Chapter 5

This residence at the Grand Theater reminds of old masters of Jazz like Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday and the immortal Ella Fitzgerald. I'm talking about the luxury of having a singer of the old Jazz school like you performing for six months in the heart of New York. What do you feel when you're compared to the greatest of Jazz? Do you believe you have made Jazz more available for the younger generations?

Loreto nodded slowly to the journalist as she played with a piece of cheesecake, still unable to bring it to her mouth. Her stomach had been sealed and closed for days. She had barely eaten a toast and an apple in the last seventy-two hours. She simply wasn't hungry. What she felt was a void, like a constant stab right above the bellybutton. If she were to go to the doctor, she knew exactly what they'd say and she would not do it. Vacations. She drank a small sip of coffee and spoke away.

The magazine's makeup artist interrupted the conversation a few times to retouch Loreto's foundation and blush. The camera flash blinded her unannounced as the photographer shot from different angles while she continued answering every question. Towards the end, the photographer wanted to capture her sitting on the opulent dark brown leather couch in the Hilton Hotel majestic foyer in Times Square. The makeup artist applied more concealer under her eyes and lightened her cheeks with pink powders. Loreto smiled with her best cover-girl face and was glad when the interview came to an end.

Close to 3 pm she went to the theater and found an empty stage. Rehearsals for the opera Peleas et Melisande had already finished. The following day was its premiere, and Loreto didn't wish to miss it. Her next concert was within two days and she'd play the same track list as the previous night. She wanted to go swimming or walking through the park, but she suspected the exhaustion she had on wouldn't let her do much. She took possession of the superb grand Steinway and began playing. She was so focused on interpreting one of her favorite Nocturnes by Chopin, Opus 9 Number 1, she didn't realize she was no longer alone in the room. She jumped as she suddenly opened her eyes and noticed two silhouettes towards her right. The piano strings vibrated in a chilling dissonance at her stroke. Dazed, she turned to the visitors. She didn't know them. A fifty-something-year-old bald man with a constant frown drawn in his mouth and a girl who appeared to be his daughter wearing dark short hair in a bob. It was she who came forth.

"Miss Clair, forgive us for interrupting you and arriving unannounced," the girl smiled and spoke in a casual tone. "My name is Elizabeth Sherman and my partner is Tom Manning. We're special agents at a secret department of National Security and we need your cooperation to catch a dangerous terrorist."

Loreto took five complete seconds to digest what she had just heard. A secret department of National Security? How could she help catch a terrorist?

"I- I don't think I understand," she mumbled and frowned. "What do I have to do with a terrorist, would you care to explain?" she mocked and stood up.

A sudden pain pierced her abdomen and bent her over the piano. The girl and the man hastened her direction as if wanting to catch her. Stoic, Loreto endured the stab and quickly mumbled she was fine but just tired. They apologized once again for disturbing her and cut to the chase. This time it was the man who spoke.

"This terrorist is- is- is a great admirer of yours. He was in attendance at your concert last night," he said and put his hands in his trousers pockets.

He mumbled too much to be an agent of a secret department. He rather looked like a public employee.

"You heard about last night disturbances in the area of Brooklyn bridge and the quake impact around 8 pm," the man insisted.

Loreto nodded and leaned against the lid of the Steinway. Her head began turning at full speed.

"He was the responsible one. He was at your concert right after having killed over fifty people," the man said with empty eyes.

A chill ran the length of her spine. Loreto faced the man and swallowed hard. Last night right there among her audience sat a murderer and watched her concert as if nothing had happened.

"You're the only hint we have of him. He's a smart criminal who doesn't leave any trace and moves fast," the girl said and gave one step closer to Loreto. "We know he's an admirer of your music because we've been following him for years and have proof he's attended many of your concerts. If you made a last-minute change in your schedule would attract his attention enough so he comes to the theater and we could arrest him."

Loreto let herself fall onto the piano stool. What kind of madness was all this? Didn't these people realize how dangerous their plan was?

"Let's see if I understand," Loreto spoke up losing her patience, "you want me to cancel my next concert and want to use meas a bait to catch this criminal."

Both the man and the girl nodded in silence. Loreto lost all colors in her face and looked at them in complete disbelief.

"Your safety will be our top priority, Miss Clair," the man hastened to clarify. "Our agents will be both inside as also on-on- on the surroundings of the theater ready to shoot if necessary."

"The theater's director won't like to attract this kind of attention nor will he be happy about canceling one of my concerts. Tickets are already sold out," Loreto said, trying to sound shocked while all she wanted was to break free from this ridiculous plan.

She collapsed onto the piano stool and panted loudly. Her body felt like she had just ran a triathlon.

"We've already spoken with the director. Both the theater and you will be generously compensated for your cooperation. We're a government agency," the girl said and extended a credential.

Reluctantly, Loreto took it and studied it. Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Paranormal?

"Well, Miss Clair? I'm afraid time is of the essence. Every day we delay catching this terrorist, he has the advantage to prepare his next hit."

Despite her apparent youth, the girl sounded a lot more reasonable and more confident than the man who accompanied her. Loreto shook her head and laughed to herself. She couldn't believe she was considering agreeing, but it seemed she had no other option. If what these people were saying was true, this terrorist had caused the panic of the previous night, deaths, injured and destruction in a matter of a few minutes. And afterwards he had attended her concert. Suddenly the image of the man with long bleached hairs came to her mind. He had a pale face like a corpse. The chill was now violent and shook her from head to toes like an electric bolt. Last night inside the Chrysler of tinted windows she met the eyes of a man at the other side of the closed door and pierced her with his darkened gaze by the shadow of his brow. Then she believed she had imagined it, but now she remembered well, it had in fact happened. Fame attracts all kinds of people fascinated by a public figure such as a singer. Cases of fans who have harassed or murdered the object of their obsession were well known. Loreto swallowed hard and dread enwrapped her in an expansive heat wave. She raised her eyes and faced the agents. She breathed deeply.

"Tell me what I must do, when and where."