by Laura DeLuca
“I know the feeling. I’m glad that we live in the twenty-first century.” Rebecca laughed. “We’ll see you downstairs.”
“See you later, Tom,” Debbie echoed. Then she turned back to Rebecca as they made their second attempt to get down to the cafeteria. “See that, Becca. Didn’t I tell you everything would work itself out? It looks like you’re about to get everything you always wanted.”
“It does seem that way,” Rebecca said, a little tentatively.
She felt herself inadvertently shudder. Things were just a little too good to be true. Maybe this was the calm before the storm. Then she shook her head and silently chided herself for the pessimistic thoughts. She should sit back and enjoy the ride. Things were perfect. She just needed to accept it.
Well, things were almost perfect. As soon as she walked into the cafeteria, she locked eyes with Carmen. Her former best friend flicked her hair behind her shoulders, and gave Rebecca one long, dirty look. Then she turned on her heel to join the chatting chorus girls. Rebecca sighed. Things could never really be perfect when Carmen wasn’t speaking to her.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Debbie offered. “Maybe now that you and Tom have patched things up, Carmen will want to make up, too.”
“I sure hope so,” Rebecca began.
She was interrupted by a string of admirers who had just noticed her arrival. Before she knew what was happening, she was swept into the crowd. She lost sight of Debbie in the mayhem that followed. Dozens of people accosted her, offering compliments and congratulations. Not the least of which came from Miss King.
“Rebecca!” She gushed, when she had her alone. “You stole the show tonight with that performance. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. There was a talent scout in the audience! He was here for Justyn, but . . . where is that boy anyway? I swear he is completely impossible.”
Miss King scanned the room and Rebecca found herself following her line of vision. Justyn was absent from the party. Tom hadn’t shown up yet either, and even Wendy was missing. It seemed like most of the main cast members were M.I.A. The only person she could pick out easily was Carmen, and that was because she was glaring at her with such obvious loathing that it made her hard to miss.
“You aren’t going to believe this.” Miss King continued. “He wants to . . . but I’ll let him tell you himself.”
Miss King was doing everything but jumping up and down for joy. But Rebecca was a little confused. A talent scout? From where? And why would he want to talk to her if he had come to see Justyn?
“Mr. Pessagno. Here she is! Here’s our little starlet!”
Her director was already guiding her over to a middle-aged man who was surprisingly handsome for his years, so she didn’t have time to ask any questions. He was wearing a very expensive designer suit, and had an air of almost regal importance. His gray eyes were filled with kindness, and his smile was sincere as he reached out a hand in greeting.
“Ah, the illustrious Miss Hope,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Thank you . . . sir.” She was so nervous; she had already forgotten his name.
“I was extremely impressed with your performance tonight,” he told her. “Tell me, Rebecca, how long have you been taking singing lessons?”
Rebecca was surprised by the question. “Well I . . . I haven’t taken any lessons, actually.”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. To say he was flabbergasted would have been an understatement. Rebecca wondered if she had given him the wrong answer.
“A voice like that, and no lessons.” He seemed like he was talking to himself more than anyone else. “Well, well, Miss King. It seems we have a savant on our hands. Such amazing, raw talent. With the right training, imagine the potential.”
“She is amazing.” Miss King agreed enthusiastically. Rebecca was sure the teacher was fighting the urge to clap her hands.
“Well, Miss Hope, I want you to know that the New York School of Performing Arts will be offering you a full scholarship. I honestly hope that I’ll be seeing you next fall, you and your co-star, Mr. Patko.”
Rebecca felt her mouth drop open. The whole world tilted on its axis. If Miss King hadn’t chosen that exact moment to give her an excited hug, she might have fallen over. A full scholarship to the New York School of Performing Arts? That was more than she had ever allowed herself to hope for back when she had diligently practiced her violin day in and day out with no obvious improvements. She had never imagined her voice would take her where her fingers couldn’t. She had never dreamed she was that good. She had doubted that she was good at all.
And even better, even more miraculous, was that Justyn would be there too. She wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen to their blossoming relationship after graduation. They would be together. Maybe they would even have the chance to perform together again. She had just crossed the border from perfect happiness to complete euphoria.
“Rebecca, don’t you want to say something to Mr. Pessagno?” Miss King urged, then she laughed a little. “I think she’s in shock.”
He smiled good-naturedly. “I understand. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I’m . . . sorry,” Rebecca stuttered. “Thank you, Mr. Pessagno. Thank you so much for this amazing opportunity.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said. “Now, I’m sure there are other fans who need to offer their congratulations. I don’t want to monopolize your star, Miss King. But again, Rebecca, I truly look forward to seeing you next year and I hope I have the chance to work with you personally.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca whispered.
