Chapter 4: Virtuoso Death
In the back of her mind, Alyssa was thinking that she must have lain down on her mother's bed and drifted off to sleep, while the rest of her attention was focused on what was on the other side of the old gate.
A wide, dusty street; sidewalks lined with dirt and debris; rows of tall buildings, many of them battered and crumbling. It looked like a London street, though it wasn't anything like she knew London was today.
Not that it mattered how it looked—she couldn't possibly be here. The further she stepped from the gate, the more convinced she became that she was dreaming. Though it the most startlingly realistic dream she ever had; the smells of dirt and grime filled her nostrils, and the dust in the air was so heavy she could taste it in her mouth. The breeze that ruffled her plaid skirt was icy.
For a moment the strange place seemed to be as silent as her home, but then a faint sound in the distance tickled the edges of her hearing.
The sound grew louder rapidly as it drew nearer, buzzing violently in the air like the engine of a plane. Alyssa looked up at the murky night sky and saw the vague outline of something flying through the dark clouds. She had barely focused on it when another sound cut through the air, a sound so loud and overpowering it shook the ground beneath her feet and made her shriek in fear.
Another explosion quickly followed, along with the sound of a building collapsing somewhere nearby. Bricks and other debris flew through the air and smashed against the sides of buildings and against the ground. Alyssa, close to panicking from fright, searched for a form of shelter in the hazy street. The only thing close by was an abandoned bus, and she quickly dove to the debris-ridden ground and rolled beneath the rusted vehicle.
Another explosion sounded, sending a battered oil drum rolling by. The ground rumbled and quaked beneath her as another building was reduced to a smoking pile of rubble somewhere nearby, pelting the sides of the bus with bits of brick and flaming wood. The large vehicle trembled and creaked beneath the assault, and Alyssa cringed and covered her ears as a loud screeching filled the air.
She quickly realized the screeching sound was the twisting of metal—the bus she was hiding under was starting to fall. Pulling together her last bit of strength and courage, she rolled back out from under the bus and ran to a stairwell on the other side of the street. She half-ran, half-fell down the steps and huddled, quaking and sobbing, against a battered wooden door.
The sound of the bus crashing against the pavement made her cover her ears, and she continued to sob as she waited for the attack to continue. But as the seconds ticked by, she slowly removed her hands from her ears and again found herself faced with complete silence.
Her hands quivering, Alyssa crawled back up the steps and peeked out from the stairwell. Except for the flames that were quietly consuming the bus, all was still.
Alyssa glanced at the sky as she got shakily to her feet, but it was empty again. She again tried to tell herself that it was all just a dream, but something within her didn't quite believe it.
Out of the silence rose a familiar sound; the same piano music that had frightened her so much earlier. It seemed harmless after what she had just endured, and she didn't feel any fear as she left the safety of the stairwell. She didn't feel much of anything except a lingering sense of confusion.
Her eyes were drawn to the strange hallway she had just emerged from as her muddled thoughts pondered the idea that going the way she came would somehow send her back home, but it was no use; the bus had fallen in front of the doorway, completely blocking the way. So, with a shaky breath, the young girl started walking down the crumbling street.
As she walked past tattered buildings and piles of rubble, Alyssa noticed spatters of blood on the ground and on some of the walls. She even thought she saw a body lying next to a phone booth, but she didn't have the stomach to take a closer look. Shivering, she hurried on, but she didn't feel frightened. She felt things she didn't expect; compassion for those who hadn't made it, and a determination to make sure that she did. It was like a voice inside her was suddenly speaking up, telling her to be brave no matter what.
Keep going, the voice seemed to say. Don't give up. You can find a way out of this.
"It would help if I knew where I was," she muttered aloud, her breath making clouds of white in the chilly air.
As if in answer to her words, Alyssa heard a loud rustle to her right. She stopped walking and looked to see a torn poster half-hanging off the corner of a building and blowing in the wind. The top edge fluttered upward, making the large words visible.
'Christmas Eve, 1942: 15th Annual Piano Concours.'
Alyssa stared, feeling stunned.1942?That was impossible. But no more impossible than walking through a hallway in her home and emerging onto a street in London, she realized. And that explained why the streets were being bombed, at least.
Pictured on the poster was a grand concert hall, where she assumed the concours were going to be held at—or had already been held at, she wasn't really sure. As she stood there she realized that the piano music, which she was starting to grow so used to she barely noticed anymore, never completed the tune it was trying to play. Somewhere near the middle the phantom player would pause for an instant and then start over from the beginning again. And something was telling her this was important, though she wasn't sure how or why.
As she turned from the poster and started walking again, Alyssa noted that she wasn't sure of an awful lot of things. She had no idea if she was really in London or if it was really 1942, she didn't know how she had gotten here, or if any of this was even really happening. But that something inside her continued to tell her to keep moving, to keep her senses sharp and her eyes open. It was as if something had awoken inside her, something she didn't know she had.
She continued walking, though her movements on the torn street were limited. Chunks of buildings and other debris blocked her path and narrowed her choice of direction to a small, tunnel-like passageway which seemed to head westward. Her way was lit by old lamps that hung from the musty walls, and on the other side of the tunnel was a stone bridge that had been half destroyed in the attack.
