Annabelle could see the brilliant light up above, so hot, making her perspire, when the darkness fell upon her. She wiped the sweat from her brow in a near invisible gesture and stared directly into the light, her voice rising, struggling for the note she was looking for. This was her death dirge: she had to do this right. The light stole away her breath just as she began to think that that last note was reachable. Her life began to flash before her, this wasn't the first time, and she cursed such impeccable timing. she faltered, fell to the floor (her knees striking the plank board quite hard) and died.
She had to sit still now, she heard the rush of footsteps surround her, a song of lament rising from the mouth of a young boy, a beautiful unadulterated soprano. She stopped breathing, this wouldn't take long, she knew it, and a great number of hands lifted her body, making her limp limbs dance about. The people laughed at the farse, the dancing corpse, but she kept silent, no breath. The boy broke through the crowd and pulled the hands away. Annabelle fell to the floor again, without control.
The boy, quite small for his age, sang a song and the crowd pulled her body out of the light. Once out of the light she stood, a flurry of movements surrounded her, pushing her back into the light. She looked about, though the light blinded her about as much as the stinging sweat in her eyes and the hands about her shoulders made her tip her head forward. Then came the applause, and they pranced off the stage.
Annabelle was none too pleased with her performance, but at the time it couldn't be helped. What a time for the darkness to fall she mumbled to herself. Now all she had to do was wait for what was coming, and presently it came, a collection of loud cursing and stomping.
Will Jacobs was a work harried man, he rushed about getting everyone ready, the set manager, made sure everyone knew their lines, had their instruments tuned, and did things right. He was the creative genius behind things, he wrote the musicals and the music behind them. He designed the costumes, handled finances, basically he did everything. However, along with this came a quick temper and lack of patience.
"What the bloody HELL was that, Ann" Will yelled at her, his British accent biting into her. she felt like a turtle ducking her head in her shell as she backed up a few paces.
"I don't know sir, I just lost the note"
"You lost the bloody note, where did you leave it, your sock drawer??" He yelled at her, spittle flying from his lips. She heard laughter behind her. She stayed silent.
"I never have been fond of your company, but I haven't another thespian that can pull this role with a smile. You're beast, that's all you are, but just as so, That doesn't give you permission to do what ever whim takes you." Will told her. The words bit into her self esteem like steel teeth, but the depletion of that was already completed years ago.
Annabelle just nodded and walked away. She say down on a box, pulling the heavy cloak from about her shoulder, placing her head in her hands. She was tired, tired beyond words but she doubted she had quarters in this stop either, so was the curse of participating in a low-budget troupe. She looked at everyone hurrying to get the makeup and costumes off, disregarding the fact that both men and women were stripping to near nakedness in this vast and only room. She saw the boy, the soprano, talking to a tall woman as they both sat on the stairs. The tall woman caught a glimpse of Annabelle and dismissed the boy.
"Annabelle, are you going to be okay?" the woman asked. She sat down, the glittering white robe contrasting the dark richness of her skin, analogous to the whiteness of her even teeth.
"I'm fine Laerma, I just don't understand why I can't get that last note" Annabelle lamented. Laerma was her only real friend, and Laerma knew the lodging arrangements, since it was her job to organize the thespians after the show and put them where they belonged.
"You're still lonely, aren't you, hon?" Laerma asked bluntly, Annabelle didn't like agreeing to that but she had no choice, if her friend was to help her.
"I suppose so, I just don't see how that affects my performance." Annabelle turned from Laerma's glance.
"But it does, you just don't know it, love is the greatest esteem booster there is, It just so unfortunate you hide from men" Laerma l nodded.
Laerma pulled at the collar of Annabelle's shirt, stretching it.
'And you keep yourself so hidden, you've got a great bust" Laerma laughed, and Annabelle cracked a smile, more of relief than joy.
Annabelle saw Will motioning Laerma to start organizing people. She gave Annabelle a low gaze of sorrow. She knew what that meant, no set quarters for her.
"Will doesn't like me, I know that now, so it doesn't matter."
"He's a pig, just keep smiling and it will piss him off 'til he eases up on you" Laerma reassured then rushed off to begin her work.
Annabelle gathered her bag, after taking off her stage costume, and walked into the bitingly cold night air. She was too tired to take the make up and the half mask off yet, in a way she liked it on her. It concealed herself. It was indisputable, she wasn't the prettiest maiden by the sea, by far. She stopped listening to what people said about her when she had the makeup on. It was like her extended pretense to be someone else, pretending that she was a real beast, instead a young woman who happened to look like one. And she always played the beast in the musicals.
