Secret Abby

Hidden Abby

By Jeff Van Dell

My legs were amputated above the knee on my thirteenth birthday due to an infection that had set in because my caretaker was careless with hygiene. I wanted to scream when the doctor told myself and my parents doctors had taken my vocal chords when I was eight because of a an infection carried by my tracheal tube, without which I cannot breathe.

When I was six, an only paralyzed from the waist down, I wanted to be a ballerina. Mommy and Daddy took me to see “The Nutcracker” at the Opera House in Boston. Because of Daddy’s position at the bank I was allowed to cavort with the costumed dancers and normal children after the performance. Spinning around and holding up my arms like Anna, the prima ballerina, my universe

I live in a motorized, life-support wheelchair made of gray carbon fiber, titanium, motors and gears, silicon and RAM, rubber, foam, leather, and silk. It is custom-made, the best that money can buy. It is my freedom and my prison.

My freedom has, this day, allowed me to go shopping at a drug store. There is a tall man standing near the long row of vitamins, A, B, C, D, E, and all the alphabetical supplements a body could ever need, perfectly aligned in their brown plastic bottles like toy soldiers awaiting battle, He is holding a bottle up to his eyes pretending to read the fine print, perhaps it says “Made in China”, or “Recycle After Use”? But the man is only pretending to read the bottle. His eyes are staring at someone in the convex mirror mounted on the wall. The tall man puts the vitamin bottle back in its previous position and saunters over towards me.

“How are you young lady? Do you need some help?” He asks, stooping low to speak to me.

His full length, black leather jacket is worn and dirty, reeking of tobacco smoke and some unidentifiable cologne that Daddy would never wear. Rumpled shirt, jeans that are torn and threadbare, his right hand sports a tattoo of a spider web on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. There is a tiny sailboat caught in the spider web. A pinky ring of gold with a cracked black square of onyx adorned his calloused hand. The onyx had the letter “J” or “C” etched into it in an ornate script. He looked into my eyes and I immediately knew I was in danger.

“Go away!”  Said my voice computer generated voice. The voice was a famous actress daddy had paid to become my voice.

“Go away now.” I pointed and clicked with the one finger that I still had motor control over, moving my chair backwards, away from the man but not before I saw what was attached to his right thigh.

“Go away please.”

He stood up and smiled at me.

“I’m leaving. I was just asking if you needed something.”

His accent was the lower class dialect they spoke in Dorchester and Charlestown.

“Bye, for now.”

He walked backwards with his hands held out in front of him, palms out towards me. The creatures attached to his thigh coiled its tail around the man’s leg more tightly. The tall man’s jacket brushed up against a display of chocolate flavored laxatives, knocking them over as he exited the store. He crossed Longwood Avenue and disappeared into the crowd. After a moment, I realized that I had probably overreacted. Most people react to my condition with a mixture of pity and revulsion. He didn’t react in any way but looked at me the way normal people look at each other and I wasn’t used to that.

I still had a job to do and row after row of birthday cards awaited me. I used my small but dexterous multi-claw to pick up dozens of cards and read the inside. Before Daddy bought me the little tool I was utterly dependant upon Madeline and Sabrina, my primary caregivers, for performing physical interactions for me. The multi-claw was still new to me and sometimes I picked up objects in stores purely for the satisfactions of manipulating something in my own world. Although I adored Madeline and Sabrina for serving me with patience and dedication I resented the fact that I was utterly dependant upon others to perform the most elementary physical task. Someday I was going to brush my own teeth before I went to bed, but that would take a year of practice.

“Of all the flowers in my garden, none blooms as fragrantly as you.”

My multi-claw closed and replaced the card and I wondered if I should simply create my own using the computers at home. An engineering company was using me to beta-test a voice activated control system that might be used in the new space station, a computer voice operating a computer. It worked well enough for me to create a birthday card. Did they need birthday cards on a space station?

“In the language of love, flowers are a poem.”

Too girly, I put it back and picked up another that was perfect.

“Will there be anything else today?”

The clerk at the register authorized the sale.

“No, thank you.”

