Mercy m-1

by Rebecca Lim

  ‘Tonight,’ Ryan vows as he restarts his car engine, his hands shaking a little. ‘We’ll get them out tonight.’ Ryan drops me back at Paradise High on the promise that we’ll meet up again at his place after tonight’s choir rehearsal.

  I grin. ‘Just listen out for the dogs.’ His answering smile is quizzical. ‘When this is all over, I’ll have a few questions for you,’ he says, tipping me a wave as he drives off.

  When this is all over, I think a little self-pityingly, you’ll be lucky if Carmen remembers who you are.

  Chapter 21

  I insinuate myself into last period’s chemistry class, squeezing in beside Tiffany just to give her a rise. I know she’s going to ask, and, for once in her life, Carmen Zappacosta is not going to spill her guts just for a little measly attention. Not on my watch, anyway.

  Tiffany manages to look both hurt and scandalised as I calmly open my borrowed textbook. ‘Where have you been?’ she snaps. ‘Everybody saw you. Colluding with a virtual murderer. Your disappearance didn’t exactly go unnoticed, you know. Mr Masson’s pretty pissed, he was looking for you everywhere. And Miss Fellows is about to have you suspended — indefinitely.’ When I don’t reply, leaning forward as if the discussion on migrating electrolytes has to be the most fascinating thing I’ve ever encountered, Tiffany snipes, ‘You’ll be interested to know that your little vanishing act this morning is already yesterday’s news anyway. A killer’s on the loose. If I were you, I wouldn’t jump into bed with just anyone.’

  ‘Who says we did anything in a bed?’ I reply casually.

  It’s enough to shut her up for the rest of the class, though I can feel her practically vibrating with rage beside me.

  At four o’clock, Tiffany and I still aren’t talking, but we’re sitting next to each other in the rehearsal hall as if we’re joined at the hip. In frosty silence, we watch the kids bussed in from Little Falls and Port Marie unenthusiastically straggle into the rehearsal space for the second serve of the day, the last of the week.

  Paul Stenborg flirts easily with Miss Fellows and the old battleaxe almost smiles, though her gaze turns flinty when it meets mine, signalling bad things in Carmen’s future. Miss Dustin stands by wordlessly, looking a little flushed as Paul says something to her before his eyes flick briefly to me and Tiffany, then away.

  As Mr Masson picks up his baton and tries feebly to call us to order — his eyes locating my seated figure with almost comical relief — I catch Laurence Barry staring at me steadily from across the room.

  I stare back, so long and unblinkingly that the man finally breaks eye contact. I wonder for one uneasy moment whether he saw Ryan and me running away from his house earlier today. But he doesn’t look at me again, and I grow calmer as the session gets underway, although part of me is edgy with the knowledge that I will need to confirm the old man’s involvement at rehearsal’s end. Via the usual methods.

  For the next two hours, I dutifully play Carmen to the hilt, and she’s never sounded better. Even Miss Fellows ceases frowning across the hall, because Carmen cannot be faulted. People are leaning forward to get a look at Carmen, some people up the back are even half-standing, because Carmen’s voice has inspired some kind of general resurgence. Whole phrases of the piece are really starting to come together. It’s a win-win for everybody except Tiffany — who’s furious.

  Carmen’s incredible voice cuts through Tiffany’s best efforts to drown us out. There is no contest and suddenly I understand why Tiffany always tries to keep Carmen close, even though she probably hates the girl like poison.

  ‘You think you’re so good,’ she snipes under cover of the increasingly frantic orchestra.

  I shrug.

  Beyond that, I’m deaf to anything Tiffany or the others have to say. I’m thinking about Ryan, and wondering what he’s doing, and yelling at myself for even thinking that when I should be focused on Lauren, on Jennifer, and how to get them out.

  We finish at six-fifteen, and I look around for Laurence Barry. I’m shocked to discover he’s no longer in the room, and when I ask around, I find that no one’s seen him in the last half-hour. He’s already left. Does he have some idea that Ryan and I are onto him?

