Page 25

When we reach the club, I tell the driver to call the police. He frowns and says, “Damn it. This is a drug thing.”

“Why would I tell you to call the police if I was planning to deal narcotics?” I ask. “There’s a boy in danger. Call the damned police.”

He blinks and shakes his head, muttering under his breath about taking the wrong job. Amelia and I jump out of the car while he reaches for his cell phone.

The club is closed. The sign on the door says the closure is indefinite due to damages during Mardi Gras. I don’t know if that’s true or if the employees here have just refused to return to work after the cursed music plays for no reason over their speakers.

Amelia tries the door, and when she finds it locked, she releases an anguished cry. “It’s all right,” I assure her. “I know how to pick locks.”

I kneel and pull two bobby pins from my hair. Her eyes widen when she watches me insert both pins into the lock and slowly engage the tumblers. Fortunately for me, the club’s financial troubles have apparently forced them to forgo anything more sturdy than a simple lock, so as soon as the tumblers are engaged, the door swings open, and Amelia and I rush inside.

The song is playing. It is in the middle of its fourth movement, mocking and mischievous but not yet aggressive. I wonder at this for a moment, then remember that the last time the music played here it wasn’t for no reason. Gabriel played the song. He played it on the piano on the same stage where his grandfather died after performing that song, and now he’s playing it again.

Or so I desperately hope.

When we reach the auditorium and I see him playing, I release a sigh of relief.

That relief is short-lived. He is playing, but he is not conscious. His eyes are rolled back in his head, and his head lolls oddly as his fingers fly over the keys. Amelia cries out and rushes the stage, but out of nowhere, she falls to the ground. The way she falls is almost as though she is shoved to the ground by some unseen force.

She cries out and rolls over, gripping her ankle and grimacing. I pick her up and carry her away from the booming speakers. The volume is so great that I feel nauseous. It’s the same as before when the noise was loud enough to drive the patrons out of the theater.

I set her down at the back of the auditorium and shout, “Cover your ears! Stay here! I’ll go get him!”

She nods, grimacing and weeping. She doesn’t cover her ears, so I move her hands over her ears, then head back toward the stage.

The music is in its final movement now. It snarls at me, pummeling me with hellish rage. My muscles go slack under the force of the onslaught, but I force myself forward anyway.

Just as I reach the stage, I see a silhouette standing next to Gabriel. At first, it is barely visible, an afterimage of a shadow. As I pull myself onto the platform, though, it coalesces, first into a wraith, then into a clear figure. My sister's ghost glares at me with dark, empty eyes. Lips that aren't there peel back from pale teeth, and the fingers that rest on Gabriel's shoulder grip hard.

He winces from the grip and tilts toward the side on which the demon is squeezing. I falter, convinced for a moment that this is no hallucination but is truly some monster of hate stealing this poor boy’s soul.

But I am not insane. I may suffer from hallucinations when the memory of my past collides with the tragedy of my present, but I know the difference between what’s real and what isn’t real.

So, I get to my feet, face the creature that isn’t there, and say boldly, “Gabriel, she isn’t there. This isn’t real.”

The demon opens its mouth and releases a scream so powerful it seems to course through me rather than at me. I stare it straight in the eye and repeat, “That’s enough, Gabriel. Stop playing this instant.”

She opens those empty eyes, and flame shoots through them. She points at me, and my body trembles uncontrollably.

But I don’t move. I step closer and lay a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. My hand passes through the specter’s hand, and I say, “Gabriel, it’s all right. She isn’t here. You’re safe.”

The specter snarls in impotent rage, but I ignore it and use my other hand to caress Gabriel’s cheek. “Your sister loves you, Gabriel. Don’t leave her like this.”

The music stops. The specter vanishes. Gabriel blinks, and when his eyes open, his irises are back where they should be. He looks down in confusion at the piano where his finger presses hard against the final note of Vie Apres a la Morts.

It doesn’t play. The key has jammed.

“Gabriel!” Amelia cries.