The clerk had a small creature wrapped around her throat but its eyes were closed, perhaps it slept. I wondered what, or if, they dreamt of. No one else could see them, as far as I knew. Mommy and Daddy took me to therapists who convinced themselves that they were part of my subconscious, or a way to deal with my disability, or my desire for sex, or my desire to walk…it was endless. In the end I accepted their existence and moved on. Sabrina and Madeline were waiting for me with cups of coffee in their hands in the thoroughfare of the atrium’s food court.

“Howdja do?” Sabrina knelt down to check my oxygen and vitals. I showed Madeline the card I chose and she laughed. “That’s so true about her, good choice Abby.”

“You’re all set. We should get your tubes cleaned when we get back though.” Sabrina read the card and chuckled. “Too true.”

“Let’s go home. I have a few more things to do before sleep.” I rolled towards the elevator and my specially equipped van.

Madeline pulled the van around and moved my chair into position for loading. It was cold and damp in the garage and I gave an involuntary shudder, the only movements I could make were involuntary.

“Did you find the sweater you were looking for Madeline?” I watched her eyes in the triple sized rearview mirror.

“They didn’t have the color I wanted.” She said, glancing back at me.

“What color did you want?” I asked.

“Um…red.” Madeline flashed a quick glance into the rearview to Sabrina who pursed her lips. I held Madeline’s eyes in the mirror and she blinked.

I was never truly alone. My forays into the mall, downtown, the theater, were all carefully orchestrated to give me the impression of independence. It was only an impression, of course. Mommy and Daddy would never allow me to be hurt or injured and I suppose that if I were a parent I would do the same thing for my helpless daughter. It galled me none-the-less.

At home Madeline hooked me up to the computer and I opened the file for the violin sonata I had been writing for the past two months. I had almost completed the third movement when a sudden blizzard of inspiration move me to connect elements from a previously abandoned concerto for oboe with themes from the second movement  to create a fourth movement of the violin sonata.

Using voice and mouse commands I placed dynamic and slur markings in the piano and violin parts, but not bow markings. Most violinists intuitively understood when to up or down-bow and it was a waste of time for put them in there. I clicked the mouse and listened to my piece, nearly realistic violin and piano sounds filled the room. It was a little mechanical but I heard the music behind the sounds. My only joy, my habit, my addiction, was composing music. I remember playing the piano, before my hands stopped working. Thank God I could compose and had the money to afford all the wonderful toys required for someone like me to write. Music was my religion. Where did it come from? Is it always there, in the collective conscious of the world, waiting, like me, to be liberated from its potential into its actual? The notes and ideas of course were derivative of something I’d heard before, or written before. But where did we receive the inspiration to do this activity at all? It was mysterious to me as language, not speech, but the idea behind language.  When I composed and listened back to what I’d written, it was if I was my true self, apart from my disability and broken flesh. Pieces that I wrote several years ago seemed like they were written by someone else. In a way, they were.

“Madeline?”

“Yes Abby?”

“Call Yuri tomorrow and invite him for lunch and a read through, at his convenience of course. We are going to the arboretum tomorrow. Please check the traffic in the morning. I don’t want to be stuck on the highway like last time.”

“Yes Abby.” Madeline made a little note on a legal pad full of notes she kept with her whenever she was with me. Like my mother, I was demanding of those around me, but never abusive. Because we were so alike, my mother and I fought and made up on an almost weekly basis. The one thing we never disagreed on was that Yuri Gregorovitch was the best freelance violinist in Boston, a city of terrific musicians.

Yuri towered over me and everyone else at a strapping six feet ten inches tall. When we first met I thought he was a basketball player. The Amati violin he owned looked like a child’s toy and was nearly swallowed up in his platter sized hands. Despite is gargantuan size, he was one of the most sensitive and intuitively gifted players in the group of violinists I hired. And yes, I had a crush on him.

“I’m ready for sleep Sabrina.”

After cleaning all my orifices Sabrina and Madeline set me in my sleeping position then Sabrina administered a barbiturate cocktail that sent me into R.E.M. sleep for the prescribed nine hours. My syndrome wreaked havoc with my sleep cycle and I almost died because I went for six days without proper sleep. Since being put into artificial dream states I never dreamt of walking, only flying.

