The Resignation
Months passed, until finally August arrived. One day, the piano teacher was sitting at the grand piano when Manfred and Dr Bloor burst into the room, their eyes filled with urgency and purpose. Before he could rise to his feet, they were on him.
It happened very quickly. Dr Bloor handed him a form and said coldly, 'Sign.'
Automatically he shook his head. Even though it would mean getting out of the Academy, there was too much now to keep him from wanting to leave. There was the boy Charlie, and Gabriel, for one thing. He had also gotten used to his life there; it was not as dreary as it used to be. And besides, he had a strong feeling that he must stay, that he shouldn't leave now.
He didn't have a choice about it, though. Manfred glared at him with his coal-black eyes and he found himself taking the pen and signing.
'Now,' Manfred said, 'You will follow us and leave the Academy.'
He didn't have the will to resist. They led him out of the tower which had been his home for so many years and through the deserted Academy, until they reached the courtyard. A sleek black car stood there. After another look from Manfred, he opened the door and got in.
Before he could ask any questions about why this was happening, the car drove away and he was left with a feeling of loss in the pit of his stomach.
After a number of hours, they reached their destination—a dark, forbidding castle in the middle of the countryside. The sight of it jolted him, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. A terrible feeling filled him—a feeling of dread and terror. He wanted to say, Stop, I want to go back, but it was too late for that. Instead, he watched as the car drew closer and closer.
Since it was too late to go back, too late to resist, he meekly got out of the car and followed the driver into the castle. Inside, the castle was as dark and forbidding as it was on the outside, and he shivered, the memories stirring inside of him. They weren't happy memories. This castle must have been the source of much unhappiness and misfortune, he thought grimly.
He was led to a small bedroom in the dank corner of the castle. This was to be his new home, it seemed. He felt much dismay as he stepped inside the room. It was dark and grimy and freezing cold—even worse than his bedroom in Bloor's Academy. He wanted to protest, say something, but before he could the door slammed shut and he heard the lock clicking into place.
He never found out why the Bloors had decided to take him away. He could only presume that he had angered them somehow, or that he was finally being punished for misbehaving. Yes, that could be it. In any case, it didn't really matter now—he was trapped either way.
The first few days of his new life were terrifying, but not completely unbearable. On that first day, he was given one meal. It came when he was painfully hungry and had started to fear that the Bloors meant to starve him in his confinement. When it did come, he was so hungry and relieved to see it that the low-quality and taste of it didn't bother him in the least.
There weren't any windows, so he had no idea whether it was night or day, only that so much time was passing that he must have been staying in the castle for a number of days. The darkness was pitch-black and pressed on him like a malignant shadow; the walls felt more and more oppressive as the days passed. His throat grew tighter and tighter—so tight that it became hard to breathe.
When sleep came, he thought it would be a relief. It wasn't. He was trapped in complete darkness now, paralysed and helpless.
Dreams, when he had them, were a relief and a respite from the horror. He found himself dreaming that he was a teacher again at Bloor's Academy, surrounded by children. Often, he saw Gabriel Silk; sometimes he even saw Charlie. To his surprise, he saw himself teaching not only piano but history and drama as well.
He didn't know how much time passed while he was in this strange, dream-like state. Days, weeks, months? Time meant nothing, wherever he was now. He could only wait and wonder when it would end. If it would end.
There was one dream that he recalled quite clearly. It was night in Bloor's Academy; he was standing in an office of some sort, talking to Charlie. The boy looked dismayed, frustrated and dishevelled, as if he'd been there for some time already. The teacher sounded cold and unforgiving. Not for the first time, he got the impression that he knew the boy, very well. A tender feeling rose in him, one he hadn't felt in a very long time. He found himself wanting to take the boy into his arms, embrace him—whether it was for the boy's or his comfort, he had no clue. The feeling passed, and the dream faded away. It stayed in his memory, however, long after his ordeal was over.