Unsung Requiem: The Ghost Bird Series: #13

by C. L. Stone

  “Consider it,” he said. “You need to think very carefully. In your heart, do you feel you earned one favor for watching over those children while Mrs. Ruiz was away?”

  I breathed in through my nose and looked up, out through the windshield but not at him still. “Was it okay that they came by to offer advice?”

  “You didn’t ask them to do it for you. Advice, when you aren’t sure, is never at a price, never a cost.”

  Still, it seemed so trivial task. “I felt I did her a favor, but it doesn’t feel like the same level of… importance for what Victor got.”

  “Favors aren’t measured by importance,” he said. “It’s unfair to ask ten-year-old children to win a favor or two the same way you or even adults like myself should be able to. If you’re looking for what’s valued, Mrs. Ruiz’s children are valuable to her and the circumstances were irregular enough to warrant asking someone at the last minute and at an inconvenient time to come in.”

  “I want to be fair,” I said.

  “Will it make you feel better that she was able to complete her task to success? She couldn’t have done it without someone watching her children.”

  “It helps to know a little, I think.”

  He nodded and started the car again, rolling forward. “I can’t make the decision for you, but I can give you time to make a decision.”

  I was grateful for the chance to think about it. I wanted a chance to talk with the others about this, and what was fair or wasn’t regarding this. Perhaps their experience would lend me more confidence.

  What happened if I didn’t feel it’s good enough of a favor in the end?

  For several moments, there was a silence that settled into the car, and I thought that was the end of the conversation.

  Until in a very calm, very soothing voice, he said, “Will we walk a simple road of peace, or will we run to the assist… and adventure?”

  His words confused me. He made it seem like accepting a favor for watching the kids was acceptable and that I should. And that also if I were to suggest I needed to do more, I could, if I wanted.

  The question left me reconsidering.

  I wondered if it was a test.

  My heart was telling me accepting the favor didn’t feel right.

  But what about Victor? Would his point be retracted because I’d failed?

  ♥♥♥

  We arrived shortly onto the street where the Morgan estate was, but traffic was backed up around the block. Kota and Gabriel were behind us somewhere, I was sure. I’d have to explain to them at the party what happened.

  I inspected the outfit Gabriel had picked out for me. The simple sweater and skirt combination wasn’t as formal as what some of the others would wear, but Gabriel said it’d serve until it started. I think he had something in Victor’s closet waiting for me, but running late…

  “Tonight isn’t the night to stand out,” he’d said.

  Maybe it was better to wear what I was wearing now. He was right. The attention would be on Victor. Downplaying an outfit was a good idea.

  Going in alone to this party was a nerve-racking feeling, but knowing the others were behind me and more should be inside, I tried to soothe my nerves.

  Mr. Buble waited behind a row of cars. Gentle, late afternoon glows came over the top of large homes and live oak trees lined either side, casting a darkness along the lane so that it seemed already twilight and dark. Our faces were cast in red tones of brake lights as we waited.

  “Neighbors should have been rerouted,” Mr. Buble said absently. “Two blocks away there should have been an attendant to direct people passing through. This blockage is completely unnecessary.”

  “Are we late?” I asked.

  “Technically, yes,” he said. “And I do apologize for that. I did promise to be back in time for you to be here. It isn’t terribly late.” The car ahead of us rolled forward, but stopped shortly after, waiting on other vehicles ahead. Mr. Buble’s glasses glinted with red at the rear brake lights. I couldn’t see his eyes through it. The effect was almost comical, giving him the appearance of red glasses. He frowned as the cars ahead of us continued to pause. “I hate to suggest this, but you should go ahead. Walking would be faster.”

  “What about you?”

  He pulled his phone out, holding it with one hand. Without looking at it, he pressed his thumb a couple of times to the surface.

  My phone rang in my lap. An unknown number.

  “Pick it up,” he said.

  I did, instinctively putting it to my ear.

  He put his phone on speaker and put it down in the cup holder. “Just keep me on the line. Let me know when you get into the party. Don’t hang up unless you are inside the wall and also near people that can see you clearly. I can trust that your team will be there in full?”

  I nodded. “They should all be there, except for the two behind us, and they’ll catch up soon.”

  “Then I can leave you with them. I can see the house from here and will be able to monitor until you’re in. Even after you’re in and hang up, call me without hesitation for any reason.”

  It was weird to hear his voice and hear the echo on the phone. “Okay.”

  “I’ll check in tomorrow morning. We have a lot to go over.” With that, he urged me with a hand gesture to go on.

  We weren’t but a block from the house. Still, I was nervous arriving alone.

  Victor was probably waiting.

  Once I got closer, it was clear there were people questioning and arguing with attendants as to why they were blocking the front of the house. The arguments probably caused the backup in traffic far more than the redirection of traffic.

  From the street, the yellow three-story house that stood behind iron gates near the front seemed to glow. The lights were on. The trees near the front of the property had been decorated with some small white lights around their bases, not quite Christmas style. It was too late into January for that. It was more of a decorative accent.