  I dodge Miss Fellows — who’s actively searching me out like a heat-seeking missile — by hiding in the girls’ toilets until I’m sure she’s gone, along with just about everyone else. I know that when she finally tracks Carmen down next week, it won’t be pretty. Maybe the Lord will be kind; maybe I’ll be gone by then. I mean, Carmen’s going to have to learn to take care of herself sooner or later.

  The hallway is empty when I finally emerge from the toilets, and many of the fluorescents in the classrooms have been turned off. The assembly hall is one of the only remaining oases of light in the entire school complex. I’m about to head back to the Daleys’ place when I notice Tiffany’s brassy head of hair through the doorway. She’s one of the last of the stragglers, loitering with intent — making a beeline for Paul Stenborg by the battered old upright piano near the podium.

  The troublemaker in me decides to cut in on her dance, just for the fun of it. Hey, there’s got to be a first time for everything. Plus, I need some additional information and Paul might have some background I could use. Two birds with one stone, I think, as I stroll over. What could be more perfect?

  ‘Hi, Paul,’ I say cheerfully.

  Tiffany’s head whips around in disbelief.

  ‘Hey, Tiff,’ I add. She’s probably been working her way up to this all week.

  ‘What do you want?’ she barks.

  I grin. ‘Same thing you do.’ Paul raises his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I doubt it,’ he says.

  ‘She was just telling me how she’s having trouble with Figure 83 onwards and could she have some after-hours, one-on-one coaching. I just told her to follow your lead.

  I don’t think she was very happy with my suggestion.’ I frown, flipping quickly in my head through the score I’ve memorised note for note, word for word, until I reach Figure 83. It begins the last section of the piece that snowballs into the screaming finish — soloists, orchestra, offstage brass, duelling choirs all competing to see who can make the most noise. Paul’s right. Tiffany and I sing a lot of that section together on the same notes and I’ve never seen any sign of a struggle. There’s no way she wouldn’t already be note perfect in her quest to always go one higher, faster, better than her arch frenemy.

  My expression clears. ‘We could run through it now, together?’ I suggest sweetly. ‘It would be no trouble, Tiff. I’ve got plenty of time.’ Tiffany’s mouth falls open for a moment at having her bluff publicly called. ‘Ooh!’ she huffs, shutting her score with a snap and walking away from Paul and me at the piano.

  ‘Do you want to take a raincheck?’ Paul calls out mischievously. ‘I’m always happy to help.’

  ‘So am I,’ I add mildly.

  Tiffany gives us both the finger without looking back, and Paul and I burst out laughing. I can tell this is nothing new for him. Catfights and rampaging hormones must come with the territory. I mean, the man’s been stalked, for Christ’s sake. I wonder how he stands it.

  Amusement still lighting his pale eyes, Paul asks, ‘So what can I really do for you? We have some unfinished business, my girl. You’re a hard woman to pin down.

  Doing a runner from this morning’s rehearsal really grabbed everyone’s attention. It also highlighted how you’re streets ahead of anyone else out there and the backbone of this sorry mess. Was that the plan?’ I shake my head, still grinning. ‘Though Tiffany would give you a different answer.’

  ‘I bet,’ he replies. ‘Is now a good time to grab that coffee?’

  ‘I just need you to answer a couple of quick questions,’ I say hastily. ‘We can make a separate date to talk about my career options next week, if you like.’ His expression turns into one of intrigued enquiry.

  ‘Shoot,’ he says, shuffling loose piano music into a neat pile with his long-fingered hands, his eyes never leavin
g mine.

  ‘I’m billeted with the Daleys,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he replies immediately, taking a seat on the piano stool with his back to the keys, his eyes still on mine. ‘What a sad, sad situation.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it is,’ I say. ‘I was just wondering whether Lauren Daley ever met Laurence Barry before she disappeared?’ Paul stares at me for a moment, then frowns.

  ‘Laurence Barry? Why certainly. Before you came along and put us all definitively in the shade, Lauren was the star soprano at our joint school concerts. Laurence has been the Little Falls music director since 1969; practically forever to someone as young as you are. He gave her a lot of private coaching, I believe, for the combined concert we held the year she disappeared. Gerard Masson took her lunchtime coaching sessions, but had Laurence take her for the before-and after-school ones because the old man’s the opera fanatic. I remember it clearly — that was my first year in the job and Gerard was raving about her.