The next day Sabrina and Madeline drove me to the botanical garden where I moved through the indoor arboretum to enjoy the fragrant, earthy fruit of other people’s hard work.

“How are you today Miss Von Straud?” Harry, the curator, always welcomed me with a gap toothed smile.

“Quite well thank you. The Orange blossoms are particularly fragrant today. Mommy can’t thank you enough for your help with the figs and almonds. I never knew they could survive in this climate.”

Henry had a small creature wrapped around his left wrist that glowed with an eerie bioluminescent shade of blue.

“I’m only happy to help. Your mother’s roses are going to win big this year. My lilacs are nearly in bloom and I think you will enjoy the new orchids in the hot house. I’ve got to trim the hedges, my new apprentice seems to think that square edges are a thing of the past. Kids, what will we do with them?” He said with a chuckle. “Enjoy the morning Miss Von Straud.”

I moved through the plants and trees as quietly as my battery powered chair allowed. Only a pair of young lovers and mothers with toddlers were there with me. Children watched me with open curiosity and adults crinkled their brows with sympathy. Several had creatures attached to their bodies.

“Excuse me but I’m about to turn the spray on to water these hanging baskets and you’ll get wet if you stay here.”

The voice belonged to an employee I had not met before. I turned slightly and observed a stunningly beautiful man with jet black hair and beard, blue eyes, and a physique that belonged on the cover of romance novels.

“My name is Abigale Von Straud.”

“Michael.” He smiled.

There was no creature attached to him.

“If you move over there you’ll be out of the way of the water but able to see these beauties.”

“Thank you Michael.”

I would never know the pleasure or intimacy of a husband, nor the warmth and suppleness of an infant feeding at my breast. I used my multiclaw to pluck a white flower blossom from an almond tree.

“It’s very beautiful.” Spoke a voice behind me.

If I could breathe on my own I would have taken in a startled breath because the man snuck up on me and I hated that. My life support chair contained a computer that adjusted my respiration and heart rate to a fixed ratio. Because my heart was now racing my respirations per minute were increased to keep up with it.

“I like beautiful things, don’t you?” He said.

The man who I had encountered in the drug store moved in front of me. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn several days before.

“I can see why you like it here in this garden during the cool of the day, but wouldn’t you rather be in the world with other people?”

I activated the panic button on my chair. Katrina would arrive in seconds. I cursed myself for telling her to wander where she wanted to. An eight-year old child could kill me and here I was, with a dangerous person.

“Go away, my bodyguards will be here in seconds.”

“They didn’t receive your distress call because you aren’t in distress, at least any distress you are aware of.”

Michael appeared from behind an apple tree and looked inquiringly from the stranger to me.

“Is everything alright Miss Von Straud?” He asked.

“Hello Michael, how are you today? I thought you would be elsewhere.” said the dangerous man.

Michael moved between the man and my chair. I felt an instant sense of relief as he did so.

“I’m fine now. Perhaps you should introduce me to your…friend.”

“His name isn’t important.”

The creature wrapped around the man’s leg opened its eyes and glared at Michael with wrath. I had never seen one of them do this before.

The man wiped his grimy hand on his pants and said, “Actually I’m kind of surprised that you don’t know my name. I’m quite popular among some people you know.”

Michael leaned over to my ear and whispered, “I can take you away from him if you wish.”

“Yes, please.”

“You hear her. You can’t go where you aren’t invited.” Michael said.

The man moved as quickly as a cat behind me and out of my view at the same instant Sabrina and Katrina came running up to us from a stand of potted fig trees. A problem with my urine bag forced me to cut short my outing and I never did manage to speak with Michael that day about the dangerous man.

Yuri played the final two and a half octave chromatic run of sextuplets and held the final note out until it faded to nothing.

“Perfect! Wonderful playing Yuri.”

“It is a nice piece you write. Too much fast in the second movement for me to read perfectly but is good, tea?”

