"Music is the vernacular of the human soul."
-Geoffrey Latham
I lay there for a moment, my nose pressed against the stale, musty smelling carpe, hearing startled cries come closer. I was also keenly aware of the haggard breath of my rescuer caressing my cheek and the slight weight of his arms thrown protectively around me. Slowly, cautiously, I sat up. Erik grasped my hand and held it tightly between his own. "Are you all right? Please say you are, Christine!" I nodded and gave him a shaky smile that didn't last very long. He helped me stand and I was almost overcome by the desire to sink back into the safety of his arms. Instead I settled for slumping down into a near-by chair.
"This has gone far enough!" exclaimed Mr. Hayes angrily after seeing that I was shaken but unharmed. "Whoever is pulling these stunts is going to face serious punishment!"
"Perhaps we should just cancel the show," suggested a shaky voice from edge of the small crowd that had wandered over to inspect the damage caused by the falling statue. I glanced over, it was Tom Glover. "That seems to be what this Theater Ghost guy wants..." A few voices murmured in agreement.
"No," replied Mr. Hayes firmly. "Everyone, cast and crew, has put too much into this show to see it completely wasted because of some idiot pulling a few stupid stunts obviously aimed at our leading lady." Erik's grip on my hand tightened. "We'll just call the police..."
Stifling a yawn, I waved goodbye to a few people as Erik and I headed out of the theater. The rest of rehearsal had gone smoothly and without further incident. Erik insisted on escorting me home, especially after I told him that I had felt someone watching me after the dance. Before we could leave, however, I had to retrieve my sheet music from Symphony Hall.
"Here it is--" I said turning around after picking up my forgotten folder that was lying on a chair. I frowned in confusion; Erik was nowhere in sight. "Erik? Where'd you go?" In answer, I heard him start to sing, his majestic voice sounding vague and far away.
Entranced, I walked towards where it seemed like his voice was coming from... the mirror. My hand reached up to touch the cool surface, my reflection ghostly in the dim light, and I shook my head. "Erik?" I called again with more uncertainty.
This time his voice was unmistakable. "Go to the mirror..." Without thinking and not bothering to question his strange command, I walked closer, feeling strangely lightheaded as he continued to sing... Abruptly, the mirror was gone and I found myself standing in a pitch-black corridor, wondering what had just happened. "Erik? Where are you? I can't see anything." Startling me, Erik's cool fingers wrapped around mine and I closed my eyes, trusting him to lead me sure-footedly to our destination... wherever that was. He started to sing again and with a little surprise I noted that it was a poem I remembered Dad whispering to me after tucking me into bed at night when I was a little girl. "Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, All through the night. Guardian Angels God will send thee, All through the night."*
That warm memory combined with Erik's hypnotic voice and my already tired state, lulled me to sleep but not before I felt a brief hesitation in his steps when strong arms picked me up with the utmost gentleness, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
All through the night.
Guardian Angels God will send thee,
All through the night."
* * *
Like most children, I had eagerly read all of C. S. Lewis's books about the magical land of Narnia. Some of my earliest memories centered around me sneaking into my mother's big, old-fashioned wardrobe, pushing past my father's coats, shirts, and other articles of clothing that smelled of him with relish, certain each time I stepped into it that I was soon to be among centaurs, fauns, and a kind lion named Aslan. I was always disappointed when I invariably reached the hard wooden back of the wardrobe but one day, Dad discovered me, sniffling back tears behind a thick winter coat after one such expedition. He said not a word but went away quietly and when he had come back bearing a tray of real English tea and sandwiches, everything was all right.
Strangely enough, that's what I was dreaming of until a slight rustling noise grabbed the edge of my waking conscious...
My eyelids fluttered open and I lay still for a moment, observing my new surroundings with growing confusion. Where was Dad? And the tea? I sat up. I was wrapped in Erik's silk black cape, and realized where I was, my secret room in the theater. I glanced around and relaxed, seeing Erik leaning against the mirror with an amused smile.
I yawned. "How'd we get here?" Still a bit groggy, I half-expected him to say that he had gone through a wardrobe.... In answer, he turned and touched something on the mirror, it seemed to rise up slightly and with a push of his hand, I saw the dark corridor beyond.
"This passage leads right up to the mirror in Symphony Hall. I discovered it last month," he replied setting the mirror back in its original position and sitting down. We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before I spoke again.
"Why are we here?" I asked, fingering the soft black material that hugged my shoulders.
He pursed his lips. "I'm glad you told me about that creepy feeling that you're being watched." I tried to wave it off as insignificant but he stopped me with a single finger poised directly above my lips. My protest died in my throat. Funny how my skin tingled like that even though he wasn't even touching me… "I'm almost certain that no one else in the school but us knows about this room," he continued, his voice low. "If you feel like you're in danger, come here as quickly as possible and without being seen. If I come looking for you and don't find you, I'll assume you've come here."
"That's a good idea…" I stood, assuming that his purpose for bringing me here was complete. When he didn't stand with me to exit, I asked him what was wrong.
He hesitated a moment. "You're repressing something, Christine. Didn't you think I noticed that you haven't been getting any sleep? And I've seen you cry in moments when you thought no one was looking..." I paled, clutching the cape around my arms. With the grace of a cat, Erik unfolded his limbs and moved closer to me so that he could look directly into my eyes. "What is it, Christine? If you don't let it out, it might destroy you," he whispered worriedly, his voice a silken caress. "Believe me, I know. I've seen it happen too many times to other foster children."
I tried to look away but his fingers reached out and with an oddly graceful gesture pulled my attention back to him without touching my skin. "Christine... what is it that hurts you so much?" Unwillingly I looked into his eyes and when I saw the depth of the emotion in his mismatched gaze, something inside me gave a little...
"I killed my father," I replied in a dead voice.
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* by Sir Harold Boulton