  Said he’d make her a star by any means at his disposal.

  I’d just moved here from the Framlingham School.’ He beams, as if I should know the name, but it means nothing to me. It must be that fancy city school that Spencer was talking about.

  I try to keep my voice even and conversational.

  ‘And do you remember a student from Little Falls called Jennifer Appleton? Would she and Lauren have had any connection?’ Paul’s expressive mouth turns down. ‘I hope they catch that monster,’ he murmurs. ‘ Of course I remember Jennifer Appleton. She was one of the remarkable singers I was telling you about. Lauren was the other one.’ His eyes grow slightly unfocused as he says softly:

  ‘Sous le dôme épais Où le blanc jasmin Ah! Descendons Ensemble!’ His eyes snap back to mine when I continue to look blank.

  ‘It’s French,’ he says gently. ‘ Under the thick dome where the white jasmine … Ah! We descend, together! ’

  ‘Uh, okay,’ I say. Clearly, I was never a fluent French speaker in any past life.

  ‘From Léo Delibes’ Lakmé,’ Paul adds helpfully.

  ‘Jennifer and Lauren sang the most incredible duet. Both of them these tiny little things, one so dark, one so pale.

  They were a lot like you, actually — delicate-looking but with incredible power in their voices. That’s what I was trying to tell you the other day. It’s uncanny that I should stumble across three of you with such talent, with such similar … physicality, all here in “Paradise” of all places. Fitting, don’t you think?’ His light eyes hold a look of amused reverie.

  He smiles. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes. Lauren — she’d only just turned sixteen — sang the demanding part of Mallika and Jennifer the divine part of Lakmé. A kind of passing of the musical baton from one prodigy to the other, so to speak — it was Jennifer’s final year at Little Falls Academy that year. It’s a pity she got so tall and fat. Who would have thought? Anyway, what an incredible night. They blew the audience away, and people around here think music’s only for piping into elevators or shopping malls. You should have heard the silence after they finished singing! After everyone regained their senses, the applause didn’t stop for at least twenty minutes. They were forced to give two encores.

  No one had ever heard anything like it. Likely never will again. We all knew at least one of them was headed for immortality, if not both.’ His eyes are shining with the memory, excitement in his beautiful voice, then his face clouds over. ‘Then all this happened. It’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?

  The two of them taken? Somehow … collected?’ Then he shoots me a shrewd look. ‘But you don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you? You think Laurence had something to do with it. Have you spoken to anyone else about this? It’s pretty explosive stuff. Laurence is up there with God around these parts, in more ways than one.

  Some people think he has a direct line …’ The corners of his mouth quirk up a little.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s just something I came up with on my own. Just a crazy thought. What would I know?

  I mean, who’d believe me?’ For some reason, I keep Ryan’s name out of it. The guy’s got no one else looking out for his privacy.

  ‘Who indeed?’ Paul says sympathetically. ‘Well, the man clearly had opportunity,’ he muses. ‘He’s been tight with the Appleton family since Jennifer’s parents were each in their teens, and he was coaching both of the girls before the concert — Jennifer and Lauren. But it’s still a lot to process. No one’s ever fingered Laurence before.

  It makes a crazy kind of sense, but it won’t be popular.

  You might have stumbled onto something here. You know he’s an opera fanatic from way back?’ he adds.

  I shake my head. It’s all beginning to fit. Ryan checked out Lauren’s Paradise High musical connections, but I bet it never occurred to him to look at the choirmaster of Little Falls Academy.

  ‘It was Laurence’s idea that they take on “The Flower Duet” in the first place,’ Paul continues, looking down at his fine-boned hands. ‘I doubt Gerard, with his pedestrian tastes — popular musicals, oratory and the like,’ he practically shudders, ‘would have thought to give such challenging material to a couple of high-school kids from the sticks. Jennifer probably caught the opera bug off Laurence as a child — he’s been a friend of the family forever. If he’s somehow involved in this, it’s going to break their hearts all over again —’

  ‘Well, thanks for your help,’ I cut in, my mind leaping ahead to how much new stuff I have to tell Ryan.

