Title: Solace in Hell, part 2 continued
Author: Jennifer Campbell
#
The next afternoon
Claudia closed her eyes and glided her fingertips over the keys, touching them without producing a sound. Few things made sense anymore, but this instrument, this companion and friend, this made sense. A collection of tightly wound strings attached to ivory keys, all housed in a wooden box. A mystery of music able to play everything from Chopsticks to Bach.
This marvel had always made sense, in a world of inconsistencies and impossibilities, and it had always been there when she needed comfort - like now.
Claudia was surprised to hear Rhapsody in Blue as she began to play, not knowing her choice of song until the first notes echoed into the rehearsal hall. She let the music come, as if it had assumed a life of its own, independent of her will.
Now this was right. No stalkers. No overprotective bodyguards. No immortals or swords or killing. Just the music. Nothing could ever compare to this absolute peace, this heavenly meditation.
Something tickled at the edge of her awareness, but she pushed it away, wanting to cling to her music. The tickle, however, would not be put off and formed into a solid presence, forcing itself into her consciousness and shoving her down the rabbit-hole once again. A presence!
She shot to her feet and tripped backward over the bench, landing hard on the cold stage floor. Laughter drifted toward her from the auditorium. She knew that laugh - had memorized its mocking undertone - even though she had first heard it only two days before. Couldn't that irritating bodyguard give it a rest for one afternoon?
"Kyra," she spat, getting to her feet, "you better have a good reason for interrupting me."
"Do I need a reason?" Kyra sauntered toward the stage. "Maybe I just want to hear you play."
"Oh, yeah right," Claudia said mockingly. "Miss Leather Jacket wants to listen to classical music."
Kyra drew close enough to the stage that Claudia could see her purse her lips and flush. Had she finally sparked a reaction in her unflappable bodyguard? Claudia flushed herself at her victory, and she spun around to hide her red face as Kyra jumped onto the stage.
"George Gershwin." Kyra skimmed her fingers across the piano's polished siding. "You play his music beautifully. Almost as well as he did."
That's not possible, Claudia thought. She could not have known Gershwin. She's only trying to annoy me, find another way to control me. I won't allow it.
She felt Kyra move closer, but she kept her back turned, irrationally afraid to face the other woman.
"I know what you're thinking, Claudia," Kyra whispered. "I assure you that I did know Gershwin. He was very passionate about his music. Of course, all composers, however famous or obscure, are passionate about their music. He promised to write a song for me, but he died before he could even start."
She sounded wistful. Could she be telling the truth?
"Oh, it is the truth," Kyra said. "I promise you that."
OK, maybe she could read minds. It was no less plausible than immortality, after all. But it didn't matter because, either way, she couldn't stand Kyra any longer. What had Duncan been thinking when he had pawned this woman off on her?
Kyra laughed again, so quietly, and Claudia's frustration won out over silence. She turned to meet those infuriatingly calm blue eyes, hoping to break the composure again. Anything was better than being read so easily.
"I suppose Gershwin is your favorite, then?" Claudia asked.
"No, actually, my favorite is Scott Joplin. At least among the American composers."
"So where did you meet him, hmm? And how many songs did he write for you?"
"I never met Joplin, but I still love his music."
Claudia's eyes narrowed. Something had to break Kyra's relaxed exterior. "I don't believe you. I don't believe you know anymore about real music than what you might accidentally hear on the radio while scanning for your rock stations."
With a smug smile, Kyra slid onto the piano bench and spread her fingers over the keys. "That sounds like a challenge," she said, her face bowed over the instrument.
Claudia watched intently, wondering what her bodyguard thought she was accomplishing, as Kyra touched the keys and her hands found the correct fingering. She paused before striking the first notes.
Some musicians, Claudia knew, possessed the rare gift for pouring their emotions into their music; Kyra, she admitted grudgingly, was such a musician. Each note fell like a teardrop into the empty auditorium, an offering of heartbreaking sadness, and of something more: Comfort, understanding.
Solace.