Alyssa approached the crumbling edge slowly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Standing against a backdrop of murky winter clouds was the same concert hall from the poster, and she felt certain it was the source of the strange music that continued to play endlessly. And though she doubted it was a very logical decision (though logic probably had little relevance anymore) Alyssa decided that finding who or what was causing the music would be her goal for now, since it had been what started all this in the first place.
Chain link fence ran along the right-hand side of the bridge, with a simple gate near the middle that led to a metal staircase supported by cris-crossing beams that reminded her of a scaffold. She descended the stairs to another section of town that appeared to be in much better shape than the part she just left.
The buildings and road were still intact, and there were no traces of debris. To her right were rows of shops, like a mini mall, and to her left was a railing that separated the street from a river. As she continued on Alyssa passed by a diner with an outdoor patio; some of the tables and chairs had been knocked over, a lamp post stood crooked and flickering, and there was another patch of blood pooled inside a police chalk outline. As she moved carefully around the mess, Alyssa wondered if the bloodstain had anything to do with the bombings, or if it was from something...else.
As she was walking past the bloodstain, snow suddenly began to fall. Alyssa shivered again and rubbed her arms through her thin sleeves, but her bare legs were defenseless against the cold. Hoping the music hall wasn't much farther, Alyssa continued on, barely noticed the shops she was walking by. As she neared a stone bridge that extended across the water, the piano music, which had been playing constantly since it started earlier, suddenly stopped.
Startled, Alyssa lifted her head and looked around, but there wasn't anything special in sight. There was only the lightly falling snow, and the bridge, which she gauged to be about in line with the concert hall she was seeking. As she was taking a step in the direction of the bridge, she happened to glance at the shop she was standing next to.
A pair of men's suits were on display in the window, and the words Norton's Tailor ran across the top of the window in bold letters. There didn't seem to be anything special about it, but the same voice that had been telling her to keep going was now telling her that the music stopping just as she neared the store wasn't a coincidence.
Even if the feeling was wrong she was anxious to get off the street and out of the cold, so she reached out and tested the doorknob. It turned easily, and Alyssa quickly pushed the door opened and went inside, grateful to finally be away from the cold winter wind.
The inside of the shop was cool, but not nearly as unpleasant as it was outside. Alyssa could see the interior of the room easily due to the small wall lamps that were glowing softly despite the late hour. A display case stood in the center of the room, there was a desk to the left of it, and a large counter was at the back of the room. To the left of the counter was a curtain for customers to dress behind, displayed near the desk was a small, brightly decorated Christmas tree, and to the right of the front door was a set of stairs that went to an upper level, probably to the private rooms of the store's owner.
As she stepped away from the door, Alyssa noticed that there was glass on the floor, no doubt from the display case, which looked like it had been smashed open. In fact, the entire room looked like it been recently ransacked; chairs were tipped over and papers littered the floor, and the front counter was a mess. The desk in the corner looked relatively untouched, though a letter lying open on top of it caught Alyssa's attention.
It was a letter from William Norton, whom she assumed was the store's owner, to his daughter, May. From the brief message she concluded that William was a soldier stationed in France, leaving May to live alone until he returned. He promised that they would take a holiday in Champagne as soon as the war was over.
Alyssa set the letter down again sadly. She sympathized with May, being left all alone like that. For a moment she almost panicked, thinking that May was probably upstairs sleeping in her bed, and here she was trespassing on private property, but she quickly calmed down again. From the look of the shop itself, no one had been in to clean in a while and, Alyssa realized sadly, she hadn't seen a hint of another living person since she arrived. It occurred to her that May was probably gone, and someone had broken in to rob the place in the owner's absence.
As she turned away from the desk, Alyssa was struck with the strange feeling that she was thinking too simply, that something that couldn't be explained by ordinary means had happened here. Feeling puzzled these strange new feelings, Alyssa moved around the desk to explore the rest of the shop. She tested the door behind the desk, but it was locked, so she went back across the room and mounted the staircase.
Shards of glass glittered like tiny stars on the steps, and when she reached the landing Alyssa discovered that one of the upstairs windows was broken. She stepped around the mess carefully and headed down the upstairs hallway. The narrow space was open on the left-hand side, like a balcony overlooking the shop below, and went straight for several feet before turning to the left. There was a door directly in front of her and another to her left; she decided to investigate the closest one first, even though she still wasn't sure just what she was looking for.
Keep looking, the voice said. It's important for you to be here.
The door led to another hallway, which was much shorter than the first and had a single door at the end of it. On the other side was a large bedroom that held a queen-sized bed, a tall bookcase, a dresser, and a pretty corner fireplace. Strangely, there was a fire crackling in the hearth, filling the room with a gentle warmth.
Alyssa approached the bookcase and ran a finger over a row of book bindings, but she really wasn't sure how old they were. She recognized some of the titles as classics dating back to the 1920s, but if she had really traveled back to the 1940s somehow, then none of the books were really all that old.