“I can understand Russian Yuri, why don’t you ever speak it with me?”

“My English needing help. You help me, yes?”

Madeline poured him a steaming cup of scalding hot tea which he drank on one giant gulp. He held his cup out for more and Madeline obliged him with a smile. She was somewhat taken with him but unusually shy in his presence.

“Is good tea, good music too. You want I play again or practice more?”

“I’d like to hear the first sixty bars again. Next time you come I will have Elise accompany you on the piano.”

As Yuri played I made notes on parts that needed to change or be re-worked. My goal was to write one good piece every year which would be performed on my birthday. So far I had given six performances which was something of a miracle because my physicians all said I would only live to give one.

After Yuri left Madeline and Sabrina ministered to my physical needs then left me alone to work and study.

Although my physical self is restricted to this husk of a body my mind has never been dormant. Mommy and Daddy spared no expense to educate me with private tutors and the best curriculums money could buy. I was fluent in French and Italian, conversant in Spanish and Russian. I could read Greek and a little Hebrew. Occasionally my mind traveled down the path of the “might have been.” I Imagine myself as a concert pianist, traveling the globe and meeting other educated, sophisticated people.

Of course I have this experience through the miracle of the internet but it is not the same as being able to hold a glass of tonic in your hand and laugh at another person’s witty remark.

The one and only time I met a person in the flesh with whom I had corresponded on line with was uncomfortable for both of us. My intellectual and spiritual passions are poured into writing music and I am largely satisfied with relating to a small circle of musicians who regularly rehearse and perform my works. My parents stop by several times each week and in this way I am not lacking for companionship, mostly.

Michael’s blue eyes peered out at me from my vivid memory. I had seen handsome men before, men who worked at daddy’s bank and wore expensive clothing and had perfect hands and teeth. I obsessed with Michael to the point of day dreaming an entire half hour away on his calves.

Why was this man, in particular, taking space in my consciousness than no person had ever had before? This feeling, unquenchable desire, made me uncomfortable in the extreme. I did not understand why.

My day was ending. Time for sleep had come and I summoned my girls and submitted to what I thought would be a refreshing, comforting sleep.

I was standing, standing up, without mechanical support, by the power of my legs…my legs. I was breathing, breathing on my own, diaphragm pulling around lungs creating a vacuum that inflated those air sacs.

Am I dreaming? I can’t be dreaming because I can feel all of this. Am I dead?

“Is this heaven? Is it hell?” I asked aloud.

I was talking, talking with a voice no one had listened to since I was eight years old. The sound of my own voice shocked me. It was my mother’s voice, a light contralto with an Eastern Atlantic accent.

“Oh!” I cried out and listened to the sound of my own voice. The sound echoed off of the cliffs behind me. Moving this body felt completely natural and completely new at the same time. My hands ran down my body, caressing the smooth skin and wondering at my perfection and nakedness. Tears fell from my eyes and I wiped them from my face and put my fingers in my mouth.

“Salty!” I laughed a maniacal joyous laugh. My legs moved and I did a little dance on the rock ledge I was standing on.  After a few minutes I took stock of my surroundings.

An ocean was in front of me, cold black waves with whitecaps beneath a blue sky completely free of clouds. A yellow disk of the sun was directly above my head, it was noon wherever this was. Bracingly cold spray from a wave breaking on the rocks to my left hit my face with a shocking sting. I walked down the ledge and across a beach of gray and black fist sized stones. They were worn smooth by the tide and warm against the soles of my feet. Seeing nothing on the horizon I turned and looked at the cliff face behind me. It was a vertical wall whose top I could see but never reach without some ropes. A gust of wind blew cool air across my naked arms and my olfactory nerves detected the scent of fish, bread, and smoke mixed in with the salty air.

“Hello Abigail, would you like some breakfast?”

He was sitting on a rock holding an iron frying pan with pieces of fish sizzling in it.

“It’s almost ready. I drizzled some ocean water in the pan to get some salt into the mix. For creatures that live in a salty ocean they have little salt in their bodies that we can taste.”

