Ghost Music by Graham Masterton Page A

to discover what I really looked like. God, I loved those eyes. They reminded me of gray days and walks along wintry seashores, and that time of day when it gradually grows too gloomy to read, and you don’t switch on the light, but close the book instead.
    â€œDo you trust me?” she said, and there was a little catch in her throat, which she had to cough to clear.
    â€œOf course I trust you. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t? It’s just that this is all so goddamned
weird
. You giving me the Westerlunds’ keys like that. Flying here separately. Elsa and Felicia.
Two
Elsas, for Christ’s sake, and
two
Felicias. And I was talking to Axel, too, and he kept saying stuff about children, and how you had to make sacrifices to keep them safe. And then he was staring into the corner, all through supper, didn’t you notice that? It was like he could see a ghost standing there.”
    I paused, and gestured toward the door. “And then Axel andTilda arguing like that. I mean, for Christ’s sake, Kate, what’s really going down here?”
    â€œWe’re here to help,” she told me. “That’s all I can tell you.”
    â€œWe’re here to help? How? If you ask me, this family needs therapy.”
    â€œThat’s a good way of putting it, as a matter of fact. Therapy brings healing, doesn’t it? Or closure. Or an acceptance that things aren’t going to get any better, no matter what.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œMeaning that I’m asking you to wait and see. Before you understand, you have to
know
.”
    â€œBut come on, Kate. How the hell can you expect me to
know
, unless you tell me?”
    â€œBecause you have eyes, Gideon, and you have ears, and unlike most people you’re very aware of everything that goes on around you. But you have much more than that. You have a very rare gift.”
    â€œOh, really?” I asked her, suspiciously. “What kind of a very rare gift?”
    She kissed me, on my cheek, and then my lips.
    â€œYou have music in your whole being. You don’t even realize how much. You don’t just write music, you
live
music. You
are
music. There are so few people like you. I’ll tell you one very famous one: Mel Tormé. He could hear a plate dropping in a restaurant kitchen and tell you precisely what key it was.”
    â€œI still don’t understand what you’re saying.”
    â€œSince you and I have been together, don’t you think that you’ve been writing better?”
    I nodded. “Yes, I have. Yes. I mean, I don’t like to boast, but eat your heart out, Mozart.”
    â€œAnd can you think why?”
    â€œI don’t know. I put it down to being happier, I guess.”
    She kissed me again. “I’m pleased. But it’s more than that. Youcan
feel
me. You can feel the emotions inside of me—my grief, and my affection, and my hope, in just the same way that you can hear music. Like Elsa and Felicia. You can feel
their
resonance, too. What they were, what they wanted to be. What they are now.
    â€œWhen you see them, when you touch them, they come to life. They appear because you’re here.”
    I looked at her narrowly. I was gradually beginning to get some germ of what she was talking about. I was gradually beginning to realize that I could only understand what was happening to me if I understood myself, and what I was capable of. And according to Kate, I was capable of much more than I had ever dreamed.
    â€œIt’s not just your music that’s blossoming,” she added, with a smile. “It’s
you
.”
    â€œOh, yes? How, exactly?”
    â€œTake me to bed, and I’ll show you.”
    * * *
    I was woken by the sound of somebody running past our bedroom. Somebody with bare feet, running very fast. I sat up but it was so dark that I couldn’t see anything at all. Nothing, just total blackness.
    I heard the runner again, and