Sing for Me Read online

  Sing for Me

  By

  Penelope Reece

  Sing for Me

  Published by Penelope Reece

  Copyright © 2013 Penelope Reece

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any other means, or stored in a database retrieval system without the prior written permission of the Author. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my husband who will always and forever be my Raoul. And to my niece whose name I stole. And lastly, to my great grandmother who is always in my thoughts.

  Prologue

  The audience rose, their hands clapping in a eurhythmic cadence. It had been another successful show. And as always, they had loved her. This should have pleased the young performer as she bowed before them on stage, but it did not. It only meant that yet another performance was at an end, and the long night was about to begin.

  And the nights, belonged to him.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage, each beat slower than the next. A gradual slow down as anxiety pumped through her system. Thump… thump… thump. It slowed to the point where the clapping became exploding fireworks. Or gun fire. Each pop exploded inside her chest. She was a deer being hunted. And as she stood there, her hand inside his, she wondered if the next pop would hit its target, taking her down. She prayed it would.

  It was fight or fly, neither of which was possible, not when he had a hold of her so tightly. She caught a glance of him from the corner of her eye. His masked face a brilliant silver that glittered in the light. A Venetian rendition of the famous theatrical mask depicting comedy. Underneath, would be another mask. How many he wore, she couldn’t be sure. Beneath them, would be his handsome face. But that too he wore like one of his paper masks. And he wore this face so well that no one except her knew of the vileness of his soul.

  The masked magician released her as he waved one gloved hand in front of his face. The silver mask disappeared as a purple and red one hung it is place.

  The audience cheered, some even whistled. He bowed once more, a graceful dip of his head. And to further ignite the audience he grabbed her, swung her around, and against him.

  With her back pressed into his chest, she swayed in succumbing desire. His mouth caressed her open palm, while her eyes stared in silent horror at his mask. Trepidation for the coming night washed over her in sheets of freezing rain. Her body shivered against his and she closed her eyes.

  The sounds erupting from the audience told her they were enjoying every minute of her enraptured doom.

  If only they knew. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so giving in their applause. They didn’t know the man beneath the masks, not like she did. They didn’t know that tonight and almost every night, she’d become his slave.

  Locked away in her dressing room, she was a prisoner inside the theatre. He’d forbidden her from leaving. It’d made it impossible to do so.

  While she stayed locked up he’d make love to her with his voice, expecting the same from her in return. He’d kiss her cheeks, her hair, her fingers, and weep at her feet. He would hold her in his arms and she would sing. Her voice would fill the room with dreams of love and passion. Her perfect soprano’s voice was her mask that she used to hide the terror that ravaged her soul.

  The curtain fell and the cast escaped to their smaller dressing rooms to change and head for home. Away from the others, she walked to her own dressing room lavishly bedecked with stunning bouquets of roses and carnations awash in hues of red and pink. The smell of them overpoweringly strong as their silken petals perfumed the air. It was the familiar stench of a funeral home. She felt dead. Her room was her coffin. And the magician was Death.

  Sitting down at her small vanity table, she brushed her hair. Unlike the rest of the cast, she wasn’t allowed to remove her costume. He loved seeing her in the Renaissance style wedding gown. She wore it in the last scene when the innocent maiden married the evil magician. It was the gown that he insisted she wear on the day of their actual wedding.

  The wooden brush fell onto the marble top vanity before bouncing off and hitting the floor. She covered her face in her trembling hands and struggled to keep her tears from spilling forth.

  He hated to see her cry. And her tears would only send him into a deranged fit. He’d demand to know why she didn’t love him. He’d throw things. Break things. And when there was nothing else to destroy, he’d grab her roughly and force her to admit her love for him. Sometimes he’d threaten to hurt all those that were dear to her.

  She’d been foolish enough to disobey him once, and it’d cost her dearly. She didn’t dare make the same mistake again. Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed it at her eyes and took a few calming breaths.

  She still had time. An hour at the most. Then everyone would leave. The theatre lights would be turned off, their overheated bulbs allowed to cool off for the night. As the red carpeted walls slowly absorbed all remaining echoes of tonight’s performance until they were silently locked away behind the walls, that’s when he’d come for her and say those words that made her shiver in dread.

  She picked up her hair brush and studied herself in the mirror. It would be so easy to break it. Just fling the brush against the glass and watch it shatter. No one would likely hear. All she need do was to pick up one of those jagged pieces. One quick thrust through the heart and it’d all be over. No more forced nightly rendezvous. No more pain or fear.

  Escape. It was what she wanted more than anything. And perhaps death was the only way. She raised her hand, the brush held tightly in her fist. Just do it. Break the mirror, and end it.

  She sat there for some time battling her indecision, her hand poised ready to hurtle the brush. When the door knob turned, she sighed, laid the brush gently on the table, squared her shoulders, and let her face become a mask.

