Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody)

by Nieto, Ron C.

  She shrugged and chomped on a cookie, uncomfortable. “I guess it was a bit mean. But that’s Lena for you. We’ve never cared before.”

  “She’s never targeted anyone we even knew before.”

  “Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

  I sipped my chocolate, mulling it over. It probably was. I probably should defend the helpless kids that got picked on, whether I loved their music or not. The fact that I didn’t care for random girls crying in the bathroom didn’t make what Lena did any less cruel. Still. “So it is. So bite me.” I shrugged.

  She laughed and I could see the tension easing off her shoulders, even if only a bit. “So, were you already back to talking to him by the time ‘the incident’ happened?”

  “No.” I nibbled on a cookie to buy time, but forced myself to plunge on before I lost my nerve. “He didn’t know it, but I used to listen to him.”

  “Okay, now you lost me.”

  “I didn’t talk to him, but we weren’t as…” I gestured vaguely about, trying to explain a relationship that I’d have denied to death before that night. “We weren’t as disconnected as it might seem.”

  She waited for me to go on. I tried to gauge how much of the truth I should fit into the answer and sighed.

  “All of it” sounded about right.

  “One day I just happened to follow him, okay? I was curious. He had changed so much; I guess I wanted to know why. But then, before I reached his door, I heard this melody, so broken and so incredible. It sounded great, and I had to listen. It blew me away, Anna. And it was Keith. The next day, I found myself just walking the few extra blocks to see if he would be playing again, without thinking much about it. He always was, each day different than the day before. I never talked to him, and I know it’s stupid, but I just needed to listen to his music.” The words left me in a rush and Anna stared at me for a second before blinking.

  “So… you’ve been stalking him,” she said at length

  I winced. “It does sound crazy when you put it in so many words, but…” I gestured, at a loss, and she burst out laughing.

  “Hey, what’s so funny?” I asked, half-bothered but also half-glad that she hadn’t run off, calling for the police.

  “God, I can just picture you in your high heels and best skinny jeans, crouched among the bushes, leaves getting tangled in your hair and mud getting everywhere…”

  The mental image was quite accurate, but I didn’t tell her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, once she managed to stop laughing.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps because I was stalking the weirdest guy in school, and that’d make me even weirder?”

  She heard my underlying fear and barked another laugh. “Aww, it takes more than that to split up Team A!” she said, leaning forward and giving me a hug.

  Team A. Anna and Alice. That was us, and it felt so good to know we still were the same. I hugged her back. “I was worried,” I admitted.

  “No wonder! But I’m glad you told me. This story is even fun! Do you know how I felt when I saw you returning with him? I thought you two were dating and you had not trusted or valued me enough to even let me know!”

  “That wasn’t it. I swear!”

  “I know, I know,” she said, smiling wickedly and waving my excuses off. “For all your lying skills, I can always tell when you’re being sincere.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You’d have come up with a less embarrassing explanation if it had been up to you.”

  We laughed at that. I could hardly believe that I had shared my secret, but at the same time, I couldn’t believe how light I felt, knowing that Anna knew and didn’t judge me for it.

  Not too harshly, at least.

  “Back to being serious,” she said once the cookies and the chocolate were gone. “There’s something I need to know before I give you my blessings.”

  I wanted to say that we weren’t dating or anything, but thought better of it. Her face was too grave. “Yeah?”

  “Is it true he sleeps in a coffin?”

  “Anna!”

  “What? That’s one of the rumors going on at school. Come on, he’s Dracula in Drag!”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s got a perfectly normal bed.”

  “You’ve seen it?” Her eyes gleamed as she leant forward.

  “Yes,” I replied before I could think of the implications. I was mortified and she was peeling with laughter. “It’s not like that…”

  “Don’t try to fix it, really,” she choked out between giggles.

  “Hey, Anna?” I said after a moment.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’d really prefer it if no one knew Keith and I are on talking terms yet, okay?”