The dangerous man from the drug store and garden smiled at me. Fear gripped my heart and I wondered what his intentions were.

“I intend nothing but good things for you, Abigail Von Straud. Come and eat, it gets dry if you keep in the pan too long.”

Whether it was a dream or not, I was hungry. For the first time in years I would not be receiving nourishment from a bag of liquid pumped directly into my stomach. Sitting beside him on the rock I momentarily forgot how people ate together because I took all my “meals” alone, or while I worked on my studies.

“Do you want to say grace or shall I?” He asked.

“I only remember what I said as a little girl.”

“That will do.”

I bowed my head and closed my eyes. “We thank thee O Lord for the gifts we are about to receive through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

“Amen. Now, take the break.” He pulled two bread rolls from his jacket pocket, still steaming and warm and broke them in two with a flourish. “Put the fish between the bread or scoop it out of the pan.”

Doing as he instructed I lifted the morsel of food to my lips then paused. This would be the first piece of food that passed my lips since my seventh birthday party.

“I know this is only a dream.” I said to the man. “But, thank you.”

“Thanks are all that I ask dear girl.”

Flavor exploded on my tongue. Who could have believed that white fish and bread could taste so good? Chewing slowly I relished each bite and wondered vaguely if the chemical cocktail that put me under was responsible for my vivid hallucination.

“Here’s some water.” He handed me an old fashioned military canteen and I drank the warm but pure water in three long draughts. I finished the roll and the man handed me another and I finished the rest of the fish. Satisfied I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of mingled flavors on my lips and teeth. My fingers were sticky with bread and fish oil.

“Use the last of the bread to wipe your hands off, then Zuzu will take them.”

A little Chiauwawa jumped out of his coat and began dancing on its hind legs around me. I laughed. The dog’s bulging eyes and open mouth made it look as though it were smiling at me. He barked.

“Go ahead and give it to him. He gets yippy if you make him wait too long.”

On cue Zuzu barked incessantly. I held out the balls of greasy bread and felt his tongue and mouth tickle my fingertips as he snatched them from my hands. Zuzu licked his lips with his little pink tongue and went sniffing around the rocks. I walked to the edge of the water and bent down to wash my hands clean. As I stood up I looked out at the horizon. There was a boat on the horizon.

A small sailboat, like the one daddy kept at the marina on Cape Cod was cutting through the water towards us. A figure I could not distinguish stood at the wheel, face obscured by the billowing white sails. There was no dock or pier in sight and I wondered where the boat was headed.

“Who is that?”

“It’s Michael. He’s come to rescue you.”

“From what?”

“You can’t stay here Abigail. You’re hemmed in on all sides with no food or water and the cliffs go on for miles down this stretch of coast. This is the only landing. You’d drown long before you reached another beach.”

“I will just swim out to the boat with Michael.”

I was mildly irritated that the man could not see the simple, logical solution to this problem.

“No, you see Abigail, if you go with Michael your life will continue as it always has. You’ll live with endless trips to the arboretum, annual concerts of your music, and having all your needs taken care of by loving, dedicated servants.”

“You are describing my life as it always has been and always will be.”

I looked out at the boat and saw a man with black hair and a beard standing behind the wheel. The small craft tacked and the sails went down. Michael waved and shouted something that was lost in the wind. I waved backed.

“Well, thank you for the fish. If you are ever in my dream again I will have Madeline make you the best New England Clam Chowder you have ever…”

“Madeline’s dead.”

From the boat Michael signaled for me to swim the fifty or so yards out to him. He threw a life vest attached to a long line towards me. The tide brought it closer.

“What do you mean, ‘Madeline is dead’?”

A cold breeze kicked in suddenly and very dark clouds blew in from the coast at an astonishing speed. The sun was occluded. I shivered and my nakedness disturbed me for the first time that day. The dangerous man had a creature wrapped around his waist and thigh again.

“What is that thing wrapped around you. Why do other people have them?”

“You mean Zuzu?” He patted the creature’s head and it blinked once with it’s dragon like eyes.

“I thought that Zuzu was a chihuwawa?”

The yellow life vest rode in on a wave and I picked up it and shook out some of the water.

