Page 69 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
As I turn my head to the right, I discover more of the same. More faceless men in the seats filling up the audience.
Who the fuck are these men and why am I among them?
My hands come up over my face to feel my lips and the slope of my nose. I’ve hardly made sense of what’s happening when a new resonating chord is struck in the music. It sweeps over the audience like a tidal wave on the shore, washing everything away.
The dancers part down the middle to make way for another one of their own—a woman that’s more angel than she is a dancer as she appears in a burst of golden light. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair that exudes beauty and mystery as she flows across the stage in a costume distinct from all the others.
I blink, immediately enthralled and unable to look away.
The others in the audience cease to exist. Not only are their faces a blur, they fade altogether.
The dancers fade too… until she’s the only one left spinning in perfect circles on the very tip of her toes.
Mia bella ballerina. Mio angelo perfetto. La mia salvezza.
But it’s as she’s twirling faster and faster that I catch the worry in her eyes. The sadness encapsulating her as she meets my gaze even as she spins.
She’s trying to tell me something; she’s trying to—
I heave a great breath into my lungs, my eyes popping open. It’s the type of breath you take when you’ve been submerged underwater and life has dwindled away, second by second.
Blinking many times, I place the surroundings around me. I’m in my bedroom, lying on sheets dampened by my sweat. I scrub my hand over my face with the familiar cloak of drowsiness clinging to me.
I’ve been asleep for hours. Possibly days.
I must’ve suffered another episode. Perhaps worse than my other recent ones.
Nevaeh descends on me at once. She’s been curled up on the windowsill with a book and spies I’m awake.
Her chocolatey hair’s been arranged in a loose ponytail with shorter strands framing her face. A large fuzzy sweater swallows her up and dangles off one shoulder. She carefully wraps her arms around me in a relieved embrace, but not before I catch sight of the glassy look of her eyes.
She’s been crying.
“Nevi,” I say, my throat painfully dry. “I’m awake now. Why are you crying?”
“Caelian, there were doctors here and they were trying to do that procedure on you. You got so blue. I screamed at them, but they wouldn’t listen. One of them knocked me down and they were going to keep doing it—”
“What doctors?” I interrupt. Thinking straight is difficult after such a deep sleep. I slide my hand along the side of her neck and force her to focus her attention onto me.
“They were the doctors that work with Gerber. The guy from Zurich.”
My temper pierces through the fog that is my mind. I drop my hand from Nevaeh and push away the bedsheets covering me.
“Caelian, Dr. Trolio said not to overexert yourself—” she calls out.
But in this moment, I’m a man on a mission. I can’t be stopped no matter how fragile a state my health is in.
Something fucked up is going on. Somebody somewhere’s fucking with me. I may not know how or why, but they’ve poked the wrong beast. I’m awake now.
* * *
“Well, if it ain’t my son,” Pa says answering the door to his office. He’s got a drink in hand and some of the shoe polish stained along his hairline. He goes to step aside, but instead winds up knocked backwards.
My fist sails straight into his jaw without warning. My version of a hello.
Right away, his guards standing in the hall rush toward me. I’m ready for the confrontation, rounding on them with both of my large fists clenched.
“This is between my father and I,” I spit. “Interfere, and you’ll be sorry.”