  I wonder if he’ll be pleased. It’s disgusting how much I need his approval. I hardly recognise myself, and that’s saying a lot.

  ‘You’ve really clarified some things for me,’ I add, shouldering Carmen’s daypack. I shoot Paul a grateful smile, prepare to leave.

  ‘Hey, you sure about that coffee?’ he says with easy charm. ‘No time like the present. I can call the Daleys — Louisa knows me well — run you home afterwards.

  We have a lot to cover. I can start getting in touch with all the best schools, get the trustees talking about you.’ I feel that strange discomfort again, as if Carmen’s trying to tell me something.

  Paul’s face is open and there’s nothing sleazy about his body language. Unlike Gerard Masson and Laurence Barry, he doesn’t even try to touch me. Or hold me to a promise. In fact, he turns and tidies up his things while he waits for my answer.

  ‘You have a remarkable voice, Carmen,’ he says gently. ‘You’re very young. And Fiona Fellows seems to have a … blind spot where you’re concerned, doesn’t realise the treasure she’s been sitting on. Probably literally, the way she talks about you …’ The stitch in my side flares more painfully still.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve been made aware of all your options,’ he continues, snapping his messenger bag shut before turning to face me. ‘I’ve got links to the best music faculties in the country. That’s all this is about. I’m not like Gerard Masson, with his stupid little crushes and extra practice sessions. I’ve been at the receiving end of that kind of thing myself, and it’s the last thing I’d do to you.

  This is purely about your future.’ For a moment I feel dizzy. Should I go with him or go find Ryan? Lauren or Carmen? The disembodied pounding in my side intensifies, like something torn.

  When I still don’t say anything, Paul raises an enquiring eyebrow.

  I shake my head, knowing any normal girl in my position would accept in a heartbeat. But that’s just it.

  I’m sorry, Carmen, but I’m batting for Lauren. And for me.

  ‘Uh, thanks, but I’m good,’ I reply. ‘Got things to do tonight.’

  ‘Raincheck?’ Paul says good-naturedly. He straightens up, stretches elegantly. ‘Though you seem like a smart girl — I’m sure you’ve figured it all out already.’

  ‘You bet,’ I say, giving him a stupid, girly wave over my shoulder as I leave, hoping it seems natural. Not believing he means any of it for a second.

  It’s dark by the time I make my way b
ack from the lockers and head across the Paradise High car park, pulling Carmen’s hood up to hide my profile from the breeze, and from curious eyes. I notice Paul Stenborg herding the last of his charges onto the bus bound for Port Marie. He doesn’t give me a second glance as I pass under a nearby streetlight and head for the pedestrian gate next to the school’s main driveway.

  I wonder where Laurence Barry is, and what he’s doing. Tonight, I think, we’ll see what you’re hiding down there, old man.

  I pull the edges of Carmen’s hood forward even more, turn up the collar on her denim jacket, and start threading my way across town; peer into the windows of the family restaurants on main street, the town’s only video rental store. And I think about Ryan constantly, even look forward to eating his mother’s strangely tasteless but immaculately presented cooking in awkward silence, because he might be at the table, close enough to touch.

  If I can bring myself to do it.

  I walk slowly, enjoying the faint tang of salt in the air. Even the sounds of dogs going berserk in their front yards as I pass by just makes me smile. I don’t know how long I have, and, for once, I don’t want it to end. Though it isn’t the kind of boy-meets-girl scenario anyone in their right mind would wish for. You have to take it as it comes, I guess.

  And then, within sight of Ryan’s street, I feel a light pressure on the back of my neck, a small sting, and I go down.

  Chapter 22

  When I wake, it’s dark. So dark at first that my eyes have trouble making out anything. I’m on my side, facing a wall. There’s a heavy weight around my neck, unaccustomed pressure.

  I think maybe I fainted on the footpath and I’m having difficulties focusing, but then I’m hit by a wave of smells so strong I gag out loud. Human waste, old food, rust, bleach, mould, blood. Layered over the top of each other, the air so foetid and soupy I can taste it on my tongue.

  And I’m lying on something coarse. It creaks when I shift my free arm experimentally, lift my head an inch or two. A camp bed?