I no longer hear the music, or: The wild west (exhibit B)
20
The organ music drifts through time and space, each note complimenting the one before it and leading perfectly to the one that follows. Grand sweeping chords swell and burst, rising and falling like waves lashing against a lonely cliff. A surge of energy crackles and shimmers and illuminates the sky like the aurora, and it seems as if the whole universe is folding in on itself, tearing itself apart in a wild, orgiastic, Dionysian fury. Then, suddenly, as the notes soar towards a majestic crescendo, as the blood begins to boil, as the cosmic dance begins...
They fall silent.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” Molly blinked, coming out of a daze. Pierre frowned slightly, but remained otherwise unfazed. He was already getting accustomed to Molly and the somewhat tenuous grip she seemed to have on reality.
“I said, I’ve arranged a meeting with Jean Toussaint.” Pierre sighed upon seeing Molly's blank expression. “You know, the Professor of Experimental History at the University of Havana I mentioned a few minutes ago? The guy who wrote that article on the Fountain of Youth?”
“Oh yeah, right, him.” Had it really only been a few minutes? It seemed as if a whole load of stuff had happened in between, enough time for at least six separate episodes worth. It felt as though time itself was stretching, and everything was elongated like an elastic band, and in that gulf had come those haunting notes, the music of the lost and the tormented. A desperate and hopeless plea for help, for liberation, for relief. Molly thought it wise not to mention any of this to Pierre, and instead smiled a little bit too brightly. “That will be fun for you!” followed by a frown of confusion. “Experimental History??”
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is either, but Professor Toussaint said he’d be willing to give a demonstration.” He stopped, and paused for a few seconds through indecision. “You’ve got-
My eternal love! When my hands touch the keys I feel like someone else completely. The fog lifts and the sun shines and I can catch a fleeting glimpse of something better than that awful mockery I have become. I remember who I really am, and I weep. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
-a holiday, haven’t you? How do you fancy a trip to sunny Havana?”
“Erm, well I don’t know, seeing as how I only just met you…I don’t normally just go off with people I barely know.” said Molly. Havana? She had heard a lot of scary stuff about the place, about the drugs and murders, the rapes and gang warfare and worst of all, the terrible parking. Apparently it could sometimes take over
half an hour to find a space in the city centre, and that was on a weekday. She dreaded to think what it was like at weekends. It wasn’t known as Haiti's Wild West for nothing, that much was obvious. “Actually I was planning on trying to find out what the black stones are, and trying to discover what happened to whatshisface…er, that guy I told you about whose name I can’t quite seem to remember…oh, you know who I mean, the one who never existed, thingy Turing, no-Louverture! That’s his name. I don’t know if going to see this professor would help.”
The Criminal is coming again. I can feel his malevolent presence. I wish he’d go away and leave me alone. The music calls to him, entices him, allows him in to take advantage of my weakness. I just want to play, why can't he just let me play? Why why why-
“It might,” said Pierre. “This guy seems to be on the fringes of the mainstream-you have to be if you’re writing for
Secret Worlds-so if it’s anything esoteric he might be able to help.” He took a sip of cold Orinoco, and grimaced. “You know, that whole black stones thing you were talking about rings a bell…but I can’t think why. It’s really strange. I could swear I’ve come across it before. But never mind that. Are you going to come or what?”
-whyeeeaaaaarrgghhhhelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme-
Molly threw her hands up in the air in resignation, almost knocking over her coffee. “Okay, okay, I’ll go with you! I guess it’s better than my other plan, which was to just wander around aimlessly and hope I’d randomly find something useful. Just don’t try anything,” she said in what she thought was a threatening voice. “It
really wouldn’t be in your best interests.”
“As if I would,” Pierre said with a roll of his eyes. Molly-
-sat hunched in front of the ethereal organ, her hands perfectly still, resting an inch above the keys. A man in a smart blue uniform entered the organ room, and saluted.
“Madame? You called for me?”
The organist remained still as a corpse, and no response came. The smart man took a step forward, feeling a slight flutter of dread. “Hello? You-you called?”
He edged forward uneasily, until he was standing right beside the figure. Had he arrived too late? He very gently tapped her on the shoulder, and suddenly an icy, bony hand shot out and grabbed his throat, and effortlessly forced him against the wall so that his feet were dangling and flailing just above the ground.
“Errggkkkl” he said, looking with wide eyed horror at the organist’s transformed face. The eyes were sunken and its grey, mottled skin was stretched thinly over the cheekbones, giving the face an almost skeletal appearance. A terrible hate burnt in its eyes, and the ill-fitting platinum blonde wig that hung limply on its scalp was more disturbing than amusing.
“Don’t touch me,” the organist growled in a hollow voice, before casually tossing the man aside with a flick of the wrist. His fragile frame smashed against the concrete floor with terrible force, cracking several of his ribs, and he scrabbled helplessly on the floor in pain. The organist strode over imperiously to where the man lay and trod heavily on his hand, grinding it into the hard ground with eyes aflame, ignoring his howl of anguish. “Never touch me.” The organist finally lifted his foot, and then spat on the man contemptuously as he curled up into a foetal position, sobbing and clutching his shattered hand.
“I’m-I’m sorry, I-I did-didn’t mean-“
“Stop, I have no time for your pathetic whimpering.” An awful smile creased across his skeletal face. “Yes, I'm back.”
-ignored it and pursed her lips. “Well good.”
“I’m due to meet him in two days time, so make sure you are packed and ready to go for tomorrow to meet at the air-dock, three o’clock.”
Molly’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow? Talk about short notice! But don’t you need to book tickets in advance?”
“Nah, it’s a bit more expensive, but you can buy them at the desk at the air-dock.”
“Well I better go home and pack! See you later!”
Pierre nodded, and called after Molly as she hurried away. “Remember, three o’clock! Don’t be late!” She turned and gave a slight nod, before disappearing into the arcade.
Alone, he took another sip of cold Orinoco coffee, and gazed around the café. The only other person there was an old black man, apparently asleep with his straw hat over his eyes. Pierre signalled to the waiter that he wanted a refill, and shook his head with a wry smile. “Well this should be interesting.”