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Authors: Mark Anthony
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shielded his eyes with a hand, and when he lowered it again he saw a motorcycle skid to a halt in front of the boardwalk. The rider flipped up the visor of a black helmet. Smoke-green eyes flashed.
“Get on, Travis!”
He stood frozen, then shock became motion, and he jumped down to the street.
The blond man laughed over the growl of the engine. “And here is one who seeks even now!”
Travis hurried to Deirdre. “What’s he talking about?”
“Don’t listen to him, Travis.” Her words were hard behind the face guard of her helmet.
Travis glanced at the man. The other’s hands were on his hips, his expression grave now.
“Remember what I told you, Mr. Wilder.”
Travis looked back at Deirdre. “What’s going on?”
“Come with me, Travis. Come with me if you want to understand.”
For a heartbeat movement was impossible. Travis could feel the man’s eyes bore into him along with Deirdre’s.
You can never really know another.…
Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. He barely had time to circle his arms around Deirdre’s waist before she cranked the throttle. The Harley screamed forward like a Chinese dragon, and everything vanished in its dark wake.
11.
Deirdre cut the Harley’s engine, and the motorcycle coasted to a stop. Silence descended over the night like a curtain of hot black velvet. Travis brushed wind-tangled hair from his eyes and saw, looming in the murk, the graceful facade of the Castle City Opera House.
These days the opera house was abandoned, but at its zenith its stage had played home to some of the finest tenors and sopranos of Europe, and it was said that once President McKinley himself had viewed a Parisian burlesque show there. Even in decay, there was an air of elegance about the opera house. Greek Revival columns glowed in the cast-off shine of a streetlight.
For what seemed an hour he had clung to Deirdre while the motorcycle sped down empty roads, but at some point they must have turned around, for they had come to a halt at the end of Elk Street, no more than half a mile from the saloon. He let go of Deirdre and stumbled off the Harley. It felt as if the world were still moving beneath him. Then again, maybe it was.
Deirdre stepped off the bike and removed her helmet in one fluid motion. She shook out her short black hair, then turned her eyes on Travis.
“Are you all right?”
It was the first thing she had said since the moment she shouted for him to get on the bike. He opened his mouth, but he could find no words to answer. Travis wasn’t even sure he knew what
all right
was anymore. Deirdre turned and gazed into the night. He was suddenly certain that she knew far more about what was happening than he did.
Travis looked up at the ghostly opera house. “Why here?”
“There’s someone you need to meet.”
With that, Deirdre headed up the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the opera house. Travis hesitated. Once, at the weird revival show, Brother Cy had told him that he always had a choice. Now he wasn’t so certain that was true. He hurried after Deirdre.
Travis caught up to her as she paused before the door. “It’s locked,” he said. “This place hasn’t been used in—”
He halted as she pulled a device from her pocket. It was shaped like a river pebble, but molded of plastic. She touched a small button. There was a click, and one of the double doors swung open an inch. She slipped the device back into her pocket and pushed through the doorway. Travis took a breath, then followed her into darkness beyond.
They moved through dimness, then came to the edge of a vast space. Across an ocean of shabby seats was a stage lit by a single spotlight.
Deirdre leaned against an ornate railing. She did not shout, but her voice rang out across the old theater. “They found him.”
Travis glanced at her. Who was she speaking to? Then a voice drifted through the proscenium arch, carried by the acoustics of the opera house.
“The
“Get on, Travis!”
He stood frozen, then shock became motion, and he jumped down to the street.
The blond man laughed over the growl of the engine. “And here is one who seeks even now!”
Travis hurried to Deirdre. “What’s he talking about?”
“Don’t listen to him, Travis.” Her words were hard behind the face guard of her helmet.
Travis glanced at the man. The other’s hands were on his hips, his expression grave now.
“Remember what I told you, Mr. Wilder.”
Travis looked back at Deirdre. “What’s going on?”
“Come with me, Travis. Come with me if you want to understand.”
For a heartbeat movement was impossible. Travis could feel the man’s eyes bore into him along with Deirdre’s.
You can never really know another.…
Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. He barely had time to circle his arms around Deirdre’s waist before she cranked the throttle. The Harley screamed forward like a Chinese dragon, and everything vanished in its dark wake.
11.
Deirdre cut the Harley’s engine, and the motorcycle coasted to a stop. Silence descended over the night like a curtain of hot black velvet. Travis brushed wind-tangled hair from his eyes and saw, looming in the murk, the graceful facade of the Castle City Opera House.
These days the opera house was abandoned, but at its zenith its stage had played home to some of the finest tenors and sopranos of Europe, and it was said that once President McKinley himself had viewed a Parisian burlesque show there. Even in decay, there was an air of elegance about the opera house. Greek Revival columns glowed in the cast-off shine of a streetlight.
For what seemed an hour he had clung to Deirdre while the motorcycle sped down empty roads, but at some point they must have turned around, for they had come to a halt at the end of Elk Street, no more than half a mile from the saloon. He let go of Deirdre and stumbled off the Harley. It felt as if the world were still moving beneath him. Then again, maybe it was.
Deirdre stepped off the bike and removed her helmet in one fluid motion. She shook out her short black hair, then turned her eyes on Travis.
“Are you all right?”
It was the first thing she had said since the moment she shouted for him to get on the bike. He opened his mouth, but he could find no words to answer. Travis wasn’t even sure he knew what
all right
was anymore. Deirdre turned and gazed into the night. He was suddenly certain that she knew far more about what was happening than he did.
Travis looked up at the ghostly opera house. “Why here?”
“There’s someone you need to meet.”
With that, Deirdre headed up the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the opera house. Travis hesitated. Once, at the weird revival show, Brother Cy had told him that he always had a choice. Now he wasn’t so certain that was true. He hurried after Deirdre.
Travis caught up to her as she paused before the door. “It’s locked,” he said. “This place hasn’t been used in—”
He halted as she pulled a device from her pocket. It was shaped like a river pebble, but molded of plastic. She touched a small button. There was a click, and one of the double doors swung open an inch. She slipped the device back into her pocket and pushed through the doorway. Travis took a breath, then followed her into darkness beyond.
They moved through dimness, then came to the edge of a vast space. Across an ocean of shabby seats was a stage lit by a single spotlight.
Deirdre leaned against an ornate railing. She did not shout, but her voice rang out across the old theater. “They found him.”
Travis glanced at her. Who was she speaking to? Then a voice drifted through the proscenium arch, carried by the acoustics of the opera house.
“The
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