Joplin had named the song well.
The music seemed to wrap around Claudia like an embrace, whispering assurances that everything would turn out all right. She had no reason to worry because everything would be fine, in the end. Her eyes began to water. As the last notes died, Kyra's hands fell to her lap and she twisted to look at Claudia, still silent behind her.
"I'm a little out of practice," Kyra murmured. "It's been several months since I last played. Not since the night before …"
Her voice trailed off and she looked at her hands. Claudia sat beside her on the bench.
"It was beautiful," she said. "I don't understand why you insist on playing with guns when you could be playing music. You have the talent, and you obviously enjoy it."
"Yes, I did. I loved to play, especially for Richard. My last assignment. He loved the music."
"Where is he now?"
"He's dead. I was supposed to protect him, but an immortal shot him in his own home, right in front of me." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I'm sorry. It's been a year. I should not be crying anymore. I've finished with my grieving."
"We never stop grieving," Claudia said, and Kyra looked at her in surprise. "No matter how long ago they died, we still mourn them. We wonder what we might have done or said differently. It's what makes us human."
Claudia didn't know where the words of comfort came from - she had never lost someone close to her - but it sounded right. And Kyra needed to hear it.
She reached into her blouse sleeve, pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to Kyra, who smiled her thanks and wiped her red-rimmed eyes. As Claudia watched the woman regain her composure, she realized with amazement that something had just happened between them. Ten minutes ago, Kyra had been an annoyance, someone to defeat and humble, but now, their relationship had changed between one breath and the next. The music had opened a door showing her that Kyra was human, just as she herself was human. They were more alike than Claudia had wanted to admit, but now she had no choice but to accept.
And this contest for dominance, she realized, not only was unnecessary, it might prove dangerous. Kyra might die to protect her, and all she had done was throw insults.
Kyra pressed the handkerchief into Claudia's hand. "Thank you," she said.
Claudia could not bring herself to meet her bodyguard's eyes. She muttered something she hoped Kyra would take as a polite response and left the stage, rushing down the hall to her dressing room. The concert would start in less than three hours, and she needed to calm herself or she would play badly. She needed time to think, time to sort out what had happened. Time without Kyra.
On stage, the object of her confused thoughts sat silent on the piano bench, reveling in the understanding she had seen light in Claudia's expression. Friendship perhaps was too much to hope for, but civility seemed possible now that Kyra had proven they had something in common: their passion for music, and their humanity.
Kyra closed the hood over the keys and rubbed her irritated eyes. She had not planned to show such emotion. The music, though, reminded her so much of Richard that she had almost believed it was him standing behind her, listening, waiting for the perfect moment to caress her neck. The memories still were too potent. Perhaps Claudia was right; she never would stop grieving. Thus it had always been, thus it would always be.
I cannot alter the past, Kyra thought, but I can stop it from repeating. I hope.
She rose to her feet, intending to follow Claudia to her dressing room, but all thoughts of protection fled her mind as she saw a dark figure at the back of the auditorium. As if her notice had released the figure from immobility, he walked toward her, clapping in a slow, mocking rhythm. When he reached the halfway point between the doors and the stage, Kyra felt his presence. She reached for a weapon under her coat, then cursed. Her coat, complete with gun and sword, lay draped across an auditorium chair.
As he drew closer, under the stage lights, Kyra saw him clearly: medium height, slim build, no facial hair or distinguishing features. Except for his pale blond hair, everything about him seemed so average. This man, she thought, could blend into any crowd and no one would look twice at him.
"Bravo. You manipulated her beautifully, my dear," he said, his English tinged with a German accent. "Don't worry. I'm not here to fight you."
Kyra folded her arms and stood at center stage, attempting to slow her pounding heartbeat. To run or show fear would give him more advantage than he already had.
"You're him," she said.
He sat on the edge of the stage and looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Him?"
"Claudia's stalker."
"Stalker is such an ugly word. I prefer to be called a devoted fan."
"Who are you?"
