Dressed in his usual color of black – jeans and a dress shirt – Edward slipped on his leather jacket and headed out of his apartment, taking care to lock the door behind him. Exiting onto the street, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket for his notebook, and flipped it open to the page upon which he had scrawled the address of the theatre Isabella Swan would be performing at. Instinctually heading to the curb to hail a taxi, Edward paused and dropped his arm when he realized that the venue was actually within walking distance.
"Maybe I'll get some sleep these next two weeks after all," he thought.
Six blocks later, the theatre came into view. La Corova, it was called. Edward scanned the building quickly before entering, taking notice of the faded paint and the aging woodwork. Yes, the theatre had seen better days, but there was something to be said about antiques.
The box office was closed, which worked in Edward's favor, but the doors to the lobby were closed as well, which did not. Edward briefly contemplated picking the lock, but decided to try around back before he resorted to breaking out his kit.
Circling around the building, Edward checked his watch. 4:03. Considering the show did not open until tomorrow night, it would be a pretty safe bet that the theatre would be vacant. Maybe he'd get lucky and could sneak in with a delivery company or behind a custodian.
The performers' door was locked, which was no surprise, but it seemed that the service door at the other end of the building was slightly ajar. After a quick assessment of the area, Edward decided that he might as well take the opportunity that had been lain before him, and so he quickly and quietly snuck over.
The service door was being propped open by a high-heeled shoe, of all things. Suppressing a chuckle, Edward slipped inside the building and guided the door closed behind him to rest once again on its four-inch black patent doorstop.
Once inside, he easily navigated his way around the backstage area. Edward strode past dressing rooms and offices, all of which were locked, and, by the sounds of it, empty. He continued down the narrow and winding corridor until the sound of a record scratching caused him to freeze.
Acting on impulse, Edward immediately flattened himself against the nearest wall, his black apparel allowing him to blend into the shadows with ease. Music now floated towards him – Tchaikovsky…Swan Lake, if he was not mistaken. After a few more moments of cautionary stillness, Edward broke away from the wall, and began heading towards the source of the music.
Louder now, Edward knew both that he was close to the source, and that he was, in fact, correct with his guess of Tchaikovsky. His mother had taken him to a performance of Swan Lake when he was young, too young to be able to fully admit how much he had enjoyed it. But because of the music, and the memories attached to it, it had remained one of his favorite ballets. It was being revived here in New York just in time for Christmas, and he had bought boxed seats months in advance. A professional assassin with an affinity for ballet. Edward could have laughed at his contradictory existence.
Sweeping back a heavy curtain, Edward found himself blinking as he stepped onto the wings of the stage. Making certain that he remained unseen, he crouched in a dark corner, allowing him both complete cover, and a perfect view of the stage.
The stage lights were on, but not to full capacity, and so Edward's eyes adjusted quickly to the brightness. Who would be in the space the day before opening night?
Probably just a janitor, he speculated, since he hadn't seen anyone during his inspection of the backstage area. Nothing to get wound up about.
Allowing himself a slight bit of freedom, Edward edged forwards towards the light to peek into the audience. Le Corova was a large theatre with a capacity of about five hundred; three hundred seats in the orchestra section and another two hundred up in the balcony. The walls and ceiling were gold, and intricately engraved with gothic designs. The seats were all a plush red velvet, creating a regal atmosphere. Walking through any of the sets of high double doors leading into the theatre was like stepping through a time warp to the classical era.
Footsteps tore Edward's attention away from the audience, and he quickly scrambled back into the darkness of the wings.
A petite woman stepped out onto the stage from the opposite wings, and she bent at the record player, which sat dead center, to restart the music.
She was dressed in a grey practice leotard with light pink tights – standard ballet uniform, from what Edward had read. She wore pointe shoes, and had her dark hair up in a bun, so Edward could not determine its length. She was beautiful, Edward thought, though a bit plain.
After stretching for a few moments, the dancer began to move about the stage. Despite her small stature – she couldn't have been more than 5'1 – she created beautiful long and fluid lines with her body.
Edward watched the girl (woman?) take a few turns around the stage, then slow to a stop as Dances of the Swans began to emanate from the record player. She began to move in a more rehearsed manner now, no longer improvising. The dance was still beautiful, but it struck Edward as…odd. If this was Isabella, the principle dancer of the entire company, why was she dancing the steps of an ensemble member, instead of The Sovereign Princess?
Edward's ruminations were interrupted by the entrance of another female, coming from the same direction that this petite dancer had herself.
"I thought I'd find you in here," The new arrival called to the dancer, who turned to smile. She stopped her footwork, and walked gracefully over to embrace the girl who had just stepped onto the stage.
"Only you would be crazy enough to prop open the back door with one of your heels, Alice," she said, as she released the dancer from the hug. "Do you mind if I join you on the stage?"
"I was just leaving, actually," Alice replied. "Just needed to test out my ankle after taking off the tensor bandage this morning."
"How is it?"
"Not bad," Alice said, lifting her left foot and turning it in slow circles. "It'll be nice to be back on my feet for the end of this tour. I'd never taken a fall like that before – I thought it was the end of my career!"
"It wasn't your fault, Alice. Who throws roses on stage before the show is over?"
Alice giggled, "I guess." She reached up to release her hair from the severe bun in which it had been pulled. She shook out her locks to reveal a chin-length bob that was almost spiky at the ends. Certainly not of the current style, Edward noted. "Do you want me to leave the record on for you?" Alice asked, preparing to leave.
"No thanks, I brought my own," the girl smiled, holding up her tote sac.
Alice bounced over to the record player, removed the vinyl disc, placed it in a sleeve, and tucked it under her arm. Silence rang through the theatre now, as the girls embraced once more, this time in parting.
"Have a good rehearsal, this space is fantastic," Alice called over her shoulder, exiting into the wings.
"Thanks, Alice," the mystery girl said, as she began to unfasten the buttons on her coat. Edward could hear every word clearly now, without the music in the background. Not that he minded the underscoring by any means, but silence allowed him to pick up the minute nuances he may have missed before. He was prepared to leave, uninterested in watching yet another aspiring lead ballerina warm up, when Alice's voice floated back onto the stage, this time from a distance. Edward was thankful for the silence now, for without it he may not have heard the small girl's parting words.
"See you tomorrow, Bella!"
AN: It's been a while, I know. But I'm planning on posting another chapter tonight. If I get reviews/subscribers, I'll try to update on a more regular basis. Please, please, please, PLEASE tell me if you like this story! I need motivation to keep writing!