The Musician

by Douglas Gardham

  He watched as Christa shifted her weight from her left leg to her right. In a fraction of a second, her expression turned from dark to light.

  “Sydney’s why you’re alive,” she said, her voice quivering, tears on her cheeks. “We would never have found you in time.”

  Christa grabbed his left hand and squeezed. “She’s pretty heavily sedated down the hall,” she said. “She’s banged up and bruised and who knows what else.”

  She turned and sat on the edge of his bed. “Seems whoever was holding her took off. Maybe after—” Christa stopped and brushed her cheeks. “She somehow got out and brought the police to you.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything, relieved that Syd was okay.

  He stared into the brown eyes he’d thought he’d never see again. It seemed hard to believe he was looking into them now. When he thought about what had happened, it seemed more like a nightmare than anything that could possibly be true.

  The never-ending questions from doctors and the police had already started. Most of the story seemed to be coming together but not all of it. He was relieved to be in Ottawa General and not in psychiatric care at the Royal. Not being at the Royal at least made all that had happened a possibility. He didn’t think he’d gone away, as he could remember things, including much that he didn’t want to.

  A detective, Sergeant Derek Scott, had been there earlier, before Christa had walked in. He’d left Ethan struggling with more questions than answers. Parts of what had happened were clear in his mind. Some he remembered, some he didn’t, and some he just left out. He shook his head anytime Syd was mentioned. Syd was the hero. He was okay with that. Syd had saved his life. That she’d had anything to do with their abduction and their capture would remain with him for now.

  Christa was still sitting on his bed, holding his hand, when Carlyn and his parents knocked on the open door. Christa stood up and stepped out without a word.

  His mother, with his father by her side, was in immediate tears.

  “Oh, Ethan,” she sobbed, “you have no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  He’d seen little of them since their Christmas fiasco. His mother held and squeezed his bare hand. That was enough. Carlyn stood at the foot of his bed. Her eyes were bloodshot. His father put his arm around his mother’s shoulders.

  “I don’t think Ottawa’s your town, Son,” he said, shaking his head, his face trying a smile that his eyes weren’t up to.

  “I hate it here,” Carlyn said, shaking her head. “Ya gotta get outta here, Ethan. It’s creepy.”

  They stayed until Greg and Gus came to the open door. They were all staying at the same hotel and had had breakfast together. Greg and Gus hadn’t left Ottawa since Ethan and Syd had disappeared.

  “We’ll be back later,” said his mother, holding his left hand in both of hers.

  He winced as she raised his arm. The image of a stuck X-Acto knife surfaced.

  “Oh, Ethan, I’m sorry.” Tears filled her eyes. She let go of his hand and turned away. She headed to the door without saying another word. He knew she couldn’t.

  “Like your mother said,” his father added, as if he could think of nothing else to say, “we’ll see you later on.”

  Greg and Gus closed around his bed as his parents left. Carlyn stayed a little longer, as if she wanted to say something, but then she just waved and left.

  “Have you seen Syd?” Ethan asked. As he asked the question, he remembered hearing Syd’s voice in the shaking vehicle, which now felt more dreamlike than real.

  “Syd’s not saying much,” Greg said, his eyes as bloodshot as Carlyn’s. Ethan wondered if it was for the same reason. “Unbelievable, Eth. She’s messed up.”

  “How you doin’?” Gus asked.

  Ethan thought for a moment. Both his legs were in casts on the bed in front of him. The doctor—Dr. Ramey maybe—seemed most concerned about getting fluids into his body. An intravenous was stuck in each arm. He had cracked ribs and a broken nose. His face, especially around his eyes, was badly bruised and swollen, but it had no fractures. His right leg would require more surgery and was pinned with a rod and plate for now. It would be weeks, if not months, before he could put weight on it. Two bones were broken in his left foot, which doctors had set the night before. He had ligament damage in his right knee but didn’t yet know how severe it was. Repairing his broken bones and getting him hydrated were the first priorities. He had a splint on his broken baby finger. Plastic surgery would fix his ear, but there’d always be a chunk missing from it. He had deep cuts on both upper arms that required stitches. It all hurt. The painkillers took the edge off but did little for the hurt.

  That was the stuff that could be seen.

  “Pretty good, I think,” Ethan said, “short of what’s coming.”

  Gus nodded. “Good to have you back, buddy.”

  “Ya got that right,” Greg said, appearing to pick at something on the bed’s blanket.

  No sooner had Greg spoken than Randolph stuck his head in the doorway. His girlfriend, Rachel, was beside him.

  “Man, oh man, Ethan Jones in the flesh,” Randolph said, all but ignoring Greg and Gus. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Randolph,” Ethan said, his face suddenly hurting under the bandages around his face. He’d smiled.

  “Still Randolph,” Randolph replied, seeming noticeably pleased to see him. He was dressed in a brown suit and white cotton shirt. An open camel-hair overcoat revealed a brown plaid scarf. It was the first time Ethan had thought of the cold outside, even though everyone was dressed for the wintery weather. “Haven’t left Ottawa since I heard. I needed someone to call me Randolph.”

