rest upon her, and Kit felt the power of them touch her with the force of an electric shock. It was
as though two needles had thrust themselves through her body.
“You must have homework to do, Kathryn,” Madame said. Her voice was like steel. “I would suggest that you go upstairs to your
room and get started on it. Natalie is responsible for her own actions. She does not need you to defend her.”
“But she only—” Kit began, and the words faded from her lips under the penetration of that black stare. She tried to look
at Natalie, but she was unable to move her eyes. Against her will, she found herself moving from her position by the kitchen
sink.
As though of their own accord her two legs began to carry her step by step across the kitchen and through the door into the
dining room.
And into the outer hall.
And up the stairs.
And down the dark hall to her room.
When she closed her eyes the music began. No longer did it hold back until she slept; it seemed now to lie just behind her
eyelids, waiting for them to drop, so that as soon as she went into inner darkness the music was there. With increasing power,
it took over the edges of her mind and crept relentlessly toward its core.
I’m dreaming, Kit told herself firmly, but she was not completely sure that was true. She was too conscious of the pillow beneath her cheek,
of the blanket across her shoulders. She knew that she was cold.
If I open my eyes, she thought, it will be gone .
But will it? an inner voice whispered. Are you certain?
DEAR TRACY,
THIS IS GOING TO SEEM LIKE A CRAZY LETTER. I WISH YOU WERE HERE SO I COULD TALK TO YOU IN PERSON. YOU’RE ALWAYS SO RATIONAL,
I’M SURE YOU COULD COME UP WITH AN ANSWER, AND YET, WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT, I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU THE QUESTION.
ALL I KNOW IS THAT SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG. SOMETIMES I LOOK AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR, AND IT’S LIKE LOOKING AT A STRANGER.
THE FACE IS THE SAME, EXCEPT THINNER—WE ALL SEEM TO BE GETTING THINNER—AND THERE IS AN ODD LOOK TO IT. IT MAY BE THE CIRCLES
UNDER MY EYES.
BUT IT’S NOT JUST PHYSICAL. WE’RE CHANGING IN OTHER WAYS TOO. TAKE LYNDA, FOR INSTANCE. SHE HAS STOPPED COMING TO CLASSES
AND JUST STAYS IN HER ROOM ALL DAY, AND HALF THE TIME SHE DOESN’T EVEN COME DOWN TO MEALS. MADAME DURET HAS A TRAY SENT UP
TO HER, BUT WHEN IT COMES BACK THERE’S HARDLY ANY FOOD GONE FROM IT. WHEN LYNDA DOES COME DOWN, ONCE IN A GREAT WHILE, SHE
LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE WHITE GHOST, ALL SKIN AND BONES AND BIG STARING EYES. AND THE EYES DON’T SEEM TO FOCUS ON US. THEY LOOK
THROUGH US OR PAST US, AS THOUGH THEY ARE SEEING SOMETHING THE REST OF US CAN’T.
WHEN YOU TALK TO LYNDA SHE ANSWERS IN THIS ODD, VAGUE WAY, AS IF HER MIND IS SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND SOMETIMES THE ANSWERS DON’T
GO WITH OUR QUESTIONS. THERE ARE OTHER TIMES WHEN SHE DOESN’T SEEM TO KNOW WE’RE HERE. IT’S JUST PLAIN SCARY, AND YESTERDAY
RUTH WENT TO MADAME DURET AND SUGGESTED THAT LYNDA MIGHT NEED A DOCTOR.
MADAME SAID SHE WAS SURE THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG. SHE SAID LYNDA HAS JUST AWAKENED TO THE DISCOVERY OF HER TALENT AS AN ARTIST
AND IS WORKING VERY HARD, AND THAT IT’S NO WONDER SHE IS TIRED, BUT THAT IT IS A GOOD KIND OF TIRED, THE SORT THAT COMES WHEN
YOU REALLY ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING. IS IT POSSIBLE THAT SOMETHING “GOOD” CAN MAKE A PERSON LOOK AND ACT THE WAY LYNDA DOES NOW?
AND THEN THERE’S SANDY. SHE, TOO, IS CHANGING. SHE DREAMS A LOT, AND SHE TELLS ME THAT IT IS ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM, THE ONE
ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO COMES AND STANDS BY HER BED. AT FIRST IT USED TO FRIGHTEN HER, BUT SOMEHOW IT DOESN’T SEEM TO ANYMORE.
SHE SAYS THE WOMAN’S NAME IS ELLIS, AND SHE SPEAKS OF HER AS THOUGH SHE WERE A REAL PERSON.
TRACY, AM I LOSING MY MIND? BECAUSE I DREAM TOO. IN MY DREAMS I AM AT THE PIANO PLAYING, NOT PLAYING POORLY THE WAY I USUALLY
DO, BUT VERY WELL, AND THERE’S NEVER ANY SHEET MUSIC IN FRONT OF ME. IN THE BEGINNING THE MUSIC WAS ALWAYS SOFT AND
as though two needles had thrust themselves through her body.