Gabriel and I both look to see her limping down the aisle toward him. His face changes, and he leaps from the bench and rushes toward her. They meet in the middle of the aisle and collapse to their knees, holding each other close. Gabriel’s shoulders begin to shake, and he weeps loudly and bitterly, for the first time allowing himself to release the grief that has nearly driven him insane.

I collapse to the floor, breathing heavily, exhausted and still shaking from my battle with the demon that has plagued both of us. The doors to the auditorium burst open, and Josephine and Etienne rush in, followed by a dozen police officers. The Lacroixs drop to their knees and wrap their children in a tight embrace, sheltering them and sharing in their grief and their relief.

They’re a family again. I’ve done it. I’ve helped them find each other.

The officers spread out throughout the auditorium, sharing looks of confusion as they try to figure out exactly why they were called here. One of them approaches me, and I recognize Officer Nathan from Mardi Gras night.

“What happened, Mary? Are you all right?”

I nod. “Yes. Everything’s all right. It’s over now.”

“Got something in the piano,” another officer says. “Underneath one of the hammers. Looks like a note.”

My eyebrows lift. I get to my feet and take the note from him. The officer frowns and moves to take it back, but Nathan waves him off.

I open the note and read.

To any who care to read but especially to Gabriel and Amelia,

I am so sorry. I have hurt you more deeply than anyone has a right. I have taken a loved one from you because of my own selfish bitterness. I am a horrible, mean woman, and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you like this. I won’t ask you to forgive me because I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I’ll only ask you to forget me because you deserve a better memory than the one I’m leaving you.

I killed my husband. I killed Claude. I hated him, but what I really hated was myself for marrying a man I didn’t love just for money. I loved Etienne Lacroix, but he had no interest in me, and I hated Claude because I wore his ring and couldn’t express to Etienne how desperately I wanted him.

So I poisoned him. A little at a time, I put blood coagulants into his coffee so I could choke his heart. It wasn’t until I saw him die that I realized what a terrible and unforgivable mistake I’d made. I killed a good man who loved me and loved music and didn’t care at all that he’d lost some bullshit competition with the Lacroixs that never mattered in the first place.

I poisoned him, and when he died, I saw how much it hurt Gabriel and Amelia, and I realized finally what a worthless piece of shit I was. I tried to go on, but I can’t. I can’t. If you find this note, then you’ve probably found me already. Just know that I deserved it. Don’t feel bad for me. Feel bad for yourselves for having to endure the hate of a pathetic and bitter woman who killed the best thing that ever happened to her because she couldn’t understand when she had it better than she deserved.

Goodbye. I’m so, so sorry.

Audrey Fontaine (I don’t deserve Claude’s last name).

I fold the note and look at the piano. It’s a nice instrument, but not nearly as nice as the one Amelia accidentally destroyed. It's just an ordinary piano in an ordinary music club. There is no demon. There is no curse. There never was. The only specter terrorizing this family was that of a bitter and remorseful woman who couldn't cope with the loss of her dreams and the mundanity that comes with time and age.

“What is it?” Nathan asks. “What does it say?”

I hand him the note. “See for yourself. It says this is over.”

I leave the stage and return to the family. The children have dried their tears and stand with their arms around each other, twins now in every way that matters. Etienne and Josephine stand on either side of them, their faces filled with love and relief and no trace of the selfishness and insanity that plagues them ever since I first meet them.

They smile at me, and Josephine says, “Thank you, Mary. Thank you for not giving up on us.”

“It wasn’t me who saved Gabriel today,” I reply. “It was Amelia. So thank you , Amelia, for not giving up on me.”

She and Gabriel both smile, and Amelia says, “I knew you could do it.”

We all laugh, and Etienne says, “Josephine, why don’t you take the children home while I finish with the officers? Mary, you’re welcome to stay a while longer if you’d like.”

I return their smile. “I think I can stay for a while longer.”

The children rush forward and wrap me in a bear hug. I return their embrace with equal fierceness, then hold their hands in mine as we leave the Midnight Melody and the curse of Vie Apres a la Morts behind us.