young men approached the table, and one of them asked Catherine to dance. She nodded and took his hand, barely aware of what she was doing, as she was still focused on the saxophone player. With every turn on the dance floor, she looked back at the stage to see if he was still watching her. He was.
After the dancing, Margaret noticed that her friend's melancholy had been replaced by an obvious fascination with the band.
"Who was that you were dancing with?" She asked Catherine.
"Hmm?" Catherine had hardly heard the question. "Oh, I don't know. Some guy from Fairbanks who manages to get himself invited to all the important parties. I didn't ask." She paused and unobtrusively gestured toward the stage. "Do you see that saxophone player, second one from the left?"
Margaret squinted in the half-darkness. "Yes, he's cute. Is he the one you've been fascinated with all night?"
Catherine shivered with a mixture of foreboding and delight. "Yes, that's him. He looked at me, and I saw..." she lowered her voice to a near-whisper, "that I'm going to know him very well. We are meant to be together."
Margaret smiled. "And you're the one who's always telling me I'm too serious about Paul! Meant to be together!"
Despite her intuition, it was impossible for eighteen-year-old Catherine to know if her impression was merely the youthful dream of finding that one special man, or whether it was more than romance.
The band took a break during the keynote speeches, not to return until afterward, when the partygoers would likely dance until the late hours of the evening. Sydney felt as if he were floating on air, still electrified by the sight of the girl with the long, black hair.
"Nice solo," Al, one of the trombonists, commented to Sydney as they stretched their legs in the hallway behind the ballroom.
"Thanks," Sydney replied. He smiled into the air, remembering how their eyes had locked during that passage of his song.
"I know that look," Al said, playfully punching his buddy in the arm. "Who is she?"
"I really don't know," Sydney answered. "She was out there at one of the farthest tables, but when I looked out there, it was as if she were standing right in front of me."
Al laughed. "You've got it bad, buddy. Do you even know her name?"
Sydney shook his head. "No, but I intend to find out."
The night wore on as the band returned for two more sets, during both of which Sydney was unable to keep his eyes off the black-haired girl. He barely listened to the speeches, some sort of celebration of the founding of a new business or corporation. All he could see was her.
"I didn't know the General was involved in this business thing," Margaret commented to Catherine during the speeches.
"Me either," Catherine's inner sense was sending messages of warning like crazy as the General took the podium and congratulated his business partners. Then a truly bizarre feeling came over her. "You really love Paul, right?"
Margaret nodded. "You know that I do."
"Enough to go through anything with him? What if your life together was filled with pain?" The inner sense was flashing images through her mind which Catherine would not comprehend for years, but she knew that the bottom line would be suffering and pain.
Margaret fell silent, thinking deeply about her friend's question. "Yes," she said slowly. "I love him enough to go through anything with him. As long as we're together."
"This, this thing..." Catherine tried to explain but was at a loss for accurate words. "it will envelop all of us. If we're going to survive, we have to stick together."
"We will," promised Margaret. "You're my best friend, and you always will be."
After the speeches had ended and the men had left for the cigar room, the band was packing up their instruments. Sydney put his saxophone away with haste because something was drawing him to the now-empty ballroom.
"It's you," he said when he saw the black-haired girl standing alone in the dark.
"My name is Catherine," she said, her voice sounding almost shy.
"I'm Sydney," he smiled gently. "I couldn't help but notice you all night."
"Me too," Catherine whispered. Suddenly, a piano began to play. Sydney turned around to see Timothy Thompson, the bandleader, seated at the piano, running over the songs for the next engagement, as he customarily did after every gig. It was a slow tune, full of tenderness and wistful longing.
"Do you want to dance?" Sydney asked Catherine. She nodded and they began to sway to the music, finally holding each other in their arms as they had in their eyes all evening.
"This song, I love it." Catherine whispered as they danced.
"So do I," Sydney replied. "If I remember correctly, it's called Sometime Ago."
"Is that when I first saw you?" Catherine murmured under her breath. Sydney did not hear her, but it was just as well.
As she clung to him, Catherine began to see flashes of what the future held... her marriage to a man she did not love, a secret divorce and even more secret marriage to a man she did love with all of her heart.... the little girl whose life she wanted to be so different from her own. And, finally, liberation. And love. She looked deeply into Sydney Green's eyes, wanting to tell him what she saw but knowing she dare not say a word.
* * *
Days later, a letter arrived for Miss Parker. It was addressed in Jarod's handwriting with a warning to read it alone. Saying nothing, she tucked the letter inside her jacket pocket and did not take it out until she was home alone that evening. As she read the words of Jarod's vision, something deep inside of her started to tingle. In the same way that her mother had foreseen the chaos that would become The Centre, she was now beholding dreams of another little girl who would end up far away from all of this madness.
Miss Parker read the letter through several times before folding it up and placing it in the bottom of a large cedar chest. Unable to stand the silence, she turned on the radio, already tuned to her favorite jazz station. She stared into the fire as a wistful, haunting piano drifted through the speakers. Her heart ached because the song made her think of Jarod, who she had secretly loved all these years. As her mother had endured captivity and sadness, she would receive deliverance. And love. Always love.
Someday, they would be free.
THE END