“You must have homework to do, Kathryn,” Madame said. Her voice was like steel. “I would suggest that you go upstairs to your
room and get started on it. Natalie is responsible for her own actions. She does not need you to defend her.”
“But she only—” Kit began, and the words faded from her lips under the penetration of that black stare. She tried to look
at Natalie, but she was unable to move her eyes. Against her will, she found herself moving from her position by the kitchen
sink.
As though of their own accord her two legs began to carry her step by step across the kitchen and through the door into the
dining room.
And into the outer hall.
And up the stairs.
And down the dark hall to her room.
When she closed her eyes the music began. No longer did it hold back until she slept; it seemed now to lie just behind her
eyelids, waiting for them to drop, so that as soon as she went into inner darkness the music was there. With increasing power,
it took over the edges of her mind and crept relentlessly toward its core.
I’m dreaming, Kit told herself firmly, but she was not completely sure that was true. She was too conscious of the pillow beneath her cheek,
of the blanket across her shoulders. She knew that she was cold.
If I open my eyes, she thought, it will be gone .
But will it? an inner voice whispered. Are you certain?
DEAR TRACY,
THIS IS GOING TO SEEM LIKE A CRAZY LETTER. I WISH YOU WERE HERE SO I COULD TALK TO YOU IN PERSON. YOU’RE ALWAYS SO RATIONAL,
I’M SURE YOU COULD COME UP WITH AN ANSWER, AND YET, WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT, I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU THE QUESTION.
ALL I KNOW IS THAT SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG. SOMETIMES I LOOK AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR, AND IT’S LIKE LOOKING AT A STRANGER.
THE FACE IS THE SAME, EXCEPT THINNER—WE ALL SEEM TO BE GETTING THINNER—AND THERE IS AN ODD LOOK TO IT. IT MAY BE THE CIRCLES
UNDER MY EYES.
BUT IT’S NOT JUST PHYSICAL. WE’RE CHANGING IN OTHER WAYS TOO. TAKE LYNDA, FOR INSTANCE. SHE HAS STOPPED COMING TO CLASSES
AND JUST STAYS IN HER ROOM ALL DAY, AND HALF THE TIME SHE DOESN’T EVEN COME DOWN TO MEALS. MADAME DURET HAS A TRAY SENT UP
TO HER, BUT WHEN IT COMES BACK THERE’S HARDLY ANY FOOD GONE FROM IT. WHEN LYNDA DOES COME DOWN, ONCE IN A GREAT WHILE, SHE
LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE WHITE GHOST, ALL SKIN AND BONES AND BIG STARING EYES. AND THE EYES DON’T SEEM TO FOCUS ON US. THEY LOOK
THROUGH US OR PAST US, AS THOUGH THEY ARE SEEING SOMETHING THE REST OF US CAN’T.
WHEN YOU TALK TO LYNDA SHE ANSWERS IN THIS ODD, VAGUE WAY, AS IF HER MIND IS SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND SOMETIMES THE ANSWERS DON’T
GO WITH OUR QUESTIONS. THERE ARE OTHER TIMES WHEN SHE DOESN’T SEEM TO KNOW WE’RE HERE. IT’S JUST PLAIN SCARY, AND YESTERDAY
RUTH WENT TO MADAME DURET AND SUGGESTED THAT LYNDA MIGHT NEED A DOCTOR.
MADAME SAID SHE WAS SURE THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG. SHE SAID LYNDA HAS JUST AWAKENED TO THE DISCOVERY OF HER TALENT AS AN ARTIST
AND IS WORKING VERY HARD, AND THAT IT’S NO WONDER SHE IS TIRED, BUT THAT IT IS A GOOD KIND OF TIRED, THE SORT THAT COMES WHEN
YOU REALLY ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING. IS IT POSSIBLE THAT SOMETHING “GOOD” CAN MAKE A PERSON LOOK AND ACT THE WAY LYNDA DOES NOW?
AND THEN THERE’S SANDY. SHE, TOO, IS CHANGING. SHE DREAMS A LOT, AND SHE TELLS ME THAT IT IS ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM, THE ONE
ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO COMES AND STANDS BY HER BED. AT FIRST IT USED TO FRIGHTEN HER, BUT SOMEHOW IT DOESN’T SEEM TO ANYMORE.
SHE SAYS THE WOMAN’S NAME IS ELLIS, AND SHE SPEAKS OF HER AS THOUGH SHE WERE A REAL PERSON.
TRACY, AM I LOSING MY MIND? BECAUSE I DREAM TOO. IN MY DREAMS I AM AT THE PIANO PLAYING, NOT PLAYING POORLY THE WAY I USUALLY
DO, BUT VERY WELL, AND THERE’S NEVER ANY SHEET MUSIC IN FRONT OF ME. IN THE BEGINNING THE MUSIC WAS ALWAYS SOFT AND
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