She was a little too shocked to say more, and before long she was overtaken by another tidal wave of supporters, this time including her teary-eyed mother, her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. All of them were gushing with family pride. But Rebecca had trouble focusing on their heartfelt words of encouragement. She was too busy scanning the crowd for Justyn. Across the room, Miss King and Mr. Pessagno were apparently doing the same thing. Rebecca glanced at her watch and realized it was already a quarter to twelve. Justyn was probably waiting for her backstage. Rebecca excused herself from her family, deciding to seek him out before he missed his chance with the talent scout. And missed the chance for them to go to college together.
As she slipped through the cafeteria doors, she couldn’t help but notice Carmen. She was still watching, still staring at her, and obviously furious. Rebecca stopped for a second. She thought about going over and trying to smooth things over with her friend, and even took a tentative step in her direction. But Carmen made such a disgusted face that it stopped her cold in her tracks. She wasn’t ready to ruin the night with any nasty confrontations. Rebecca left things as they were with Carmen. She promised herself that she would have plenty of time to work things out later, and she went off in search of Justyn.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was with an eerie sense of déjà vu that Rebecca walked down the deserted corridor toward the auditorium. The clock was creeping towards midnight, and the school was deserted, except for whoever was still downstairs at the after party. The rest of the school was empty. It reminded Rebecca of the first time she met Justyn in the gym, except that it was a lot later and a lot darker. The only light was the subtle red glow of the exit signs. And it only got worse when she stepped into the auditorium.
It was very nearly pitch black in the large empty hall. Somewhere behind the stage, a dim light was flickering, giving her at least a beacon to guide her way. Most of the props had been pushed offstage at the end of the show, but Rebecca saw something hanging from the rafters. She heard the creaking as it swung slightly back and forth, like a tree limb being blown by a gentle breeze. She wondered what it could be, but it was too dark to make out any distinct shapes so far in the distance. She dismissed it. She concentrated, instead, on weaving down the empty aisles without getting too many bruises on her shins as she stumbled in the dark. Once she got backstage, she knew where the light
switch was, and she could flip it on before she sustained any serious injuries.
Each step she took echoed in the total silence. Each footstep made a light thump against the hardwood floors. There was no other sound except for the slight breeze blowing through the empty hallway—until she heard a soft groan.
It was a low muffled sound, but very distinct. It was definitely the sound of someone in pain, definitely a guy. She started to move a little faster, no longer concerned with whether or not she tripped. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help. Maybe Justyn! Rebecca silently cursed herself for leaving her purse, along with her cell phone, back in the cafeteria with her mother. Now she didn’t even have the option of calling for help if she needed to.
“Hello?” she called out. Her voice was so scared and small she could barely hear it. She did her best to pull herself together and made a more valiant effort. “Hello? Is anyone there? Justyn?”
Of course, there was no answer. There was only the creepy echo of her own terrified voice as it bounced back at her off the high ceilings and the continuous creaking coming from the stage.
As she got closer, and her eyes became more adjusted to the light, she thought she saw a pair of legs. There was a short moment of panic before she realized it was probably just the dummy that they used during the play, a stand in for Joseph Buquet, the stagehand who was murdered by the phantom. The crew had probably thought they would give a scare to the new janitor, who was by no means any more mentally stable than poor Mr. Russ had been. Apparently, being mentally challenged was a prerequisite for a high school janitor.
The silly thought made Rebecca giggle to herself. She realized that she was just being overly dramatic. She was getting scared in the dark just like a little girl, hearing things and seeing things that weren’t really there. She hadn’t heard any more groans. She had most likely imagined it the first time. No one was hurt. That was impossible. This was her perfect night, and her perfect man was waiting for her just beyond that curtain. There was nothing in the world for her to be worried about.
At least she hoped there wasn’t. Her heart started to pound with an anxiety that she couldn’t hold at bay. Why hadn’t Justyn answered her when she called? Maybe he was running late. Or maybe he was too far back behind the curtains to hear her. Either way, she needed to see him, to make sure that he was all right. That was a better reason to rush backstage than the possibility of finding an invisible groaner.
Rebecca paused at the stage steps when she heard it again, louder this time. Definitely a moan of pain. No doubt about it this time. No wishing it away or making lame excuses. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help. And she was the one that was going to have to help them. But first she had to remember how to walk.
