tell. As I slowly approached them, I realized they were standing outside the cement wall behind the Ursuline Convent, in almost the exact spot where yesterday’s crying fit had begun. I suddenly had a sinking feeling that I knew what they were all looking at.
The taller goth with the twelve-inch bleached spikes was Theis, the boyfriend of one of my favorite coffee-shop regulars. He was contorting himself into various positions to snap photos with his cell phone. Before I even reached them, his aperture led my gaze straight to the attic window.
It looked exactly as I had left it yesterday: glass blown out and one shutter missing. The remaining shutter now swayed, although today there was actually a decent breeze to push it back and forth – so there was nothing peculiar about the motion. Anxiety pricked my stomach, warning me not to incriminate myself. For what, exactly, I had no clue.
“They definitely escaped,” Theis said dryly to his shorter , Manic-Panic - red-haired companion.
I ducked my head as I jogged past them, but the old lady turned to me anyway. “Even all those nails from the Vatican couldn’t hold a candle to the power of the Storm.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I craned my neck back to her, nodded, and mumbled, “Mother Nature.”
“You got it, baby. Lord, help us.”
I picked up my pace.
The crazies are sure out in full force this mornin g , I thought, shaking my head. What did Theis mean, escaped?
Chapter 10 Lady Stardust
By the time I dragged my luggage upstairs, I felt like I’d had a total body workout, but whenever I rested for more than a minute, my mind bounced back and forth between the convent and Sacred Heart, until I felt like I was going to explode.
Focus on something, Adele. Anythin g .
I stood with my hands on my hips, trying to figure out where to start.
The afternoon sun illuminated the dust, making everything in my new bedroom sparkle in a strange, dirty way; the sheeted furniture cast oddly-shaped shadows, reminding me of a modern art exhibit.
Cool. I snapped a photo of the nearest mystery sculpture’s oblong silhouette on the wall, and then tucked the phone into my back pocket, held my breath and pulled the first sheet off, sending dust sparkles everywhere.
Whoa, an upright piano. Maybe everything isn’t just old junk.
I started tearing off the sheets like a kid on Christmas morning. A rocking chair. A beautifully carved vanity with a tri-folding mirror. A rose-colored chaise lounge. And a large oak wardrobe. The perfect little setup from the past. In the middle of the room was a large bed with four ornate brass posts that would have once held a delicate canopy, but from which now hung a couple of limp drop cloths. Without thinking, I yanked them off and plopped down onto the mattress.
“Ow!” I yelped, getting a whack to my hipbone. The ancient mattress would have to go.
Lying on the bed, my gaze settled on the last drop-cloth sculpture. It was an incredibly odd shape . Tuba ? I jumped up and ripped off the cover, revealing a Victrola.
“Cool.”
The case over the turntable had been sealed tight, so it wasn’t even that dusty . “Do you still work?”
I raced down to my father’s studio and then, breathing heavily, ran back up the stairs with an armful of records I’d randomly grabbed: the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar , a classic Louis Armstrong, a Led Zeppelin, and a David Bowie. I carefully looked over the cardboard case protecting The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars . I didn’t know much about David Bowie, but something about the bright gas lamp on the cover attracted me. I gently pulled the record from the sleeve, placed the old vinyl on the turntable, and moved the needle.
My fingers searched for a power switch – until I remembered how old the machine was. Idio t , I thought , reaching for the manual power source. But I couldn’t get the hand-crank to budge. Mental note: get the WD-40
The taller goth with the twelve-inch bleached spikes was Theis, the boyfriend of one of my favorite coffee-shop regulars. He was contorting himself into various positions to snap photos with his cell phone. Before I even reached them, his aperture led my gaze straight to the attic window.
It looked exactly as I had left it yesterday: glass blown out and one shutter missing. The remaining shutter now swayed, although today there was actually a decent breeze to push it back and forth – so there was nothing peculiar about the motion. Anxiety pricked my stomach, warning me not to incriminate myself. For what, exactly, I had no clue.
“They definitely escaped,” Theis said dryly to his shorter , Manic-Panic - red-haired companion.
I ducked my head as I jogged past them, but the old lady turned to me anyway. “Even all those nails from the Vatican couldn’t hold a candle to the power of the Storm.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I craned my neck back to her, nodded, and mumbled, “Mother Nature.”
“You got it, baby. Lord, help us.”
I picked up my pace.
The crazies are sure out in full force this mornin g , I thought, shaking my head. What did Theis mean, escaped?
Chapter 10 Lady Stardust
By the time I dragged my luggage upstairs, I felt like I’d had a total body workout, but whenever I rested for more than a minute, my mind bounced back and forth between the convent and Sacred Heart, until I felt like I was going to explode.
Focus on something, Adele. Anythin g .
I stood with my hands on my hips, trying to figure out where to start.
The afternoon sun illuminated the dust, making everything in my new bedroom sparkle in a strange, dirty way; the sheeted furniture cast oddly-shaped shadows, reminding me of a modern art exhibit.
Cool. I snapped a photo of the nearest mystery sculpture’s oblong silhouette on the wall, and then tucked the phone into my back pocket, held my breath and pulled the first sheet off, sending dust sparkles everywhere.
Whoa, an upright piano. Maybe everything isn’t just old junk.
I started tearing off the sheets like a kid on Christmas morning. A rocking chair. A beautifully carved vanity with a tri-folding mirror. A rose-colored chaise lounge. And a large oak wardrobe. The perfect little setup from the past. In the middle of the room was a large bed with four ornate brass posts that would have once held a delicate canopy, but from which now hung a couple of limp drop cloths. Without thinking, I yanked them off and plopped down onto the mattress.
“Ow!” I yelped, getting a whack to my hipbone. The ancient mattress would have to go.
Lying on the bed, my gaze settled on the last drop-cloth sculpture. It was an incredibly odd shape . Tuba ? I jumped up and ripped off the cover, revealing a Victrola.
“Cool.”
The case over the turntable had been sealed tight, so it wasn’t even that dusty . “Do you still work?”
I raced down to my father’s studio and then, breathing heavily, ran back up the stairs with an armful of records I’d randomly grabbed: the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar , a classic Louis Armstrong, a Led Zeppelin, and a David Bowie. I carefully looked over the cardboard case protecting The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars . I didn’t know much about David Bowie, but something about the bright gas lamp on the cover attracted me. I gently pulled the record from the sleeve, placed the old vinyl on the turntable, and moved the needle.
My fingers searched for a power switch – until I remembered how old the machine was. Idio t , I thought , reaching for the manual power source. But I couldn’t get the hand-crank to budge. Mental note: get the WD-40
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