  The gates were open, with two guards near the front, dressed in black, keeping an eye on the street. I approached the house cautiously, under the gaze of two lions that sat on pillars near the double stairwell toward the front and the guards. The two men said nothing to me, although their eyes followed.

  I wasn’t sure if I should go around the house or up to the door, but just to be sure, I climbed the steps. The front door was opened before I could knock.

  A woman stood by the door, clipboard in hand. “Hello,” she said with a smile. “You’re…” She paused and then blinked. “I’m sorry, you’re here for…”

  “Victor’s party,” I said. “I’m Sang Sorenson.” What else was there to say? Was this normal for guests? I supposed they would try to stop just anyone from entering. Security blocked the driveway just for this party, but they’d let me past the gate. They knew who I was. This woman wasn’t security so likely just checking the guest list.

  The woman blinked repeatedly and then checked with a phone in her other hand. “I thought I knew everyone on the guest list…”

  Was she supposed to know all of the names and faces on the guest list? “If you call Victor and tell him my name…”

  She smiled and nodded slowly. “I was given a list and you’re not on it. I have to check with…” She paused and tilted her head. She seemed to be wearing an earpiece. I couldn’t see it with her hair covering her ears, I was just familiar with that particular tilt and the dazzled look like she was listening. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, security said to let you in.”

  I passed her into the main hallway of the house, breathing out slowly through my lips. Security. I’d been here enough and Victor had told them to let me in without question every time.

  However, the party was planned by his mother. And Mrs. Morgan didn’t really like me. Would she be mean enough to not put me on the list for Victor’s own party?

  I feared that might have been the case. Yet I’d been here ear
lier. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be upset I was here.

  Emporté

  (Fr. Fiery, impetuous)

  Sang

  The woman who had stopped me at the door motioned toward the rear of the house. “They should have been seated by now.”

  I blushed, the heat traveling down my neck. I was late. If I found Victor, I had to apologize to him, but he should be on stage by now, I was sure. The event was dinner and him playing the piano… an odd choice for his birthday, but I assumed it was normal for him.

  The front rooms of the Morgan estate had two elderly people lingering in the front parlor. The hall was empty. The kitchen had the most noise near it. The kitchen door was open and there was a flurry of activity inside with people wearing all black, with plates in neat rows on the counter with someone putting on final touches. Another attendant put the finished plates on carts to be rolled outside.

  There was no reason to linger in the house, as it was clear everyone must be in the tent and some possibly even had food already. I headed toward the back just to exit at the rear door, down the porch steps, and took the long way around to where I knew the tent to be.

  The large white tent stood like a small house out on the lawn, stationary and secure and glowing from the inside. A section was open on the side I approached. Tables held candles and center displays of flowers, and many people were seated inside. Their voices, low murmurs, activity, clinking of glasses, all floated to me as I approached.

  Some people lingered near the front entrance, talking to each other, although I wasn’t sure if they were guests who hadn’t seated yet or attendants looking in. I made a circle around the outside, where I knew there would be a second flap of the tent that was open near the back. From there, I’d be able to look in on the crowd and hopefully spot the others without walking in front of the stage.

  I lifted my phone, remembering it was on and that Mr. Buble was still on the line. “I’m inside and near the tent. There are plenty of people who can see me. I don’t know where the others are yet but most likely they are sitting already. I’m just going around to look for them from the back.”

  “Good,” he said. “Do find them.”

  I paused and then said, “I can’t take the point. I just don’t want it to reflect badly on Victor. That’s not his fault.”

  “I appreciate your answer. I’ll check in tomorrow. Have fun.” He hung up.

  That was it? I supposed there was more to talk about, but now wasn’t the time. I just couldn’t let it go and I didn’t want to hold on to that feeling for too long. I thought I needed the guys to tell me how to think about this, but I couldn’t let go of how I felt. I needed to do more.

  I carried the phone in my hands and circled around until I arrived at the rear section, where the open tent panel revealed a path of outdoor carpet laid out on top of the grass for tonight. There were round tables further in, all set with centerpieces of roses. Some guests already had plates of salad and bread. Elegantly dressed people were seated, looking toward the stage near the front of the tent.

  No music? Shouldn’t Victor be playing by now?

  As I drew closer, there was a voice coming from the speakers, hard to decipher exactly who, but male and he wasn’t totally talking into the microphone. That or the speakers near the back weren’t set at a good volume. What was being said was unclear.

  I scanned through the crowd, trying to determine where the guys were seated. There was a range of noise, a murmur, the sound of Victor’s voice in speakers overhead. I was only half listening as I stilled in between two rows of tables to determine a route further in.

  But with the way people didn’t even look at me as I passed, staring blankly and with such stunned expressions, I turned, unsure what was going on.

  My eyes adjusted enough to take in what was happening. Victor stood on the stage, eyes droopy, holding a microphone. The suit he wore seemed dark, making his face paler than usual. The wavy dark hair fell askew across his face.