  “What a wasted question. I do know what a secret is. I thought you were going to ask something more interesting,” she huffed.

  “Such as?”

  Her smile turned conspiratorial. “What do the rumors say about the ‘Drag’ part?”

  And we started laughing again, so hard that by the time we were done, by the time she went back to her own place, my sides hurt.

  Never mind. I still felt better than I had for a long time.

  CHAPTER 11

  Next day was Friday and judging from looks alone, nothing had changed at all. Anna and I stuck together in our joint classes, tried our best to pay attention in the other subjects, and, generally speaking, ignored the existence of a world outside our own little bubble. The normalcy meant I didn’t talk to Keith at all, and Anna didn’t bring him up.

  Then theater group gathered and there he was, hair curtaining his face and guitar bag slung over one shoulder. He came nearly late and stared out at everyone with a smirk in place, as if daring them to try to get him to back off again. I risked giving him a small smile of encouragement, and I think his eyes widened a bit in surprise, but when he entered the auditorium he stepped past me and went straight to Professor Hedford.

  Said professor looked like a fifty-something-year-old child on Christmas morning. “Mr. Brannagh! I’m so glad to see you can join us. I had heard that your guitar was damaged during an accident the other day.”

  “She was, but still plays just fine. I understand not everyone has the necessary skills to move without bumping into things, so no hard feelings.”

  The professor looked startled by Keith’s response and a few of the younger students snickered. I shared an amazed look with Anna.

  “Is it me,” she whispered, “or has he just called Jack an oaf?”

  “I think he did,” I whispered right back. “I just hope he knows what he’s doing… Lena’s not looking pleased.”

  “You know… I think I want to talk to you later,” she said all of a sudden.

  “About what?”

  “Later,” she repeated as things settled down and we all moved to our spots to begin the rehearsal.

  Most people present didn’t even have lines in the scene we went over that day, but still they stayed. Dave and I were having our little showdown in Act I, over and over again, and those who didn’t get any lines in just watched and threw in their thoughts when Professor Hedford called for a halt and asked the group what exactly hadn’t worked.

  It was a good dynamic, but that day we were stuck. At some point, the onlookers got bored and either retired to the back of the auditorium to rehearse their own lines or went outside for a breath of fresh air—or for an illegal smoke, as I knew to be Jack’s case.

  By the time we reached take five and counting, even I started to despair of ever getting it right.

  We weren’t getting it wrong, because Dave and I worked perfectly as a leading pair. We had learned our lines for the part, and in general, the performance was fine. But Professor Hedford said that our problem was precisely that this was a performance.

  “Don’t we always perform, Professor?” Dave asked the next time he called for a halt. “Isn’t that what theater is for?”

  “For the majority, yes,” Mr. Hedford repl
ied. “Any other year, I’d not require more than a fitting performance from you. But this time, children, we can do something more. We can make a difference. So what I want is not a performance, but a rendition of this particular scene where a marriage that has known nothing but love is suddenly thrown into a maelstrom of mistrust and social scandal. I’d not ask for it if I didn’t know you could give it, so let’s go again.”

  I sighed. I didn’t even know the difference between “performance” and “rendition.” Either I needed to look at my Merriam-Webster, or it was one of those theater things intellectual directors liked to say to sound cool. I took a sip from my water bottle and decided it was the latter.

  But still, I had to try.

  Once more, under the intense scrutiny of what was left of the group, I walked up to Dave and confronted him about the rumors I had heard.

  Was he sullying my honor with another woman? Had he dared to shame me so? Dave excused himself, surprised, and said that it was nothing of the sort. Then, he refused to give me an explanation, no matter how hard I pressed him for one. He just exited the room and I was left to wallow in my anger.

  “Halt,” Mr. Hedford called. “It was better; we are improving, but may I ask for yet another try?”