  When he came into the room, the words, “Sing for me, mon ange,” pouring from his lips, she rose from the table and stood. Her green eyes gazing into his amber ones, she saw nothing but her own resignation. And knowing he had won, she opened her mouth and sang an ethereal melody of despair.

  Chapter One

  The trail that led to the old cemetery had once been made of gravel, but as the years trickled by, rain and the elements had done their worst until the trail was mostly dirt with a few small rocks scattered here and there. It was located just at the back of the Delta Gamma sorority house at the end of Greek Avenue.

  The cemetery was well known to the students at the university as being the perfect spot for the daring party goers who were tired of the same old boring house parties. It was also a great place to make out, if you were easily turned on by death.

  Most recently it had become the starting place of the school’s yearly zombie parade. Student’s, dressed like the walking dead, would rise up from behind tombstones to begin their slow and staggering walk toward downtown, grabbing and playfully biting any and all onlookers. Other than that, the cemetery, for the most part, sat quietly within the wooded terrain of central Indiana.

  Well at least it was thought to be quiet unless you were a member of Delta Gamma.

  If given a chance they’d tell it differently. To the girls of Delta Gamma, the large abandoned church that stood nestled in the midst of the graves was haunted. And should you scoff at this ridiculous notion, they’d strongly insist that on nights when the moon was full, its rays casting down upon the church, th
e stained glass would reflect the light in such a way that to any onlooker it would appear as though the light came from within the church instead of from without.

  If you stayed to watch, shadows could be seen rising up to fill the pews as ghostly voices filled the night. Their voices rising and falling with the dark melody of the organ that remained inside.

  Chloe Haskell tried not to think about the supposed spirits haunting the place as she made her way down the path. The surrounding trees broke up the September light until it was nothing more than a scattering of tiny Tinkerbelles flickering upon the ground.

  It was warm today, but not nearly as humid as it had been. A slight breeze fought its way between the opaque trees, its breathy chill prickling Chloe’s arms. Chloe rubbed them briskly and was glad she’d decided to wear jeans, unlike her friend Heather who shivered inside her short cutoffs and sweater.

  This past week, the evenings had gotten much cooler as fall approached. Its crisp breath puffing away the last remnants of summer – which judging by the few scatterings of yellow of leaves was not far off.

  As she watched her other friend, Jett, walking ahead, his long legged strides making it impossible for her to keep up, Chloe sighed. What was she doing out here?

  It was only a few days before fall classes, and Chloe hadn’t even bought her books or school supplies yet. What was wrong with her? She normally wasn’t such a procrastinator. But recently, she’d just kept letting her friends drag her off to dinners, movies, karaoke, and even laser tag, which she’d failed miserably at after a group of elementary school students had cornered her. Each kid shooting like crazy making her vest vibrate so much she thought it’d never stop.

  Well she shouldn’t blame her procrastinating habits on her friends. Most of those activities had been her idea, all except for karaoke and laser tag. Like laser tag, but without the guns and still including the vibrating, – for some reason the bass on the machines were always cranked to the roof – she hadn’t enjoyed karaoke either.

  Singing in front of others just wasn’t her forte, so instead she’d spent that long night silently listening to her friends sing their own renditions of ABBA, Guns N Roses, and even a Journey song or two.

  Now it was Saturday and getting ever so close to Monday and instead of heading over to the university bookstore she’d agreed to a picnic dinner and to spend the evening hanging out in the spooky old cemetery. What had she been thinking? Chloe hated ghosts and anything else that did the whole proverbial bump in the night thing.

  Being twenty, she was old enough to stop believing in ghosts and zombies. However, the mere idea of them still had her scampering through the apartment at night. Wasn’t that how she’d accidently broken the lamp? That would teach Heather not to buy modern lamps with shades that resembled a human head when the lights were off. Given her sometimes skittish nature, why the heck had Chloe agreed to this little fiasco?

  Besides, Monday classes would start, and she’d have no books. Why hadn’t she realized, until now, that the bookstore wasn’t open on Sundays? To make matters worse, she couldn’t even remember what classes she’d signed up for or their days and times. Seriously, what was wrong with her? Certainly she wasn’t suffering from a case of Senioritis, not this soon, not after only one year of college. Her freshman status was hardly over, and if she hoped to graduate, she’d have about three more years of this.

  The thought of three more years should have excited her, but instead it left her feeling empty. She couldn’t think of one thing that made her want to continue her schooling.

  If only she could decide on a major, then maybe her outlook would change. But as it stood now, she’d spent an entire year dissatisfied and disinterested in almost every class she’d taken.

  She’d spent her first year cramming an assortment of different courses into her schedule. From Art to interior design and from literature to folklore, she’d planned on staying within a creative field of study. Having no interest in the math or sciences, she’d stayed far away from them. She knew though that she’d eventually have to take them if she wanted to graduate.

  While her art class had been interesting, she’d ended up failing miserably as she’d painfully discovered she’d had no talent whatsoever with brush or color. She couldn’t even use the computer mouse and Photoshop.