Thinking about what Laerma had told her about love made her think. She'd never loved so she didn't have any idea what she was missing, but it became more evident as her days wore on. The space of emptiness, her darkness enveloped her in her times of utter loneliness. She knew she wasn't a beautiful woman; she was plain looking, mousy, slightly heavy. The thing which marred her features the most was a thick, shiny-pink scar which traced her jaw line, running along her neck. Tracing the scar with her fingers, she thought of the possibility that that only reasons she was able to thrive as an actress were the fact that she didn't ask for much and she was in fact a great singer.
She balanced herself on the curb of the street, hands outstretched, as she had done as a child. She knew where she was going, she had been homeless in this town before, it happened to be the second time the troupe stopped here. In the distance lay a house, desolate, forlorn looking, in it's gloomy darkness. It was surrounded by a haze of lamp lights which stood at the ends of the driveways of the not so desolate houses.
Annabelle walked up to the decayed picket gate and carefully pushed it open, hearing the hinges, in all their ungreased splendor, cry out in a screeching voice, which seemed far too loud for such a cold placid night. She tensed and shivered as a pigeon called from the roof of the large desolate house. The cold bit into her bones as a wave of paranoia hit her. Why am I so scared, I've been here before. She told herself and opened the ancient looking door.
Inside she was instantly greeted by the silver moonlight filtering through the suprisingly clean window in an adjacent room. The soft beams lay oblique, lighting somewhat of a path on the wood plank floor. Then she noticed the sweet familiar smell of this house.
It was the smell of sweet spiced apples, as if in the house's past, there had been a mother who canned apples, and made apple preserves and apple cider. The smell was warm and wont to linger in her thoughts.
The walls were barren in this long hall, no paintings or portraits graced the walls, only the fading square planes, ghost memories of things which had hung there.
She walked down the hall, quietly, the occasionally board creaking under her feet, then sat down in the doorway of a large room. Down this way was nothing but darkness. She peeled the latex "half-mask" from her face painfully and wiped the make up off with the moist towlettes she kept in her bag. Annabelle began brushing her hair, the all too familiar feeling of mild melancholia setting in when she felt something suddenly wrap around her midsection, pinning her arms to herself.
She didn't scream, she kicked and tore at the stout limb which bound her to herself. There was a brief struggle then she sputtered between clenched teeth "Please, don't hurt me" and immediately the restraint released.
"I'm very sorry." A voice in t eh dark called. It was a deep voice, male for sure, of warm resonance, which was mildly appealing to her.......then she kicked herself for having thoughts such as these at a time like this.
"I should be the one who's sorry, I had no idea this house was occupied" she replied as she knelt and gathered her things. For a time as she picked her thing up there was silence. She apologized again and almost made it down the hall when the voice called:
"Do you have a place to stay, ma'am?" it was a modest question, an invitation, she guessed by the cadence of his tone. She pondered a moment, she was already liking the idea of his company, but she had no idea what kind of person he was, for all she knew he was a serial rapist/homicidal maniac.
"I wouldn't want to impose" she replied, her fear gave a neutral answer, then she could judge a finally decision on his reply.
"It's quite all right, ma'am, I have plenty of room , and frankly, I wouldn't mind the company." To her the reply isn't sound the hasty impatience she would imagine from a killer.
"I suppose I could stay a while." She called back. She heard the man's soft chuckle and not too clumsy footsteps across the wood floor.
"It's been quite a while since I've had company, forgive me if my host skills aren't so great, are you hungry, thirsty??" he asked as she neared.
Perhaps he mistook her for a vagabond of sorts. she wasn't taken aback, in a way that was what she was.
"No thank you sir, but may I trouble you for a paper towel, or something to wipe my face?"
"Sure" and with that the man disappeared, leaving nothing but the sounds of blind scrambling. He returned then stopped.
'we may have to do a bit of a Marco polo, you see, I haven't any lights yet." He laughed.
"All right then," Annabelle laughed. "Marco
"Polo" came the reply and they inched toward the sound of eachtother's voice.
"Marco"
"Polo" a hand struck her softly in the cheek, she reached up for it, feeling for a brief moment his warm soft flesh, then the damp cloth. The man gave a short chuckle and moved away as she scrubbed at her face, removing the last of the sticky, oily, heavy greasepaint.
For a brief moment she wondered why he was reluctant to move into the other end of the house, the part where the moonlight came through the windows. Then as she thought about the whole situation, then herself, she was somewhat glad for the darkness. She knew how things went for people like.
Yeah, the minute he sees me, he'll want nothing to do with me, I've been there before. She thought mordantly, then stopped, realizing she had infact taken a liking to the faceless man who settled on the floor, humming under his breath.
