Page 7

The children are awake late that night. I take them to Amelia’s room and put a movie on for them, a happy movie where smart children outwit foolish adults and save the world from destruction. I remain with them, choosing to focus on my responsibility rather than slake my curiosity.

Noises from downstairs filter up occasionally. Audrey’s wails continue for several minutes, only stopping when the sirens drown them out and signal the arrival of the ambulance. As the sirens fade, the noise of car doors slamming shut and engines starting tells me the other guests have fled. I don’t blame them. Were it not for the children, I would probably have left myself.

I look at the children and see their eyes wide and staring with shock. Gabriel in particular, is trembling, probably because of his grandmother's odd accusation.

And what was that about? Why would she ask Gabriel what he had done? Claude clearly had a heart attack. How could Gabriel have done anything to affect that? I’ve heard of shrill high notes causing eardrums to burst and deep low notes causing nausea, but not from a piano. And anyway, those anecdotes are unconfirmed and involve electronic amplification far beyond the ordinary power of a musical instrument.

But of course, she couldn’t possibly have a scientific reason to think Gabriel is at fault for Claude’s death. It must be something else.

She expresses disdain for Marcel’s piano. She allows Gabriel to take lessons, but she remains upstairs and away from the instrument when he does. She is clearly unhappy when Gabriel starts to play, and…

No, not unhappy. Terrified. When Gabriel begins to play, the expression on Josephine’s face is not one of anger, but one of fear. Come to think of it, Etienne also seemed afraid. Why would they be afraid?

And why would Amelia apologize after? I suppose she didn’t exactly apologize, but her words after Claude’s heart attack suggest that she feels that somehow they are responsible. Then Josephine stops only just short of stating that outright.

Because of a music piece? Surely, they couldn't feel a jazz composition could have the power to murder someone.

The image of Annie’s eyes as she plays her saxophone piece comes back to me. The hate in her eyes chills me.

It’s ridiculous to think, but…

I shake my head firmly. No. I have been superstitious enough already. There is no chance that Gabriel’s playing piano could have killed Claude Durand.

Still, something happened, and it seems that the Lacroixs, at least, don’t believe it was an act of God. I must discover why they think this, and if there’s a danger I should be concerned with. Could Marcel’s heart attack have something to do with that composition?

Sean’s voice echoes through my head. I thought you came here to look for your sister.

“I did,” I reply. “But I have to figure out what happened here before anyone else gets hurt.”

“What did you say, Mary?” Amelia asks.

I realize I said that last thought out loud. “Nothing,” I reply. “Forgive me, dear. I was only thinking aloud.”

“Do you think Claude will be all right?” Gabriel asks in a small voice. “Do you think… I mean, do you…”

He can’t bring himself to ask the question, and I can’t quite bring myself to answer. “I know the doctors will take the very best care of him,” I tell him. “And I know that you did nothing wrong.”

“Grandma seems to think I did.”

“Your grandmother is in shock. We all are. When we’re in shock, we say things we don’t mean. But you didn’t do anything wrong by choosing to play that piece.”

Amelia shivers when I say that, and when I look at her, she bites her lip and looks away. I turn back to Gabriel and see his head hung in shame. Why do they think they’re guilty? These aren’t looks of fear but of remorse.

I hear shouting downstairs. Etienne and Josephine are arguing. I try to resist my curiosity, but the urge to know is too great. I put a new movie on and tell the children, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please stay inside the room.”

The children don’t reply, but Amelia nods softly. She reaches for her brother’s hand and grips it tightly. He returns a grip just as tight, and I nearly reconsider leaving them alone.

Then the noise of the argument reaches my ears again, and curiosity overwhelms me. I must understand why this family reacted the way it did to the musical performance and Claude’s heart attack.

I turn the volume up on the TV so it drowns the sound of the argument. Then I head to the top of the stairs and listen from just out of view.

“We can’t afford to keep the club, Mother.” Etienne says. “Hasn’t it cost us enough?”

“We can hire a new manager,” Josephine replies. “Or we can give Parker the job. He’s competent.”

Etienne scoffs. “Really, Mother? Claude’s not even buried yet, and you’re already thinking of replacing him?”

“You brought the conversation up! Why are you jumping straight at the opportunity to shut your father’s club down? You seem almost happy that Claude is dead!”

“Oh, stop it. You’re being ridiculous. Of course, I’m not happy.”

“Then why are you so eager to shut the club down?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to die!” he thunders.

My eyes widen. So now the club is part of Claude’s death?

“You’re acting a fool,” Josephine spits. “You can’t possibly believe that Claude’s death has anything to do with your father’s.”

“ You seem to believe it. You accused my son of murder to his face.”

