Chapter Seven: March Thaws

"Oh my God!"

Claudia Jammes' mouth hung open in shock as the fork slid from her fingers to clatter noisily on the table. Christine almost smiled at her old high school friend but didn't have the will to. Instead she nodded.

"It's a crazy story, isn't it?"

"Crazy isn't the half of it!" Claudia scooped up the fallen fork and waved it around her head to emphasize her point. "It's incredible! In a bad, bad way of course. But you're sure you did the right thing, dropping out of the play?"

"What else could I have done?" Christine sounded defeated. "How could I continue with something that I knew was a lie?"

"I know, but… who knows, maybe this person saw something in you that the directors didn't. I mean, I always knew you had a beautiful voice. You sang so wonderfully before…"

Claudia trailed off, twirling a strand of strawberry blonde hair around her finger. She had been one of the few people to attend Christine's father's funeral and knew how hard the death had affected Christine. Claudia had know Mr. Danes since she was an infant; she and Christine grew up together, and they had been so close as children that people often mistook them for sisters. Claudia even looked like Christine, with wide blue eyes and light hair, though Claudia's face was longer and thinner and more prone to laughter.

Christine smiled at her friend to reassure her that everything was okay. And, at the moment, it was. The two childhood friends were seated across from each other at their old high school haunt, the ancient diner in the center of town. Christine was sipping tea and watching, amused, as Claudia speared pieces of cake, popped them into her mouth, and kept talking, waving her fork around her head exaggeratedly.

Christine felt suddenly and deeply indebted to her friend. She had needed to get away from Philadelphia. This had been Claudia's birthday present to Christine last October: a ticket to Maine to spend Spring Break together. Claudia's father was a business tycoon, and presents like plane tickets were a typical gift.

"So, what do you think?"

Christine snapped herself out of her reverie. "What?"

Claudia rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue like a child. "You weren't listening, you goose. I said why don't we go dancing? Forget all about your troubles with a couple drinks and some music!" She beamed, and Christine knew that Claudia was trying her hardest to cheer her up.

Part of Christine was tempted to agree, to let Claudia drag her from club to club, to get stumblingly drunk and just for a moment forget. But she couldn't bring herself to try.

"I'm sorry," she said, really meaning it. "But I can't. I think I'm gonna just go back to your house and get some sleep. Can I borrow the keys?"

Claudia sighed and fished the small metal pieces out of her pocket. "If that's what you really want," she grumbled. "I guess I didn't really expect anything different from you. Here." She tossed the keys to Christine as they stood and shrugged on their coats. "I'll only be a few hours, I just need to swing by the bar and see my man."

Christine smiled wearily. "I'll have to meet him sometime," she said.

Claudia nodded. "Soon. I'll need your 'best friend stamp of approval.'"

Christine almost laughed. "Will do. I'll see you later, CJ."

"You're going to be okay walking back alone?"

"It's only three blocks. I'm fine, go see your 'man.'"

They walked out the door together and as Christine paused to breathe in the cold night air Claudia waved and disappeared around the corner.

Christine stared at the sky and its glow of perfect stars. She could see the stars so clearly here, in this small childhood town. The air and the smells felt like home, and the stars looked like small wishes, small pieces of heaven watching her. She stood there for a long time, head tilted up at the clear black sky, before stuffing her hands into her pockets and turning to walk away.

She was just passing the next building when she heard it.

A violin.

The sound immediately jolted her back to the graveyard all those months ago. Christine knew instinctively that it was the same player, but while the beauty still stunned and awed her, she now felt a sliver of fear lodge in her throat.

'That player must be the author of the notes,' she thought, trying to keep her head clear, to not get dragged under the spell of the intoxicating music. 'That player is the cause of all my fear and stress, the person behind everything!'

She tried to muster up anger but alone in the cold and the night the music wrapped around her like a blanket, and the only emotion she could force was fear.

Fear and, as the sound reached a crescendo that filled Christine's head and made her heart feel like it would burst, an odd, unnerving joy.

The music stopped, and the elation faded, but the fear stayed.

Then he spoke and the joy rose again almost painfully, like a song stuck in her throat.

It was so beautiful!

"I did not expect you to be the quitting type, Miss Danes. I thought that you were more dedicated than that."

The perfect glory of his voice clouded Christine's thoughts, and it took her a moment to sort out what he had just said. When she did she felt rather stung, as if she had failed a trusted mentor.

Suddenly another thought hit her. He knew about her quitting: he was the man behind it all.

"You!" she gasped to thin air, to the invisible voice. "You're the one who was sending the notes, threatening everyone! You're the one who wrote the music, who played in the graveyard that day!"

"I am."

Christine spun around, trying to pinpoint his location, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere. "Who are you? What do you want? Where are you?" she asked, tension gripping her chest. Unconsciously she had begun to breathe faster, shallower, a panic attack rising silently to her brain.

"I am everywhere. I thought you would have figured that out by now, child." The voice managed to be soothing, mocking, and terrifying all at once. "And as for what I want….right now, all I want is for you to not quit your dream. I cannot let such talent be wasted."

Christine gave a sharp, scornful laugh that came out like a cry. "Talent?" she asked harshly into the night air. "The only reason I even got in the damn thing was because you ordered them to put me in. It wasn't me."

The voice was silent for a moment. "They did not wish to cast you because of your withdrawn, unavailable attitude, and the fact that at current your voice sounds rather detestable."

She opened her mouth angrily, but the voice continued.

"You are poorly trained and weak of spirit after your father's death. It has sapped your voice of beauty but the talent is still there, hiding, untapped. I want you to be a part of that production and sing because you need to remember your love of song before your vocal problems can be fixed. This little musical is just your first step."

Christine's mouth still hung open as she groped for words. "My first step?"

She could almost sense his smile. "Another day, perhaps."

She felt him drifting away from her and felt an irrational need to not let this strange experience end. "Wait," she called softly.

"Don't quit, songbird. One day you will amaze the world." The all-over voice was getting softer.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"Another day," the wind breathed, and he was gone.

Christine blinked. The spell broke and she bolted, feet slamming against the pavement, a dark blur against the night.