  Randolph was grinning, but his face wasn’t smiling, as his eyes seemed to take in the extent of Ethan’s injuries. He turned to Rachel but didn’t say anything.

  “I brought along something I thought you’d like,” he said. His right hand slipped inside his jacket. His eyes shifted toward Greg and Gus. “And you won’t be the only one.”

  For an instant, Ethan was scared, unsure what Randolph was reaching for. The beeping heart-rate monitor sped up. Black boots flashed in Ethan’s head.

  Randolph pulled a small cassette tape out of his jacket pocket and held it out in front of him. “In my hand, I hold the official recorded songs of the Release,” he said.

  Ethan slowly turned his head. His neck hurt.

  “No way,” Greg said, nearly stretching the two words into one in expressing his disbelief.

  “Yes, my friends,” Randolph said, “you are now immortalized on tape for the world to hear.”

  He placed the tape on the bed beside Ethan, but Ethan didn’t move. He remembered the tape he’d given Carlyn.

  “I’ll bring you a player later,” Gus said.

  “I’ve a couple more tapes in the car,” Randolph said, putting his arm around Rachel. “I didn’t know I’d see you guys here.”

  He introduced Rachel to Greg and Gus.

  Ethan closed his eyes. He’d done nothing yet was exhausted. It seemed easier to listen with his eyes closed. He heard a few words exchanged between Gus and Randolph—something about a song. He didn’t catch which one.

  The song he heard changed. He didn’t know what it was. He was in the wood chair, facing a calendar hanging on a blank wall. The calendar had the title Browning Station. X’s marked off days in the first two rows of the month, followed by a row of blank squares. In the middle of the bottom row was a square with something handwritten inside. He couldn’t read it from where he sat. He went to reach for the calendar, but his arms were strapped to the chair. He stopped. He mustn’t move. He knew the rules. There were consequences in breaking them. His eyes went back to the calendar. The words were now visible: “Last day to live. Love, Sean.”

  The scream was his. He heard it before he knew it.

  “Ethan,” said the sweete
st voice he knew.

  Someone touched his chest and then his arm.

  “Ethan?”

  The slits of his swollen eyes opened to the most beautiful face in the world. Christa was leaning over him.

  “It’s okay, Ethan,” she said. “I’m here.”

  Christa was alone.

  His hand rose to touch the gauze bandages on his face. He could feel his hand on the bandages. In some places, he could feel his touch; other places he couldn’t feel at all. “Damaged nerves,” the doctor had explained. “Give it time.” He ached but couldn’t tell where—everywhere. He was hungry but didn’t want food. His weight was down. They fed his arms. He was alive.

  The door opened. Someone looked in.

  Ethan saw who it was.

  Christa’s hand moved from his arm.

  He reached out for it.

  “I saw the book,” he said as she turned and looked at him.

  “The book?” Christa asked, her left eyebrow rising. “What book?”

  Jonah Vetch entered the room. He didn’t say anything.

  “Browning Station,” Ethan whispered, as if Christa should know. “I brought it with me when leaving Ottawa but could never find it when we got home.”

  Christa tilted her head and squinted, as if asking him to go on.

  He didn’t. Instead, he looked at Jonah.

  “Good to see you awake,” Jonah said, sounding hesitant.

  “Just.”

  “I’ll only stay a minute,” he said. “I flew up as soon as I heard.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan replied.

  “How are you?” Jonah asked, moving to the bed opposite Christa and standing on the other side.

  “Can’t really tell yet,” Ethan said, “but I’m alive. Christa, this is Jonah Vetch. Jonah, this is Christa White.”

  They shook hands over Ethan’s legs.

  “I know I interrupted,” Jonah said quickly, “but I had to see you for myself.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan said again. Something about seeing Jonah pleased him. He didn’t know why. Though Jonah’s overcoat was buttoned, instead of looking orderly, as he normally did, his longish brown hair was messy.

  “I’ll drop by for a few minutes in the morning,” Jonah added, already backing toward the door. “Lots to talk about. Nice to meet you, Christa.” He turned to Ethan. “See you tomorrow.”

  He waved and left.

  Christa looked at Ethan. “That was quick,” she said, sitting down beside him.

  “Sean stole it,” Ethan said.

  “What?”

  “The book—Browning Station. Randolph said I carried it everywhere in the hospital. I thought you’d remember it.”

  Christa nodded.

  “He killed her,” Ethan said as if reading a passage from the book.

  “What?” Christa said.

  “Sean killed Mila,” Ethan said. He was staring at the ceiling tiles. “It wasn’t Robbie.”

  Christa looked at him. Her eyes widened. He hadn’t told anyone.

  “He was using the book to kill me,” he said. “William Avery saved me.”

  “Did he now?” Christa’s eyes shifted from Ethan’s to the sheets on his bed. “You know, I do kind of remember seeing the book around.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

  “I do, Ethan,” Christa said, looking back at him with a tear on her cheek. “Browning Station, huh? Kind of an odd title for a book, don’t you think?”

  The End