  He didn’t sound convinced at all when he said that it was better. He tried hard to hide it, but he got that look in his eyes, the one he wore when trying to soothe the bruised feelings of a teen after yet another correction with no improvement.

  I looked to Anna for support, but found her focused on something else. I turned to follow her gaze and—

  “Professor,” Keith said from his corner. Anna had been looking at him. What the hell? I wondered. “May I play a bit in the background while they rehearse? I need the practice time and I don’t think it’ll bother them…”

  Mr. Hedford waved a hand. “Of course. You have your right to use the practice time as well, Mr. Brannagh. And furthermore, I think your playing might help us all to relax and get into the mood. Do go ahead, please.”

  Keith nodded, and Anna grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I searched Dave’s gaze to see if he understood what had just happened. He shrugged, as lost as I was—or more, since he hadn’t seen Anna and Keith’s strange mental communication skills in action—and moved over to his starting point.

  The music started to sound, more subdued than it would during the party in Act II, but still audible enough to weave a mood around us. It was soft, lighting fast, hitching… instead of relaxing me, like I had dared to hope for, like our professor had suggested, it felt as if a giant fist was crushing my throat.

  I started to move toward Dave, but my step faltered just as the notes did. He looked up, and I didn’t see surprise in his eyes—resignation, tiredness, but he didn’t seem to find it odd that I hadn’t greeted him, that I was still up waiting for him. His behavior only lent more credibility to the rumors, but still it was hard to believe.

  It is my husband, I thought, the song swelling somewhere in the background.

  I loved this man, damn it. I trusted him! He also was my friend, my confidante. I could not just believe the gossip, even if I thought I had proof. I had to confront him about it, no matter how much my voice shook when I did. Was he seeing someone else? Was there another woman? Dave’s face looked pained for a split second, but then he visibly squared his shoulders. He said that there was nothing of the sort, but he didn’t look me in the eye. Instead, he busied himself pretending to discard his hat and his jacket. I wanted to believe him, but his whole attitude screamed “guilty.” So I pressed him. I told him I knew her name, but still he shook his head.

  “Mrs. Erlynne,” I spat out at last, trying desperately to get a reaction out of him—either a reassurance, oh please let it be an assurance, or, if it couldn’t be… then at least an admission.

  Dave looked me in the eye then, for a long minute, and he said, “Yes, I’m visiting with her.”

  The words were even but they felt like a blow. I had to stagger back, to reach for the back of a chair to steady myself, and I saw his calm façade break and his hand reach out, as if he wanted to hold me through the pain. But this time, he had caused it. He couldn’t help me, the hypocrite.

  I averted my eyes, and he lowered his hand, fingers closed in a fist. When he spoke again, his voice sounded pained and barely held together

  “I swear I have not betrayed you.”

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t, and after another moment of tense, thick silence, he left the room with his head down, the weight of knowledge bearing down on his shoulders.

  The music ended and I was left completely alone, trying to find the scattered pieces of my heart, my trust, my happiness…

  Silence hung for a long moment afterwards and then applause. I blinked, looked up, and saw Professor Hedford with the greatest Cheshire Cat grin I’d ever seen. The other students stared at us open-mouthed. Anna clapped like mad among them. I turned to Dave, who came back on the stage, and we both shared a look, as if we were just waking up after a long, wonderful dream. A dream where we were Lord and Lady Windermere.

  Understanding slowly flooded me.

  “And that, my dear students,” said Mr. Hedford, “is exactly what I meant. That is what I will be asking from you for Lady Windermere’s Fan. Now that you’ve seen it and understand it, I think it’s time we call it a day, don’t you agree?”

  People were slow to react, still too deeply gone into the play to remember that it was late. Later than any other day of regular rehearsal, actually. As subdued “see you laters” were exchanged and the rest of the folks started to clear the auditorium, I turned to Keith. He had done it, I knew, but when I turned to him, he just smiled in encouragement like everyone else and gave me a small nod. His gaze was on me, but the fingers of his left hand still danced lightly over the muted strings of his guitar.