A slow, steady panic started to creep into her heart. It traveled like a slithering snake down her arms and into her legs, making them feel weak and useless, before finally settling as a tight knot in her stomach. Rebecca’s mind was doing an instant replay of the last six weeks. The curtain falling at the first rehearsal, the notes, the calls, the flowers, Wendy falling into the mirror, Mr. Russ, Jay’s accident. Some awful precognitive sense was telling her that all those events were leading up to this moment. This was going to be the climax of her own personal play. And for better or worse, it was going to end here. The villain would be revealed, but would the hero show up? Or would she, the heroine, wind up on the wrong end of a body bag? She wasn’t naive enough to think that every story had to have a happy ending. But would hers?
She probably should have run away then. If her life were a B-rated horror movie, this would be the part where everyone in the audience would be screaming at the television set for the stupid girl to run the other way. But those people didn’t understand the full power of morbid fascination, a thing Rebecca had become overly familiar with in recent weeks. They didn’t understand the driving force of the need to know. To know why. To know who.
With more bravery than she knew she was capable of, Rebecca flipped on the overhead lights of the stage, flooding the small area with brightness. Her eyes needed time to adjust to the sudden change. She blinked a few times, and her vision focused. She was finally able to see the stage, and the scene that was set there. She was able to see everything clearly. A little too clearly
Rebecca started to scream.
She screamed and screamed and screamed until she had no voice left to scream anymore. No strength left to stand either. Her legs turned to Jell-O and gave way, and she slipped into a helpless, blubbering puddle on the floor. Her stomach heaved and she knew that if she hadn’t already emptied it earlier, she certainly would have then.
She wanted to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop gawking at the grotesque scene. She couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t force her eyes to close or her head to turn the other way. Couldn’t stop herself from memorizing every single, terrible detail. The wide, unseeing eyes. The awful bloated tongue. It wasn’t like on television, where it looked so clean. Not like the movies where a hanging body still looked vaguely human, as if the victim had just fallen asleep. This was nothing like that. This was so, so much worse.
If not for the blond hair and the designer jeans, Rebecca wouldn’t have even recognized the person whose body hung limply from the stage rafters. There was no beauty left. No cocky grin. No malicious glint in the eyes. Rebecca would have given just about anything for one nasty, resentful comment to come out of those swollen lips at that moment. But there was no way that those lips were never going to open again. Just like there was no way that Rebecca was ever going to forget the horror of what she had seen.
Wendy hanging. Wendy dead. Wendy murdered.
Rebecca started screaming again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nobody came. Her screams didn’t alert the Calvary, probably because there was no Calvary. No white knights riding in on their stallions, either. Not for her. Rebecca was on her own—unless you counted Wendy. But Wendy wasn’t going to be offering any assistance any time soon.
She thought about trying to get her down. It somehow seemed horribly disrespectful to let her continue to hang there. Wendy would be angry if people saw her that way, looking less than Barbie doll perfect. She wouldn’t like that at all. The fact that Wendy was well past liking or caring about anything didn’t really register. Letting that register would mean accepting that Wendy was really gone, that she was alone with a corpse. And accepting that would probably shatter the thin layer of sanity that Rebecca was managing to hold intact.
It took a great deal of effort, but she managed to pull herself up from the floor. Almost as much effort as it took for her to get herself controlled enough to stop the desperate screams from pouring out indefinitely. She stood and examined the scene for a possible way to set Wendy free. As she did so, she meticulously wiped the dust from her pant legs, knowing it was ridiculous, that it was proof of her precarious grip on reality, but doing it just the same. She needed something, anything, however mundane to concentrate on so she didn’t think too much about what was happening around her.
“Owwww.”
There it was again, another low groan. It was followed by what could only be described as a muffled, barely audible plea for help. Someone was trying to talk over some kind of obstruction. There was no way it was Wendy. Her mouth was forever frozen in that terrible grimace. So it could only mean one thing. Rebecca wasn’t alone. There was someone else, someone who was actually alive, in the auditorium with her.
Her breath came in short pants. Her knees threatened to buckle for the second time that night. She didn’t know what she should do. Move forward and see who was in trouble, assuming someone was in trouble. Or run, as far and as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her. Common sense told her to get out of there before she wound up like Wendy. A nagging sense of guilt pushed her forward. If someone else was in trouble, she had to help them. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it wasn’t. But at least if she died, it would be with a clear conscience.
Creaakkk. Creaakkk.
She wanted to cover her ears before the awful sound pushed her over the edge and into the black abyss of insanity, but she needed her ears to guide her. She had to save whoever it was who needed saving. She had to focus on that.
“Hello?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming. She hardly sounded like herself at all. “Who’s there?”
Another muffled cry came in reply. Louder this time, with more infliction. It sounded almost like words, like a cry for help. And it was followed by a pounding that was very much like a foot banging against the hardwood floors in extreme agitation. It was insistent, determined. Whoever it was knew she was there, and they were calling to her in the only way they could.