“Abigail, your only choice is to climb the cliff to the top.”

I laughed, it felt good to laugh. “You are joking. I have no rope and it is at least three hundred feet high. I have never climbed before and there is a boat right there. I am holding a life vest attached to the vest attached to the rope. This is a no brainer!”

“You’re wrong Abigail. The cliff is five hundred fifty two feet three inches high and I don’t want you to climb it with a rope. I want you to climb the cliff freestyle.”

My mouth opened involuntarily as the rain poured down on us.

“You are insane! Why should I trust you?”

“Why should you trust him?”

“He has given me a life line and a life jacket, what have you given me?”

“My word.”

“That is not enough for me.”

“Abigail, it’s all you’ll get. You’re running out of time. The tide’s coming in and soon this beach will be underwater. You need to choose Abigail.”

Torrents of cold rain poured down on us, slashing our bodies in a sometimes sideways spray that mixed with the ocean’s own assault our on bodies.

Indecision. Everything in my being screamed, “Take the life vest, get into the boat!” But something held me back.

“Miss Von Straud, what are you waiting for? Get that jacket on and let me pull you in to safety. You’re going to drown.”

A wave crashed across my legs, knocking me down. I held onto the life vest and felt rocks cutting my legs.

“Madeline!” I cried out.

“Madeline’s dead and I’m going to take a bite out of your apple.” said the dangerous man.

“I do not know what to do. This is insane.” I unzipped the life vest and stopped.

“Why did you tell me Madeline is dead?”

“Madeline is dead and I am going to take a huge bite out of your apple.”

“What?”

Michael shouted from the boat, which was bobbing like a cork in a disturbed bathtub.

“Miss Von Straud I can’t hold the boat here much longer or I’ll be dashed to pieces on the rocks. You have to come now.”

“His name is Michael, what is your name?” I asked.

“I am…”

I felt the wave’s presence a micro second before it hit us. The man was swept under but I was carried backwards towards the cliff. I tried to stand up and as I did so my foot became caught between a cleft in the rock as another huge wave moved over my head. I chocked on saltwater.

“I am going to die.” I thought.

A loud klaxon sounded in my ears as the tide came in, engulfing my body, drowning me. My final thought before losing consciousness was that it was all for nothing.

I awoke in a hospital surrounded by my parents, Sabrina, my doctor and two of my father’s security detail.

“Abby, can you hear me?” Blink twice if you understand me.” Daddy said.

I blinked twice and moved my fingers to use my voice synthesizer but it was not there.

“You’re at Brigham and Women’s hospital because you aspirated into your lungs. We don’t know why. You’re going to be fine. Do you understand?”

I blinked twice again.

“You can go home tomorrow.” said the doctor, who nodded to my parents then left with the security detail.

Something was wrong. Sabrina had been crying and my mother was wringing her hands. Her eyes were reddened too.

“We have some bad news Abby.”

Madeline was not there in the room with us. If I had aspirated an alarm would have gone off and Maddie would have used a suction to clear my lungs. Where was…

“Madeline died yesterday. That’s why you’re here. She suffered a massive brain embolism or a stroke and was on the couch when Sabrina came to relieve her in the morning.” Daddy put his hand on my shoulder.

My tears flowed freely. My heart began pounding and the ventilator rushed to keep up with it. An alarm sounded and the doctor came back in and looked at the monitors.

“Let’s get her sedated.”

In the weeks that followed every changed and nothing changed. We buried Madeline, it broke my heart. Sabrina interviewed several replacements and found all of them wanting. Mother put her foot down and promoted Lydia, one of the more than capable part time workers. Sabrina, reticent as a matter of course spoke more than I had ever heard her speak since we hired her. Details of her life flowed out of her like blood from an arterial wound.

My recovery was swift and without complications like pneumonia. No one said that I could have died, not aloud. Two months after Madeline’s death I returned to my violin sonata. It was gone.

Nothing was more sacred to me than my music. I lived to express myself through it and that piece represented six months of painstaking work. The backup copy I archived on disk was gone. The paper copy kept in my file cabinet was gone. Yuri was in an apoplectic fit because his copy was missing.