  I headed toward him, not minding that we were in plain sight.

  “You knew it, right?”

  “What?” he asked, with picture perfect innocence.

  “You knew what the difference was, between performance and…” I gaped, at a loss. I had already forgotten the other word used by Mr. Hedford.

  “Performance and rendition?” He laughed a bit. “Yeah, I did. So did you.”

  “I didn’t even know…”

  Anna collided against my back and her hand shot forwards over my shoulder, giving a thumbs up to Keith.

  “Good one, Dracula.”

  I turned to face Anna. “Wait, you’re in on this?”

  She shrugged. “Come on, Alice, it didn’t take an Einstein to figure it out. You love how he plays, and I’ve seen firsthand what he can do in the way of getting anyone into the feelings of the story. We all saw it that first day. You guys just needed a little push out of the script and into the gut-wrenching drama.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it again. Anna was right, wasn’t she? All that had changed during our stellar performance—our rendition—was the way we had approached our lines. We hadn’t known how our characters were supposed to feel; then we had felt it.

  “Girls,” Dave said then, looking at our little trio a little weirded out and a little suspicious. “You coming?”

  I blushed, realizing what we were doing and where, and nodded, but Anna’s arm locked around my shoulders and she waved at him. “Nah, you go ahead. Alice’s coming to my place, so we’ll go together once we are done here.”

  “When you’re done?” Dave raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Okay… whatever you say.”

  We watched while he left, the last of the long string of stragglers, and I said, “I don’t think he looked very convinced. And besides, I can’t drop by your house tonight. I really should check in at home first.”

  “Did you want to go with him?”

  “No, but…”

  “Then stop ruining my excuse. As I said, we need to talk.” She pointed a finger at Keith, who was almost finished picking up his things. “You,” she said, sounding quite imperious. “Wha
t have you done to Lena?”

  Keith immediately snapped into defensive mode. “I haven’t done a thing…”

  “I can’t believe you think…” I followed right after his lead.

  She lifted her hands to forestall us.

  “I’m not accusing anyone here,” she said, “but I’ve been thinking. Lena knew Keith played, and while her explanation might be true, I still think it’s fishy. Besides, Alice, you said yourself that waiting for weeks to try to get revenge on Keith for something as minimal as hitting with his tray someone who wasn’t her was too much, even for her standards. And I’ve yet another exhibit. She looked positively livid when Keith came in today, which means she’s not letting it go. So”—she turned on him—“I’d like to know why she’s got her sights on you. We might figure out what’s coming next.”

  Keith and I blinked, and he darted a nervous glance between Anna and me.

  “I don’t want to come across the wrong way, but what’s it to you?” he asked with guarded eyes.

  Anna shrugged, not fazed in the least.

  “Well, Alice seems to think you’re interesting. I’m going to go with that. If it fails, I’ll argue that a cause as lost as yours makes for an entertaining pet project.”

  My jaw dropped, but Keith laughed, not entirely free, but with more amusement and less self-deprecation lacing it than last time I’d heard it.

  “Okay, I’ll consider myself a lab rat. But I still can’t think of anything that might have made the Bitch Queen lock her jaws on me.”

  “Bitch Queen?” Anna arched an eyebrow and I giggled.

  “Yeah, I’m the Princess.”

  “Wait, does that make me the Jester? Don’t answer that,” she warned, waving a finger in Keith’s direction. “But think about this, okay?”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “Alice, we should really get going now. I’ll drop you off?”

  “Sure. You coming?”

  Keith shook his head. “I want to stay and put in some practice. I have an idea.”

  I didn’t really understand how anyone would want to stay longer after school once the extra curriculars were over, or how he could speak of spending his Friday night alone with his guitar, as if there was nothing more normal than that, but I shrugged and headed off with Anna.