Silent Key

by Erin Leland Tuttle

  Chapter Six: Awake Unto Me

  "Foster? Are you there? Are you waking up?"

  I blinked my eyes a few times. They were dry and the room was too bright. 

  "Hit the lights," I heard a familiar male voice say. 

  The glow of the room dimmed and I could focus on the familiar faces around me. Aaron hovered over me and, over his shoulder, I saw Reagan trying to smile. It was clear she was really shaken up. 

  "There you are," she said. "Finally. Thank God."

  I tried to sit up. "What? Where am I?" I asked, smelling the foreign scents in the room. 

  "Stop. Lay down," Aaron said. "We're in the emergency room. Again." He leaned down to kiss my forehead. "We must stop meeting this way, my dear."

  "Why? Why am I in the emergency room again?" 

  "You fell," Reagan cut in, stepping closer to me. "You fell and hit your head."

  "Passed out," Aaron added. "You passed out."

  I was very out of sorts. "What day is it?" I asked. 

  "Friday." Aaron sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. "Well, actually in the wee hours of Saturday morning. We went to check Reagan's cast list tonight. Remember?"

  I heard Reagan snort and an image buzzed through my head. 

  "That girl. Yes. I remember that girl who came in. The curvy Italian one."

  "Stephania." Reagan's voice dripped acid. "Yes. How can we forget?"

  "And then we went to the brass concert, Foster. Do you remember that, too?"

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "The ... the concert. The graduate students."

  "That's right. They were warming up. Then Dr. Carter came on stage to welcome everyone." Aaron spoke so slowly that for a moment I thought he was having a stroke. But when I looked at him, his eyes were clear, watching me intently. 

  "The people in front of us stood up. I remember ... they were clapping ..." 

  "They were."

  "And then ... a man ..." My heart began to pound in my chest. "That man …" My hands began shaking.

  "What?" Reagan asked. "What man?"

  I looked from Aaron to Reagan who both looked equally exhausted. 

  "I ... I don't remember anything else," I whispered and leaned back on the pillow.

  The doctor walked into the room. "Ah, look who's awake. How you feeling, Miss Farraday?"

  "I'm fine," I lied.

  "Good, good," the doctor continued, buzzing around the room. "I want to get a CAT scan, just to make sure. Then, if it all checks out, you can go home to your own bed. We'll just need to make sure your friends here check up on you during the next few days."

  "I'm her roommate. He's her boyfriend," Reagan said.

  "Perfect. Well, somebody will be here in a few minutes to wheel you down for the scan. Until then, just relax."

  As he left, I closed my eyes again. "I don't want to talk anymore. I'm feeling a little sick. Don't call my parents. They will only worry. I'll ring them later."

  "Okay. It's okay," Aaron whispered.

  All was quiet until Reagan began quietly clucking about her new female nemesis. I pretended to sleep. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

  ____________

  I was only in the hospital a few hours before I was released. The doctors assured me all was fine, so Aaron drove me back to the dorm, Reagan following close in her red VW Bug.

  She took great care getting me a drink of water and found me comfortable clothes. All the while, I remained placid. I answered questions when asked. I nodded on cue. But inside I was crumbling, the seams I had held together for six months were pulling loose. I didn't want anyone around when the finale came.

  "What do you need, hon?" Reagan asked.

  "Just rest. Thank you."

  "If you are sure ..."

  "I am sure."

  "Okay. I love you, Foster. You'll need more of that pain medicine when you wake up, I'm guessing. You hit your head pretty hard. I'll check on you every hour."

  "You don't have to do that ..." I started but Reagan growled at me.

  "Shut up. Get some rest. I'll be over here if you need me." Reagan sat on her bed, keeping quieter than usual, and reached for a book that I could tell she had just bought in the hospital gift shop. It still had the price tag on the cover.

  My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling and my hands clutched the blankets under my chin. I couldn't move. My head throbbed. My eyes were heavy. But, most of all, my soul felt broken.

  I hadn't forgotten anything I had seen pre-concert. I remembered the smell of the room, the feel of the auditorium seats, and the temperature of the air. But most of all, I remembered him. His eyes. His smile. His name. Jacob McGammon. He was real. And he was here, on campus.

  Thoughts overwhelmed my mind, realizations that this man was Aaron's mentor, that I had been in the same building with him for four months and never knew it. I had skipped my last session with Dr. Lane due to my newfound hope that my life was looking up and the past didn't matter. But the past has a way of creeping back upon us as soon as we release it. 

  I wanted to firmly grab Dr. Lane's head and turn it toward Jacob's grinning face and say, "See, Dr. Lane? Ghosts can be real—and you were wrong." 

  Exhaustion won the battle over my thoughts and I soon drifted off to sleep, the last image in my mind being that of the Cheshire Cat, licking his teeth.

  ____________

  I returned to classes the following Monday. I had been in bed too much and staring at the ceiling only proved to aggravate my confusion. I needed to get back to performing. 