“I…”

Josephine’s voice trails off. For several seconds, the only sound I hear is the pounding of my own heart.

Then Josephine sighs. “I reacted badly to the shock. I’m sorry for that. And I’ll apologize to Gabriel, but—”

“Yes, you will. And to Amelia. And to Mary. She was trying to take them away so this wouldn’t traumatize them, but you made damned sure it would.”

“You’re changing the subject, Etienne. I’m not shutting down the club.”

“And what happens when we’re ruined? What happens when we’re bankrupt? What do we tell the children when we have to move to an apartment in a dangerous neighborhood and they have to quit their music lessons? The money I make as a salesman won’t be enough to cover our debts.”

“Will you stop ? You go straight to the worst possible scenario every time! That’s not going to happen! We’re in a slight bit of trouble, yes, but nothing that’s worth the catastrophe you’re predicting! We’ll hire another manager, and we’ll—

“I’m done with this,” Etienne says curtly. “I can’t talk to you when you refuse to listen to reason.”

I hear heavy footsteps start up the stairs and rush back toward Amelia’s room. I close the door behind me and listen, heart pounding, as the footsteps approach. For a moment, I’m terrified that Etienne’s seen me and is now coming to shout at me for eavesdropping on his conversation, but the footsteps proceed past me, and a moment later, I hear the door to Etienne’s room slam shut.

I sigh with relief and turn to the children. They sit slumped forward in their chairs, their bodies bent at unnatural angles. For a terrible moment, I am convinced that they’re also dead, that whatever curse afflicts this family has taken them to.

Then Amelia stirs, and I realize that they’re not dead, only asleep. I sigh again and carefully lift her into bed. I strain a little with the effort, and when I lift Gabriel from his bed, I abandon my intention to carry him to his room. They are no longer small children, and I am a rather petite woman and not young anymore. I normally wouldn’t approve of two children of this age and of the opposite sex sharing a bed, but I think I can make an exception given the circumstances.

I lay him next to his sister and regard them for a moment. They’re still so young. What happened today will stay with them for the rest of their lives. I will do my best to help them navigate this grief, but nothing I can do will ever remove the image of a man they loved dying horribly in front of him.

I return to my room, disturbed by the day. It is not the first time I’ve seen a person die, but it’s the first time something’s happened that I truly can’t explain. There’s a hint of the fantastic in all of the mysteries into which I’ve been thrust, but I can always see that the truth must be mundane and explained by human behavior rather than by ghouls or ghosts.

But this time, I can make no sense of it. Perhaps it’s the fact that the entire Lacroix family seems to think—whether they like to admit it or not—that Gabriel’s performance somehow contributed to Claude’s death. Perhaps it’s the vision I have of Annie playing her saxophone while Gabriel plays his piano.

Whatever it is, a part of me wonders whether there could indeed be something unexplainable at work here. And if so, what can I possibly hope to do to prevent it from happening again?

***

I wake to the sound of Gabriel’s piece filling the house. At first, I’m certain that I’m dreaming because I can’t believe that Gabriel would play that song again so soon after what happened.

But as the piece progresses from the romantic opening to the jaunty, playful second movement, I realize my ears aren’t playing tricks on me. I step out of bed and quietly put on my slippers. I suppose my plan is to tell him to stop playing and go back to bed, but I don’t really think that through all the way. The truth is that a part of me is just drawn to the piece somehow.

I head downstairs as the piece progresses to its mischievous third movement. I realize that no one else is awake. I find that disturbing. Can’t they hear this? Why aren’t they coming to stop it? Could they be too frightened by it to leave their beds?

Almost as if reading my mind, the music changes to the irreverent fourth movement. But that can’t be possible. It’s several minutes before we should be at that point in the composition. I’ve only just started downstairs.

I look down at my feet and realize with alarm that I’m still upstairs. I thought I was moving, but once again, the piece has transfixed me.

I start downstairs again, looking at my feet to ensure that they are moving. Still, the song seems to be advancing far too fast. The sarcastic fifth movement is already giving way to the angry final movement. The arpeggios are rapidly growing dissonant and chaotic.

I tear my eyes from the floor and look up at the piano as I enter the parlor. I catch a brief glimpse of a tall, lithe silhouette with flowing golden hair.

Annie?

I blink, and the silhouette is gone. So is the music. The piano is silent and empty, the room still.

I walk to the keys, unsure if I’m still dreaming or if when I blink I awaken from the trance.

I lay a finger on the keys, and when I find them warm to the touch, I gasp and pull my hand back.

A soft sound of laughter, so faint I'm not sure I even hear it, echoes through the house. I look around, but no other specter reveals itself, and the laughter doesn't repeat.

I turn back to the piano and remove my fingers. My hand trembles as I return it to my side.

What have I gotten myself into?