  And when it came to decorating a single room using three assigned colors, she’d been totally lost. Her own sense of color was worse than that of the colorblind. No, she should rephrase that. Even the colorblind could decorate a room better than she could. What was she supposed to have done with orange, purple, and green? In the end her room had ended up looking like a large rotting pumpkin spewing out purple and green slime.

  At least literature and folklore had proven to be both enjoyable and easy. She’d done well in those classes. And while she’d enjoyed them, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue a career in them either.

  Why was finding the perfect career so hard? Maybe it was because she’d already had the perfect career, and given it up? It had been her dream ever since she’d been little. Even though she’d wanted to quit, needed to quit, it was still hard giving it up.

  Chloe shook her head, now wasn’t the time to dig up the past. Nor was it time for her to worry about her future. She still had plenty of time to find another field of study. It was just one of those days where her emotions ran a little too high. Everyone had days like that. When their spirits and minds were out of sorts, and life seemed to have little to no meaning.

  She’d soon get over it. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d been experiencing way too many of these melancholy days.

  It didn’t help that her closest friend was leaving the state because she wanted to spend the last month of her pregnancy with her parents in Ohio. Chloe wasn’t sure that Josie’s husband had liked the idea, but in the end he’d agreed. Josie had been ecstatic when she’d told Chloe the news. And even though she was happy for her friend, Chloe didn’t know how she’d be able to cope without her.

  Josie was both confidant and savior. Not to mention, the woman had been her constant companion for the past year. Without Josie, Chloe might not even be here today.

  Unconsciously Chloe touched the right side of her stomach between her ribs and her navel. Had it not been for Josie….No! She mustn’t think about it. It was all in the past. She needed to forget about it and get on with her life. But how could she do that when she couldn’t even figure out her future?

  If you don’t cheer up, I’ll have you treated for depression! Chloe inwardly berated herself.

  Chloe wished she could talk to Josie but her friend was busy packing, and was probably in no mood to hear Chloe complain about her lack of interest in school. She was twenty for pity’s sake! She was young and shouldn’t be in any hurry to figure out her life. And yet she continued to act as though she were some middle aged woman suffering from a mid life crisis.

  I guess that’s what starting a career at the age of seventeen then quitting at nineteen will do to a person. She thought and shifted the heavy cooler into her other hand.

  She needed to stop worrying. There was still plenty of time to figure it all out. Telling herself that today was the last day she’d allow herself to wallow in self-pity, Chloe tightened her hold on the cooler and tried to catch up with her friends. Her small and quick strides were no match for their long ones.

  Usually she didn’t mind her height, but today as she tried to lug the heavy cooler, while practically jogging, she cursed her short legs.

  “I wonder how much farther it’ll be until we get there?” Heather asked. Her grocery sack of bottled soda and plastic utensils rattling as she walked beside Jett.

  Her roommate, Heather, was a chestnut haired Amazon standing about three inches taller than Chloe. Though at five feet three inches, every woman seemed like an Amazon to her. And Jett who was taller than both Chloe and Heather, reminded her of a slender Viking with his shaggy blonde hair.

  As the two of them
walked side by side, their sun tanned skin a perfect match, Chloe thought they looked like models, or the ultimate power couple. They were both attractive drama majors who reminded Chloe of every famous dating couple.

  “It shouldn’t be too much farther.” Jett said.

  “Well at the rate we’re going it will be dark before we get there.” Heather looked back at Chloe and frowned. “Why are you walking so slow?”

  “Am I?” Chloe panted. “Cause it feels like I’m jogging.”

  Jett slowed to a stop and Heather followed suit giving time for Chloe to catch up.

  “Here,” Jett said and grabbed the heavy cooler out of her hands. “I’ll carry it for a while.”

  “It’s okay. I can carry it.” Chloe said and tried to grab the cooler but Jett swung it out of her reach. When he continued to hold it out of her reach, Chloe frowned and stuck out her bottom lip. “Then at least let me carry the lanterns.”

  Chloe badgered Jett until he gave in and handed Chloe the two electric lanterns before they started walking again. And soon, Jett and Heather were back in the lead, leaving Chloe to scurry behind them.

  Watching them together made her feel as though she were eavesdropping on their date. Heather had a major crush on Jett and, as far as Chloe knew, he had no idea. This was the biggest reason Chloe had agreed to go on this picnic of Heather’s.

  Earlier that morning, while Heather whined about her love for Jett over her cereal, Chloe had encouraged Heather to confess, which had resulted in Heather’s idea for a late night ghost hunt in the cemetery. And how did Chloe fit into all this? She’d asked Heather while buttering her toast only to be told that Jett would never agree to go if it were just the two of them.

  So here she was, wasting another day torn between regret and childish fear. But on the bright side, she was happy that Heather was going to spill the beans. Chloe thought that Jett and Heather would be great together. Not to mention it would make Chloe’s days a lot less stressful not having to listen to her roommate moaning over her own cowardice.