The Demon's Riddle

by Jessica Brown

  She heard music in her dreams as well. This was a staple of normal dreaming for Kerry, and it was much more coherent, something that occasionally saved her from going insane from not being able to remember the rest of the dream.

  On this night, she heard snippets of music as well, most of them from the three pieces from Cavanaugh. They were less jarring than the visuals or the conversational interludes, though, and Kerry also heard herself singing, passages from her final concert at Oberlin. She might have been singing out loud during the dream, there were times in college when her roommates had heard her doing this at night, something she was teased relentlessly for during rehearsals for that penultimate concert.

  The music eventually coalesced into some kind of coherent whole, blending together Cavanaugh's music with her solos from the concert. Kerry had no idea how this was possible, but somehow it all made sense and fit together for her, and as it did she had the sense in the dream that it would be brilliant, this final combination, something that would stand for generations as a truly great piece of music that would be passed on, heralded and enjoyed by each group of musicians that followed.

  As the dream ended Kerry tried desperately to hold onto it all, to try and keep it with her when she finally reentered the waking world. This was an utterly new experience for her, trying to hang onto a dream, and she had no idea how to do it. Just before she woke Kerry had the sensation that she was watching herself, shifting and turning in bed, as if that physical movement might allow her to keep the music in her dream from escaping.

  In the end, though, it was all for naught. Kerry woke up able to remember parts of what she had heard in her sleep, but the whole of it was gone, vanished into the night like a ghost or a specter. There were two or three sections that remained intact, and for a moment after she awoke Kerry thought of writing them down, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand so that they could be preserved.

  As soon as she did this, though, she knew it would be unnecessary, that the parts that had survived the night would remain with her, and she also knew she would be able to recall them whenever that became necessary. Somehow she had an intuitive sense of when it might be, but there was something fragmented about her sense of time, and Kerry thought this might be some fragment of the dream she had carried into reality in a way that made no rational sense.

  Once she was awake, the passage of the day was quicker this time. She amused herself at the store by singing and reciting passages from Cavanaugh's music in her head, making up playful variations that made her giggle, but fortunately there was no one around -- Mrs. Dalrymple was off, her next bookkeeping day off in the future.

  After a while Kerry started to sing these variations out loud, to hear how they sounded when voiced, but there was something about this that seemed like a violation, as if it was something she wasn't supposed to do until she was with Cavanaugh again.

  The dinner hour was smoother as well. Her father was out and about when she got home from the store, and thankfully he didn't show up for dinner, either. Kerry prepared something simple for him, chicken and vegetables, then put it in the oven with the heat on low, and she left a note on the counter so he would know what she'd done when he got home.

  She had the sense that he might be after another conquest, but this was something she didn't want to know about, there had been fewer since she'd gotten home from college, but it was still a painful thing to be part of, even peripherally. And Kerry wanted to avoid that at all costs if possible.

  She rushed through her own dinner and arrived at the church twenty minutes early, which made her feel decidedly girlish and immature, as if she was being too eager preparing for a date, or coming on too strong, or something.

  Chapter 11

  The Demon

  Just as she was trying to figure out how to act with him, Cavanaugh arrived with a roar. The motorcycle seemed to come from out of nowhere, or maybe that was just Kerry's imagination, but suddenly he was almost on top of her, the bike throbbing. He lifted the visor of the helmet and smiled, just slightly, then nodded toward the rear of the bike. For a moment Kerry didn't realize what he wanted, and then finally she got it, she was supposed to get on the back of the bike.

  She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the preternatural heat that seemed to be coming from his body. It felt weird to try and find a place for her feet, but when she finally did Kerry guessed it must have been ok, he didn't say anything or turn his head to indicate that she'd done something wrong.

  The bike pulled out slowly, which surprised Kerry. She guessed she was expecting a bolt of thunder or something similar, but they got to cruising speed quickly as Cavanaugh made his way through town. He kept going, though, and this made her wonder, because there was nothing outside the city limits for miles that she knew about. Where was he taking her?

  It took a while for Kerry to get the answer to that question. They kept going past the grain silo of the old feed plant, the one her father had worked in as a kid, she must have heard that story about a thousand times at least. Then he turned off onto a dirt road, and Kerry realized what should have been obvious from the start: he could be taking her anywhere.

  But he wasn't. After a couple of miles on the dirt road, Cavanaugh pulled up in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Kerry had never seen it before, in fact she had no idea it even existed. He hopped off the bike and extended his hand to her, graceful as always, and Kerry took it and followed his lead as he led her to the front door.

  She had no idea what she'd find when they entered, but it was certainly a lot more luxurious than anything that even her fetid imagination could conjure up. It didn't start well; the elevator was more like a dumbwaiter, old and decrepit and seemingly about to break down.

  When they got off, though, Kerry stepped into the middle of an ultra-modern loft apartment, something she might have imagined in the middle of Manhattan, owned by some elite artist. The open loft was dominated by two grand pianos, end to end, facing one another. Beside them was a couch, and in front of the couch was a gold music stand, which looked like a valuable antique to her.