Father’s computer genius could find no trace of the lost work and it drove me to madness pondering it. I owned the best computer money could buy and it had worked flawlessly for years. I checked my other files and found them safe and sound, but when I went to open them only measure after measure of empty white and black staff lines greeted me. Years of work, gone without explanation. I cried and cried, sent into a black despair that for the first time in my life caused me to consider suicide as an option for my life.

My rage turned outward. Thoughtless words scarred those whom I loved most. Sabrina left in tears after I accused her of sabotaging my files out of jealousy. Damage upon damage. It wasn’t until I overheard a technician speaking with Lydia that my universe became smaller and larger at the same time.

“I’m surprised that this could happen to a Mac. They’re made with better parts than most P.C.’s and they generally last longer and have fewer crashes.” said the technician.

“I thought you said she had an Apple computer?” Lydia asked.

“Macintosh, Mac’s, are just another name for Apple computers, like a brand name.”

“Well something sure took a bite of out her apple.” said Lydia.

I had no memory of my dream about Michael and the other man until that moment and it returned to me like an avalanche. My heart rate exploded in my chest and alarms went off. Once again I lost consciousness.

The doctors put me in a medically induced coma in an attempt to slow my heart rate. I awoke, two days later.

My mother said, “You could have died honey.”

As if it were the worst thing that could happen to me.

A month later I was sketching out the theme for a string quartet. Three new computers and an automated back up server would save my music and other work to print, CD, and to an off site computer at Daddy’s bank every minute. Never again would I lose anything so dear to me. Some people had sent me video recordings of my birthday concerts and almost all the music I had lost was at least available in that form. A curious thing happened when I watched some of the recordings with Sabrina. The music I thought was very good seemed ordinary to me. It was almost as though I was watching someone else’s mediocre efforts at being a “serious” composer, which I thought I was. Madeline once told me that growing up she thought her back yard was the most pristine Garden of Eden on her entire street.

“After a semester at college I came home and realized that it was small and kind of empty. It was a let down.”

That was the feeling I had while watching performances of my “serious” music.

“I am ready for sleep now Lydia.”

“Are you looking forward to the Arboretum tomorrow? I know I am.” She said.

“Yes, very much so. It is very peaceful there.”

Sleep took me.

I awoke standing on the same rocky beach I dreamt of the day Madeline died.

“No, not again! Why are you doing this to me? Why, why, why!” I shouted.

My cries of anguish echoed off the black, rocky cliff face, but even as I shouted part of me was delighting in the ability to breathe, stand, walk, and talk on my own. Even if it was a nightmare it was not entirely unpleasant. After all, my body was restored to me without my neuro-muscular disease.

I took in a deep breath and enjoyed the salty tang of the ocean’s air. The sky was again perfectly blue and clear of clouds. The sun however was falling from its zenith. I turned around because I knew there was someone staring at me.

“Are you ready to climb?” asked the dangerous man whose name I had not heard yet.

“Do you enjoy sneaking up on naked women when they are sun bathing?”

“If we begin our climb now we can make it to the top by dinner.” He pulled his leg to his chest and stretched out his arms to limber up.

“You offered me breakfast last time.” My voice sounded like my mother’s voice. Would I ever hear my own voice coming from my own teen age daughter?

“A wonderful meal awaits you at the top.” He pointed up.

“You never told me your name.”

“Actually I did, you simply weren’t listening.”

“Don’t listen to him!”

Michael yelled from the boat on the water which appeared without my notice.

“He’s lying to you Miss Von Straud. It was he who erased your music and he who killed Madeline. He hates you and only wants to take away your life as you know it. Take the life vest Miss Von Straud. Come to me and I will give you everything you want. Your music will never be lost again!” he yelled across the water.

“Did you kill Madeline and make my music disappear?” I asked.

“Madeline’s days were complete. I needed to get your attention and caused your music to disappear. I promise that if you climb, your life will never be the same.” He took off his jacket to reveal colorful athletic clothing underneath. A harness encircled his waist and he began adjusting a rope.