  I pulled my thick scarf around my face as I walked from the dorm to the music building. As I got closer the door, the snowflakes began to fall. I moved up the stairway to my practice room to drop my bags off before going to class. The desks in the rooms were small. I hated to lay all my stuff on the floor where others could fall over them. Yes, I'd had complaints. 

  Entering the hallway of the second floor, my shoes hit a wet spot, most likely left from others coming in from the wintery weather. I did an awkward slip and flap until I grabbed a nearby wall to catch myself. 

  From behind me, I heard someone start to applaud, slowly. 

  God, I hate upperclassmen, I thought. 

  I righted myself and continued to my room, not looking back, but a voice stopped me. Although I'd ever only heard it say three words, I knew its timbre immediately. 

  "Good recovery," the voice said. "I was about to come wipe the floor so that nobody would get hurt. Good thing you're so graceful on your feet."

  I didn't want to turn around. I thought that perhaps if I didn't see him, he wouldn't be real. But, after a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, I looked over my shoulder. I didn't speak. I just stared at his face until smile lines formed at the corner of his mouth, breaking my frightened daze. 

  "Yes, thank you. The floor is … slippery."

  "Indeed," he said, leaning on a mop he held in his right hand. "I don't believe we have met."

  A shiver ran up the back of my neck. "No. I don't think so," I said quietly.

  He tilted his head. He was older than I had remembered. "And you are ...?"

  "You first," I said, immediately wanting to punch myself in the mouth when his grin grew.

  "All right," he said, and began to walk toward me, bridging any gap of safety I felt, hand extended toward me. "Hello. I'm Dr. Jacob McGammon. Trumpet professor." 

  "All right," I mimicked. "I'm Foster Farraday. I'm a student. Piano."  

  McGammon's hand still floated in the air in front of me. To my horror, when I failed to respond, he reached down and took my hand on his own, shaking it firmly. His hand was warm and rough, like the skin of an elephant basking in the sun. After a few horizontal pumps, I pulled my hand back. 

  "Nice to meet you." My voice was still barely above a whisper.

  Before I could turn and retreat, Aaron came around the corner. 

  "Hey! You're here!" Moving past McGammon, he came to me a
nd put both hands on my face, a lovable move he had perfected. "I wasn't sure if you'd be in class today." 

  I smiled and lowered my eyes. Although Aaron's touch was one of the most comforting things to me, I wanted to run. 

  "I see you've finally met our Dr. McGammon!" Aaron said, backing up so I could meet McGammon's gaze again. 

  “We just met, yes," McGammon said. "Your girl—I’m assuming this is your girl—was about to go down and, embarrassingly, I was here to witness it."

  Aaron quickly turned to me again, concerned. "Did you fall again, Foster?" 

  "Slipped. I slipped. That's all." Please stop, Aaron. Please.

  "Again?" McGammon prodded. "Is this something that happens often?"

  Laughing way too loudly, Aaron's mood changed and he threw an arm around my shoulder.

  "No, not really. She just had an accident the other night, passed out before the brass concert. Probably just needed to eat or something." Planting a kiss on my cheek, he continued. "Foster is an ambitious musician, very talented, and sometimes forgets to take care of herself. Her craft always comes first."

  McGammon licked the corner of his mouth, a move that another bystander would dismiss as a reaction to having dry lips. I did not perceive it this way and, to my disgust, my gut flipped. Then, like light and dark, his demeanor changed. 

  "Well, it's good to meet another dedicated musician. Aaron, our 10:30 lesson is still on, correct?"

  "Absolutely. I'll be there in a minute." 

  Before McGammon disappeared around the corner, he ran the mop over the spot where I had slipped. When he was out of earshot, Aaron turned to face me, beaming.

  "I love that man. I’d follow him anywhere.”

  "Well, that’s a bit creepy,” I said, feeling my nostrils involuntarily flare. 

  "Not like that, silly,” Aaron said, his mood light. “I’ve known him since high school. He is brilliant. He's been around the world. Who knows what kind of contacts I can make through him!"

  "How wonderful for you," I said, looking past him. "I need to get to class."

  "Whoa, Foster. What's wrong? Are you mad at me?" 

  "No. I'm not mad at you," I sighed. "I love you." 

  Oh shit. My words echoed in my ears. 

  Aaron froze. "Did you say you love me?"

  "I ..."

  "You're blushing!"

  "I ... I did say it. I wasn't thinking. It just came out," I gushed. "I'm sorry."

  Aaron looked like he had been slapped. "No! Don't apologize. For heaven's sake, Foster." He grabbed me in a strong hug and I couldn't see his face anymore. After a few moments, he added, "I'm actually glad. I'm glad you said it. I love you, too."

  When I pulled back, I saw a tear in his left eye. "You love me?"

  "Don't look so skeptical. The thought of waking up with you by my side, the thought of growing old with you ..."

  Aaron's words were interrupted by a voice from around the corner. "Hagan? Are you still down there?"

  "Crap." Aaron pulled out of my space. "I have to go to my lesson. We'll talk later."

  Then he was gone and I was left alone in the cold hallway. I stood there several minutes before I took a step toward my practice room. I didn't go to class that day. I stayed locked away and played Chopin Nocturnes. It just seemed appropriate.