  She wanted to ask about it, but then Kerry saw the microphone stand in front of the music stand. It looked like something from out of a top-notch recording studio, and Kerry gasped in spite of herself, clasping her hands together to contain her excitement.

  She looked at him, then at the stand, and he gestured for her to take her place in front of it. The act of speech failed her, utterly and completely, and suddenly Kerry wondered how her voice would project through it, backed by one of the Steinways. It was beyond anything she had ever experienced, even at the insular but elite musical cocoon that was Oberlin.

  The same piece of music lay on the stand, and Kerry looked at him again, waiting for some kind of explanation. Her wait was extended, though, until he put away the helmet and hung up his leather jacket, the briefness of those few moments beginning to drive her mad with anticipation.

  Finally he spoke. "What do you know of the music we rehearsed last night?" he asked softly.

  Kerry looked down at the floor. "Nothing," she replied. "I did all the searches I could think of, but I couldn't come up with anything.

  He chuckled. "You weren't supposed to."

  "Ok?"

  "There's good reason for that. It came from a poem that eventually became an opera."

  Kerry frowned. "So you didn't run any of this by my father? He's very particular about his church music."

  Cavanaugh laughed, louder this time. "I know. But he checked up on me with the other choir directors in the area, and I seem to have earned his trust somehow."

  "Impressive." She smiled coyly. "Somehow that seems to have eluded me over the years."

  This time his laughter came out in peals, ringing through the apartment like a church bell. "That's because you're his daughter."

  Her smile brightened. "Good point."

  He paused, the walked over behind the piano, lifting the cover before he sat down.

>   "So what was it?" Kerry finally asked, unable to stand the waiting.

  "Russian music," Cavanaugh answered mysteriously. "From the 1800s."

  "It certainly didn't sound Russian," Kerry commented. "Maybe the melody, a little, but it was nothing I could even remotely recognize."

  "Right! he answered enthusiastically, seemingly delighted by her sudden boldness. "That's because I did the arrangement myself."

  Kerry stared at him, knowing he was teasing her. "So are you going to tell me what it was, or not?"

  "Of course." He paused again, then reached over to the piano stand and grabbed a small booklet that he handed her. "The poem was written by Mikhail Lermontov. It's called 'The Demon.'"

  Kerry giggled in spite of herself. "You're kidding, right?

  "Not at all," Cavanaugh answered, his expression serious. "He wrote it when he was thirteen." Then he pointed at the booklet. "It's on the third page, before the libretto I adapted it from."

  "Libretto?"

  "Yes." He seemed to warm to the task of providing an explanation. "It's all there. Take a look."

  Kerry fingered the booklet, then gave him her best pouty look. "Tell me what's in it?

  He smiled. "Sorry, it doesn't work that way." He gave her a mock scowl. "Read."

  So she did. At first Kerry was intimidated, not being much acquainted with poetry, but it was all in there, straightforward and easy to understand. The story of the demon, wandering in loneliness, bearing the curse of immortality, until he spotted Tamara, his eternal love, and decided he must have her. She read the rest, and a chill crept through Kerry when she got to the part where the demon killed Tamara's fiance. Kerry took a deep breath to calm herself, and keep the deepest sense of longing and desire she had ever felt at bay. If she could even do that.

  When she was done Kerry closed the booklet, then looked up, suddenly seeing Cavanaugh in a new light. She thought about how to handle this, and finally decided to go for playful. "Sooo...you're doing this to mess with my dad, right?"

  He laughed, letting loose again, this time with a huge belly laugh. "Hardly," he said when he finally caught his breath. "But it is a nice bonus."

  She decided to challenge him. "What if I decide to tell him about it?"

  He laughed, a more subdued chuckle this time. "That would be interesting," he answered. "But we both know you won't."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because of the music." He pointed at the stand and the mic. "We both know how much you want it. And how much you need it."

  Kerry felt something clutch in her belly, realizing immediately that he was right. Then she felt desire, warm and liquid, emanating from the center of her body. "So tell me about it," she said, trying to distract him from something she knew he was aware of. "The music."

  "It's all there," he shot back, pointing at the booklet. "But I will give you a preview."

  He paused, then pointed at the music stand. "He was a contemporary of Tchaikovsky," Cavanaugh added. "The poem was banned for being sacrilegious, of course, which is probably part of what drew Rubinstein's attention. The work was performed occasionally until just after the turn of the century, and it was well received. But musically it was too similar to other operas of the era, so finally it faded away.

  Kerry smiled. "So you decided to resurrect it."

  Cavanaugh grinned at her. "In a manner of speaking."

  "And you adapted it for a church service," she continued. "In lil' ol' McCord, Mississippi."

  "Uh huh," Cavanaugh replied, his eyes locking in on hers, just as they had that first time in church.

  "So what happens now?" Kerry asked, butterflies leaping in the pit of her stomach.

  "Very simple." He shuffled the piano music, and this time Kerry knew he wasn't simply killing a few seconds, he was genuinely searching for something. He plucked several papers from the pile, then reached down and found a few more. When he had everything in order, he set the papers back down, then handed a couple of sheets to her.