“What kind of a promise is that?” I asked.

“The only one you’ll get from me right now.” He smiled when he said this but it was a knowing smile.

“Miss Von Straud, Your only safety is with me in the boat.” Michael threw the life vest as he had before. He was beautiful. My body tingled with desire I had never known. I flushed as my heart beat quickly in my chest. Michael smiled at me and like a princess, I almost fainted. I looked back at the cliff behind me then out at the water again.

“What, no storm this time?”

“The storm wasn’t my doing last time. It was his.” He nodded in Michael’s direction.

“What happened to Zuzu?”
“He’s also waiting for you at the top, although you might not recognize him at first.”

“Miss Von Straud, don’t listen. He’s an evil, evil liar who wants nothing more than to see your body wrecked on the rocks when you fall. He will cut the rope and leave you to die!”

“Is that true? Can I be hurt if I climb?” I asked.

“Only if you let go.”

The rope he was coiling appeared to be strong.

I laughed, “Touché.”

“You can be hurt if you let go Abigail, but I won’t let you be destroyed if you hang on to me.”

“Miss Von Straud, take the life vest before it’s too late!” Michael shrieked.

The yellow life vest was swept up on the rocks near my feet.

“What will happen if I wait here until I wake up again?” I asked.

“I am patient, but not infinitely so. If you don’t choose this cliff will fall on you and you will be crushed beneath the rubble. If you choose to climb and fall your body may be damaged.”

I laughed out loud so hard that tears flowed down my face, the irony!

“A broken body?! Is that all? I have one of those now!”

“I know.” He said.

“Will I get my music back if I climb?” I asked.

“I promise that your life will never be the same. I make no promises about your music.”

“Miss Von Straud, please, I’m everything you ever wanted. I’m your dream lover. I’m going to make you forget all about your pain. You’ll never hurt again. If you put the vest on I will make everything better for you.”

Michael’s voice sounded almost hysterical. He was beautiful and strong. My mouth watered when I looked at him. The other man, in contrast, was plain. If I saw him on the street I would have passed him by without a thought. Michael’s gaze pierced my soul and I wanted to give myself to him, but something was not right about him.

“If I climb will you be there at the top?”

“If you climb I will go on ahead of you to show you where the best hand holds and foot holds are. I’ll take you around the most dangerous spots.”

“Miss Von Straud, please, I beg you to come and find peace and safety with me. Everything will be just as it…”

“I do not want things to be the way they always have been.” I yelled at him. “I want something different! I have never climbed anything in my life and if I am going to die I might as well die doing something wonderful.”

Where those words came from I can not say. They were in me but not thought of before I spoke them. As soon as I said them I realized them to be the absolute truth regarding how I felt about my life.

Michael’s face turned red with rage and his teeth were bared as he spoke.

“If you follow him your body will lie broken on the rocks. Gulls and rats will tear the flesh from your dying body while you watch, unable to prevent them from eating you. Is that what you want Miss Von Straud?”

“Michael, it is my choice. Is it not?” I said.

In response Michael shook the rope that was attached to the life vest as hard as he could, yelling at me to put it on. As he did so the rope turned into a chain, clanking on the rocks near my feet. I looked down. The life vest at my feet had turned into a straight jacket with straps and locks.

“Oh! What is this?” I asked.

Michael took an oar and began smashing the side of the boat. “Miss Von Straud, put it on, put it on, put it on!” He roared continually until his voice was hoarse and his eyes bulged from their sockets. After a few minutes only a hissing sound emanated from his throat. His boat seemed lower in the water than a few minutes ago. Was it sinking?

I turned away and watched the man powder his hands with rosin from a bag attached to his harness. I did the same with mine and he helped me put on a harness that had a canteen of water and its own bag of rosin. He attached our ropes together and made sure I was secured to him. Grabbing an outcropping of rock he stretched out his hands and looked back at me with a smile.

“Are you ready Abigail?”

“Very ready, but you never told me your name.”

“Yes, I did. You just weren’t listening. Come up Abby.”

He ascended.

I followed.

The End