  And he leaned, too far one way and then tried to fix and overcorrected before stabilizing.

  Why did he look so tired? Even from a distance in the back, I could see his shoulders slumped, his head rolled forward a little and he picked it up now and again to face the audience.

  Mr. Blackbourne was nearby, with a hand extended to Victor as if wanting to assist him, saying something that couldn’t be heard.

  Victor paused in whatever he was saying when I finally focused and it took him a couple of moments before he continued, his voice strange and slow, “I know it comes as a shock, and I appreciate you all attending, but I’ve given my final concert. I won’t be playing tonight.”

  I stilled, unsure if I should proceed. His tone was like he was trying to remain calm, but I was familiar enough with him to understand he was upset, struggling to keep some composure.

  “Please continue to enjoy the night,” he said. “My mother put a lot of effort into the evening. And please get home safe.” With that, he turned and walked off the stage, around Mr. Blackbourne, leaving an empty piano behind him.

  The voices around me started up, like a wave from the ocean, swelling in the back and drifting to the front.

  What happened?

  His last concert?

  Everyone at the tables leaned in. Talking to each other.

  It was Mr. Blackbourne that picked up the microphone. He wore a black suit, white crisp shirt, and a brighter maroon tie than normal. He spoke in a reassuring tone to the audience.

  “Victor Morgan has been a dear friend to me for a couple of years,” he said. “He’s an exceedingly kind and generous soul, having played at many charity events from a young age. His talent exceeds what many have accomplished. It would be a shame to allow him to perform on his birthday and not enjoy the event tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

  There was some agreement from the audience, even if a little confused.

  “For once, we felt it would be fun to allow him to enjoy an event he usually works. His own birthday. Let’s let him enjoy this one.”

  This seemed to give those attending a change of tone, and they all raised their voices in agreement and clapped.

  With this, Mr. Blackbourne went to the piano, and he began to play some light and cheerful tune, akin to happy birthday but with a lot of flair.

  Still, others around me seemed to whisper among themselves. I wasn’t sure what was said before I arrived, but they seemed more interested in talking to each other than listening to Mr. Blackbourne play.

  I backed away, unsure what to do now. Where were the others? Cutting through the crowd seemed too odd to do now. And Victor had left the tent completely.

  Instead of moving forward, I decided to backtrack to where I had come from, out of the tent in the rear, and went around toward the front flap. Victor couldn’t have gotten far.

  My heart was in my throat, and I placed a palm over my chest to calm it. Despite Mr. Blackbourne’s reassuring tone, I was worried.

  Between the open tent flap near the front and the path back to the house, others seemed to have disappeared except for George and Victor.

  Victor’s father blocked Victor from retreating to the house. His lips curled back and his eyes were wide, cheeks flushed.

  “It’s not a joke. Get back on that stage,” he said, his tone sharp.

  Victor stumbled a bit where he stood and shook his head. “No, thank you.” Very polite and to the point. Despite his father’s anger, Victor seemed rather calm.

  George pointed a shaking finger at him. “You get back in there or…”

  “Victor?” I moved forward to stand beside him. Where the courage to get between them came from, I wasn’t sure, but Kota had said several times he got in the way between his parents and Victor and it helped to smooth things.

  However, before I could get close enough to stand by Victor’s side, Jasmine materialized, cutting off access and taking her son by the arm. Regal, with eyes that blazed in a fierce
fire that I’d only seen Victor match, she turned her back to me and addressed her son directly.

  She said something to him, soft, but with hissing noises. I skirted around her until I could get within view of Victor.

  Victor listened, but when I came into his view, he shook his head at whatever she was whispering. “No. You can’t bribe me. You can’t trick me again. This party isn’t for me. It’s for you. I didn’t ask for this.” Again he wavered where he stood and then hiccupped. “I’m done.”

  George leaned in, smelling his breath. He laughed a bit, seeming relieved. “Darling, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Looks like he’s had too much.”

  Jasmine balked at this and leaned in to smell Victor’s breath, despite Victor trying to pull his arm from her grasp. She pulled her head back sharply, nose wrinkled. “How could you let yourself get into such a state?”

  Drunk? Really? He didn’t drink. “Victor?” I said cautiously.

  Victor started to turn to me, but his mother put an arm between me and him and tried to encourage him toward the house. “I’ll escort him to his room. We shouldn’t let anyone else talk to him this evening. I’ll explain to them you’re not feeling well and had a little too much tonight.”

  “No,” Victor said, throwing off her arm and reaching for my hand. “Sang… Sang, help me get out of here.”

  “Where are the others?” I asked, getting closer and taking his arm.

  “Victor, let’s go into the house,” his mother said, reaching again for his arm. “You,” she said as sharp as if she were going to spit, “help me get him into the house.”

  He shook his head and turned full toward her. “I’m not going back in that house. Don’t pretend you didn’t do this to me to get me to do what you want. I’m not signing papers. I’m done. I’m out.”