She turned away from the bookcase and moved to the dresser where an old-fashioned record player sat, which again promoted her to remind herself that it probably wasn't all that old, not like if she had come across it in her own time. She glanced at the stack of records propped beside it, but she couldn't tell how young or old any of them were.
As she moved away from the dresser, Alyssa's skirt brushed against the handle of a metal water pitcher that was sitting next to the record player. It fell to the floor with a clatter, making her jump in surprise. She returned the pitcher to the dresser before she continued examining the room.
There was nothing of interest on the fireplace mantle, but there was a desk on one side of the bed and a night stand on the other. Nothing on the desk looked important, but there was a small picture of a young man on the night stand.
Alyssa assumed it was a picture of William, the owner of the house and May's father. He looked happy and kind, and she had a feeling young May missed him greatly. Thinking about it made her heart sink a little, because it made her remember that she never knew her own father.
Lying next to the picture was a key. It looked too small to unlock the door downstairs, but Alyssa decided she should probably grab it anyway, and slipped it into her skirt pocket. With a final glance around the cozy room, Alyssa returned to the hall, closing the door behind her.
She returned to the main hallway and headed for the door on the left. It opened up to yet another hallway, with a row of windows on one side and a single door on the other. The lamps here were also lit, only they seemed to glow a little brighter than the rest of the house. As she approached the closed door, Alyssa noticed a dark stain on the opposite wall.
She didn't need—or want—to look closer; she could tell from a distance that it was blood. The stain was quite large, running from about the height of her shoulder to the floor. There were also smaller stains dotting the floor, and more spots of blood on the stairs that were at the end of the short hallway. Though she didn't really want to see what was on the other side of it, Alyssa tested the door near the top of the stairs; it was locked.
Alyssa couldn't help feeling a little relieved, but she wasn't sure if what lay beyond the short flight of stairs was any better. Stepping gingerly around the blood stains, she descended the wooden steps and found herself in a room that was almost as large as the main shop. It was also a little darker, and it looked like it was in even worse shape.
The floor was littered with papers and dressing dummies, and a nearby desk looked like someone had ripped through it. Another door was on the other side of the desk, and another desk, a larger, L-shaped desk, sat on the other side of the room. Standing next to it was something that looked like a bright red filing cabinet, which looked undisturbed, unlike the rest of the room. Alyssa crossed the messy floor slowly, until she was standing next to the L-shaped desk. A sloppy pile of newspapers was spread across it, and a front page article jumped out at her.
A murder had taken place on Christmas day, and the victim was May Norton.
According to the paper, May, age 12, had been on her own since her father, William, had been sent to the Front in July. May had been a pianist, and she had been practicing hard for the concours on Christmas Eve. Everyone expected her to take first place, but a mistake during her program ruined her plans. The following day the Norton family nanny found May lying on the floor and bleeding from a massive head injury. May was rushed to hospital, but it was too late; the young girl had died instantly from the blow. Though foul play was suspected, there weren't any leads.
Alyssa stepped back from the paper, a deeply unsettled feeling forming in her stomach. How could anyone be so cruel as to end the life of someone so innocent? The very idea made her sick, and angry, too, though there really wasn't anything she could do about it. All she could do was figure out just what she was supposed to do here.
As she was turning away from the desk, a terrified scream suddenly rang through the house.
Alyssa was so startled she banged her knee against the filing cabinet as she spun around. There was another scream, and another, followed by sounds of furniture being knocked around. The ceiling above her thundered and shook, like something large and very heavy was jumping around over her head.
The girl screamed again, and Alyssa's legs burst into motion. She began to run—toward the direction of the screams instead of away from them, to her astonishment. She didn't feel any fear in her thumping heart, only the desperate urge to help whoever was in danger.
She didn't have time to think about what she was going to do; she was already mounting the stairs, heading closer and closer to the commotion, which stopped abruptly as she neared the top.
The door at the top of the landing burst open violently and a small girl came flying out, a girl with two ponytails in her hair and dressed in a pretty pink dress. Alyssa couldn't tell what color her hair was, because she was drenched in blood from the crown of her head to her shoulders. Her hands, which were thrown wildly out in front of her, were also dripping with blood. The girl fell hard against the wall, in the exact spot as the bloodstain, before losing her balance and tumbling down the stairs.
Alyssa leaped back, pressed herself against the wall and watched, horrified, as the small figure slid down the stairs to the floor, where she lay motionless and bleeding. Alyssa could only stare, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth; in her fourteen years of life, she had never seen anything so horrific.
She barely had a second to process what she had just seen before a loud bang made her whirl around. Alyssa stared, stunned, as a hulking figure of a man came bursting through the doorway.
The immense being barely fit in the narrow hallway; his shoulders looked too wide for him to stand parallel to the walls, and his head nearly brushed the ceiling, even though he stood hunched over, like an animal on the prowl. A giant sledgehammer that was at least as big as Alyssa was clutched tightly in his hands; fresh blood dripped from the head.
His clothes were worn and filthy, and an odd stench permeated the air around him. His face was hidden behind a strange cowl of some kind, though the view of his grimy teeth was unobstructed as he grinned madly. A raspy laugh escaped his foul lips as a pair of wild eyes bored into her.
"I killed her."