"I'm not crazy" he said bluntly.
"excuse me?" The remark suprised her.
"Oh, so you aren't from around here" the man mused, she suddenly was flooded with extreme fear.
"No, I'm just here for a month or so." Her voice wavered.
"Oh, I'm sorry if I frightened you." The man had detected her fear. "It's just rumor, started by the house hens of the town." He laughed.
"Why would they say that?" she asked, her fear eased slightly.
"Because I'm a night person, I like dark, the town's people pin names on those they don't understand." His voice trailed as she heard him rise to his feet, his figure's outline becoming clearer.
The words he spoke were ones of great truth, she had found it true in all the world.
"If it means anything at all, There doesn't seem to be anything unusually corrupt about you." Her voice seemed to ring with good cheer.
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge, ma'am, there are too many liars about anymore." His words were quick, curt. She nodded in the dark and stayed silent.
Every sound of the night stopped for a long moment it seemed, then he gave a short laugh.
"That was rather rude of me, I apologize....my name is Simon, Simon Wyath."
"I'm Annabelle Lee." She said quietly.
"You were graced with a beautiful name." He said slowly, cautiously, she gave a soft laugh, not knowing how to really approach such a complement.
She yawned quietly, peering down the hall, as the moonlight began to fade.
"I'm quite sure you're tired from the day, may I show you to the bedroom?"
Simon asked politely. To Annabelle, he seemed to be a fountainhead of gentility, courtesy, like she had never experienced directed toward her before.
She felt a hand on her back, urging her to the right, down another hall. She heard his footsteps quite solid, sure of themselves in such blinding darkness, then they turned right again.
The room was large, she felt it. The biting cold from outside lingered only a little by the doorway but as she urged her further into the room, the chill gave way to a comforting heat. He sat her down on a large bed, and she snuggled into the blanket. She heard him set up a pallet on the floor, under the window. She thanked him and sleep instantly assailed her.
Annabelle was once again under the hot stage lights, singing her death dirge, when she felt an embrace envelope her. Her voice did not waver but instead increased in volume. The embrace began lifting her, her feet left the ground and she drifted into the glare of the stage lights, her song growing louder and louder. The lights, the embrace, she felt something on the edge of remarkable joy. The heat faded to cold and the light seemed to grow whiter, more natural. She opened her eyes.
The light of dawn, a brazen orange, peered in through the window. A mourning dove sang from the window sill. She stretched and rubbed her face when she remembered where she was. She looked below the window, but saw nothing, no pallet, no blankets, no Simon.
""Simon........Simon?" she called, looking through the house, the house looked virtually empty, with the exception of a few pieces of furniture the house was empty. She thought of several possibilities....a hallucination, a ghost, but settled on the idea of Simon being just a good dream. Dreams were good for Annabelle.
She smiled as she walked to the theatre, humming the aria under her breath. The smile didn't leave her face that day. Will drilled her over and over on the death dirge, it infuriated him when she sang the dirge, with confidence, correctly each time she was drilled. He had nothing to yell at her about so he just stomped away, shaking his head in fury.
Laerma and Annabelle had a long talk, as she did Annabelle's make-up.
"You are rather happy today." Laerma laughed as she shuffled through her bag.
"I had a good dream......can't tell, it's secret." Annabelle laughed and laughed until Laerma commanded her to sit still as she applied the eye lines.
"dreams are good, Dream are what I ca.............." Laerma was cut off by one of the stage boys. The stage boy handed her a rose with a card and presently left, hurrying back to his own job. Laerma read the envelope.
"This isn't for me." Laerma pursed her lips......"I can't make out this name....it's too small" she handed it to Annabelle. She looked at the gold lettering on the envelope. At first her eyes seemed to blur the shining letters but they did in fact spell her name.......even though it was spelled "Annabelle" instead of Annabelle. Her hands trembled as she looked up at Laerma.
"It's for me." her voice wavered...Laerma gave a low call of joy, laughing.
She opened the envelope, inside was a short letter:
I greatly apologize for leaving so suddenly this morning, there was something in town I had to take care of. I do hope that I can see you again, I enjoy your company and your patience with such a bad host.
Greatest respects,
Simon
She took one last look at the scarlet rose, and fell into a blissful silence. She handed Laerma the letter.
"You can't tell anyone." She said and burst into a fit of laughter. Laerma read the letter.
"I told you it would happen, dear, see, maybe when we have time, you can tell me the story."
Annabelle held back tears of laughter, singing to herself: "My ghost the bad host is the one who respects me the most" With her make up completed, she pinned the rose to her cloak and skipped to the stage, ready for another performance.