Kyra stood over him. At least she could give the illusion of dominance. He betrayed no notice of her movement.
"Peter Olson. And I have no fight with you, Kyra."
"If you continue to stalk Claudia Jardine, I will kill you."
"Oh, really?" he said, laughing. He jumped onto the stage, and even though he wasn't tall, he towered over Kyra. He began to circle her like a vulture. "You get in my way, and I think you are the one who will lose her head. The game was going so well. Then you showed up."
Kyra smirked. "Sorry to ruin your plans."
"I'm very serious, Kyra," he said, coming around to face her. "Claudia Jardine has been an excellent challenge. She is so determined to live."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about a game." He smiled chillingly. "Don't you ever get bored by immortality, Kyra? Challenge after challenge, draw your sword or lose your head. I decided to make things more interesting. I choose suitable victims and stalk them, as you so delicately put it. I see how long it takes to make them offer me their heads, just to end the torture."
Kyra shook her head in disgust. "You're sick."
"Things were going so well with Claudia, until you showed up. I want you to leave tonight. I want you to forget you ever heard of Claudia Jardine."
"No deal."
"Consider carefully, my dear. I don't want to kill you, but I will if you get in my way." He jumped off the stage and headed toward the doors, but turned to face her about halfway across the auditorium. "I will give you a few hours to think about it. After that, your time is up."
He left, the doors clicking shut behind him. Kyra retrieved her coat and weapon - she would have to keep them close at all times during the next few days - and left the rehearsal hall in search of her charge.
Claudia did not need to know about this encounter. The girl had enough to worry about with her concerts, and she wouldn't react well to the threats of a madman.
The meeting, however, had not broken Kyra resolve. If anything, her determination had strengthened. No one would touch Claudia; this hunt would not end in another tragedy, with Kyra sobbing over another corpse, wallowing in failure once again. Peter Olson would lose his head if he came close again.
No, not if he comes, she thought. When he comes - because he definitely would come. And when he is dead, she thought, maybe I will regain some peace in my tired old soul.
#
Claudia flexed her fingers, positioned them lightly across the keys and began to play. As one, the audience released a sigh of satisfied anticipation, a whisper of expectations fulfilled. Claudia reveled in their approval and enjoyment in her talent. They loved her. They always loved her.
As always when she played, though, she heard her own voice echo sadly in her mind, the question she had asked herself uncounted times. The affirmation of her own self-doubt. "Who will care about me if I can't play?"
Without the music, no one would notice if her hunter took her head, not even Kyra. Her death would go unrecorded and unmourned, except perhaps for a newspaper clipping on a freak electrical storm and decapitated body.
People had to care, or everything she was would disappear. No one would remember she had lived.
So Claudia played. She played so people would remember - the only type of immortality that mattered.
A tickle teased the back of her mind, but she shrugged it off as the music intensified. The sensation returned, stronger than before, and Claudia realized what it was: an immortal presence. Her fingers slipped, and she hit a wrong note.
Damn it Kyra, she thought. That dratted bodyguard knew that her presence wrecked Claudia's concentration. She focused harder on the music, attempting to banish the feeling by force of will. She heard Kyra's voice at the edge of awareness, screaming in panic, but she was too far gone for the words to register.
Then time seemed to slow, and vertigo gripped her as she started to fall. She yelled, startled, and snapped back to reality in time to see Kyra draped face down across the piano bench. Her bodyguard's wide blue eyes met her own for a moment before Kyra grunted and her expression glazed over. Two red stains spread across her back.
Claudia squinted up at the spotlights and saw a dark figure aim a gun at her. She couldn't stop a scream from escaping her lips, and she picked up her skirts and ran off stage, pushing her way through the crowd of musicians.
Amid the chaos, a fleeing technician bumped into a music stand, sending it clattering to the concrete floor. A few seconds later, Claudia, who kept looking over her shoulder in fear of seeing a man with a gun, failed to notice the obstacle and caught her toe under its long neck. She pitched forward, smacking her head on the floor.
Darkness enveloped her.
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To be continued …