  "This is my part?" she said, recognizing it immediately. "And you're going to...accompany me? On the piano."

  He smiled. "That would be the general idea." He struck the first chord, gently. "After all, it's not like you've never done this before."

  "True."

  With that, he launched into the piano rendition, providing the outline of what she was to sing. Kerry listened carefully to the chords, and even more carefully to the spaces in between the sound, where she would add expression and nuance. When he was finished she nodded, and this time he went straight into the intro, nodding again when she was to make her entrance.

  She made a couple of small errors, mostly out of nervousness, and there were a couple of times when Kerry wanted to stop, to rework what she had just done. But Cavanaugh shook his head vigorously each time he felt this urge coming from her, wanting her to correct the mistakes on her own. Slowly, Kerry began to understand what he wanted from her, and she leveled out, responding to the cues Cavanaugh gave her.

  By the time they reached the passage where the demon reveals himself to Tamara, Kerry could feel something happening to her, and between them as well. His playing seemed to be infusing her with a unique combination of power and strength, the likes of which she had never felt before. In spite of what was happening in the libretto, though, the music still sounded like a hymn, and she marveled at his talents, the ability to make something so profane sound eminently sacred.

  When they were done he launched into it again, having helped her smooth out the rough passages. This time their union was seamless, piano and voice supporting each other, exchanging, cajoling and teasing. It was like making love, Kerry realized that about halfway through, and she felt her power growing and she became a new version of herself.

  Finally, when it was over and the sound had dissipated, Cavanaugh rose slowly and smiled. He took a seat on the couch, and motioned for Kerry to come to him. As she did, Kerry felt him transform, not necessarily in any physical way she could have identified. But there was no doubt in her mind or her heart that he changed, somehow, in his nature.

  Chapter 12

  So, Who Were You?

  Kerry sat down at the end of the couch, leaving some distance and expressing her hesitation in that way. She wanted to go to him, but she had to know more, to know what all this was about, before giving herself to him and being able to know completely.

  "So...who were you?" she asked, her voice as soft as she had ever heard it.

  Cavanaugh merely looked at her, in a way that made it impossible for Kerry to read him. She knew the answer to that question before she asked it, and he knew it as well, so the game of cat and mouse continued between them, each glancing at the other, then looking away.

  "Lermentov? Rubinstein?" Kerry smiled, teasing him with her flashing eyes.

  The pianist turned silent, licking his lips in a gesture that almost seemed to be timed, as if this was a measure of rest in the ongoing music between them. Still, he said nothing.

  "The demon, then," she concluded. Her voice had turned low and throaty without her realizing it, and she wondered where it came from. Who was this new person inside her, confident and almost bold, seemingly in command of the situation?

  "I conducted this music," he stated simply. "In the beginning. In heaven."

  Kerry gasped, then managed to catch her breath. She felt no fear regarding Cavanaugh's revelation, for reasons she couldn't even begin to understand. Instead she waited, knowing there would be more.

  "I chose an angel," he continued. "A soloist. She was brilliant. And beautiful."

  He sighed, deeply. "I had eternal love, within my grasp."

  Kerry waited once more.

  "And I was cast out."

  Finally she spoke. "Why?"

  "Because it was not my place to do that," he explained. She felt his pain, and Kerry wanted to go to him, but she knew it wasn't quite time.

  "And now?"

  He turned to her and smiled. "You know the story. You'v
e read it, you've performed it. And now it is inside you."

  Cavanaugh paused. "Do you know what you have been given?"

  Kerry smiled in return, her confidence beginning to flow again. "Of course," she replied, licking her lips.

  "Tell me."

  "Tamara," she said simply.

  Cavanaugh grinned, fully and broadly. "Yesss!" he hissed. "Everything she was, you are. You have been infused with her spirit. Totally and completely."

  Kerry gasped, knowing it was true. She was still herself, she knew that, but this explained the changes she had been feeling, fully and without question. Kerry took a deep breath, then another, and then she asked the final question.

  "Toward what end?"

  For the first time since she had met him, Cavanaugh seemed genuinely surprised. He paused, this time for more than a second, until finally he answered.

  "Balance."

  This time it was Kerry's turn to go quiet. She frowned in confusion, then waited for more, knowing it would be coming.

  "We find the ones who are fakes," he explained. "The hypocrites. The falsely pious. And we capitalize on their weaknesses."

  She considered his answer, knowing this was what she wanted and what she had been born for as well. "Within the church?"

  "Initially," Cavanaugh replied, his eyes widening with excitement. "But we will go further than that, ultimately."

  "Toward what end?" Kerry repeated.

  Cavanaugh blinked, staring at her. "Simple. To take the music further."

  She shook her head. "I don't understand."

  He smiled. "You will." He took a deep breath, but Kerry remained puzzled. "Let me try to explain."

  "Ok."

  "Think of this music," he began. "To some, the original poem it was based on represents evil incarnate. And yet, in this form, changed around, it becomes church music."

  Kerry smiled. "That's a very demonic concept. Does it work the other way around?"

  This time it was Cavanaugh's turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?"