All through the performance she thought about Simon, the letter. The words which captured her heart the most were the words of his respect. Respect was one of the things she had been searching for in all the confusion of being a troupe performer.
The whole thing went without any problem, she remembered her dream. When She sang her death dirge, looking into the stage light, sweating underneath her greasepaint and felt herself lifted into the light. Inside herself was such a liberation of her soul. She touched the rose on her cloak one last time and held the final note, no longer feeling the thousands of eyes upon her. Then she died, while high into air, touching the lights.
She left quickly that night, after taking a shower in the shower room, and removing her make-up. Will laid not an eye on her, he had nothing to say to her.
She arrived at the house, the door was open and she peered inside. It was still dark but the smell of spiced apples was such a warm welcome. She walked down the hall, which was dark that night as an effect of the overcast day, when she heard Simon's voice call her.
"I'm here" she returned and followed the voice. He was in the bedroom, his outline visible in the light. He sat on the bed, at the foot.
"You came, I was afraid you wouldn't come back. He said happily as he rose to his feet.
"Yes, I wanted to see you again.......or to be with you again rather" They both laughed.
He took her hand and sat down on the bed, she sat next to him and they talked for hours on end about themselves, about their life. Annabelle was very glad that the subject of appearance never came into the conversation, she didn't want to have to tell the man she was growing to love more and more that she wasn't pretty.
They had alot in common, both were 24, somewhat intelligent, had a lust for life and chose and occupation that their parents didn't approve of.
Simon was an art major, chose graphic design as his occupation and worked free lancing for an ad agency in Denver. Both his parent worked in a law firm and urged him to take part in the firm. He had no intention of studying law. He then told of some great dispute between his parents and himself, his parents had betrayed him. Simon wouldn't say what happened but after confessing this, he stopped talking. Annabelle felt the silence like a heavy weight and closed it. She put her arms about his shoulder, giving him a warm embrace. He did the same, stroking her hair.
She couldn't believe she was as forward as she was, but she wasn't thinking straight any more. Simon stood, not yet letting go of her hands.
"I needed that." He said quietly, dropping her hands. "I think it's almost 3 in the morning, you need some sleep." He tucked the blanket around her, bidding her a goodnight and moved to his pallet. Annabelle woke one time in the middle of the night to find herself nestled in Simon's arms on the pallet, she smiled, in bliss, and drifted back to sleep. The next morning he was gone.
The next month moved swiftly for Annabelle, the play, The Beast of Alhaven was a big sucess, mostly because of Annabelle's near infatiguable zest on stage. Each performance she had a different scarlet rose pinned to her cloak, like a good luck charm (Simon sent one daily). Then each night she went back to the dark house, with Simon.
The two grew close, they talked, and laughed, had dinners in the dark (which usually ended in a food fight),their lives seemingly brighter in the house of darkness. Annabelle told Laerma that she couldn't remember ever being so happy, or confident as she was then. A euphoria seemed to settle inside of her like no other time in her life had permitted. It was those obscure break periods, times Annabelle believed were times left for her to take a breath before diving once again into the fast pace of things.
She thought about dark, how the dark anywhere else was so different that the dark of the dark house. The dark house held a mischievous air of mysticism about it; the smell of apples lingered in her thoughts everytime she thought about dark.
One night, after the final performance for the day, Will announced their departure. Annabelle was stunned, she hadn't thought about when she would have to leave with the troupe.She had to think a long while, she sat in a corner, make-up still on.
Laerma approached, mainly to make sure Annabelle put her costume in the wash.
"Annabelle? Dear, is everything all ri--- oh, I know what it is." Laerma shook her head.
"I don't want to leave the troupe, I love acting, it's my passion, but I don't want to leave Simon, he's so good to me." Annabelle sulked as she removed her costume.
"Dear, honestly I think you can do with out the West Pointe Troupe. You have so many talents, you just have to find the passion to spark them. You probably won't find another Simon but you can always find another job." Laerma smiled, Annabelle knew she was right.
Annabelle nodded in agreement, then strode to Will, her costume half removed. This was a scary time for her, but the whole time she kept Simon in her mind, the sound of his voice rang in the back of her mind. Will stopped rushing about, sensed the confidence of Annabelle, and tried his best to look intimidating.
"Mr. Jacobs, I resign as of now." She said. Will scowl dropped, then his jaw did the same.
"Annabelle.." he stopped, his voice wavered. Annabelle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, she had never expected such a response.
"Annabelle." He started again, his accent thickening slightly."I have been very appreciative of your effort this past month. It's hard to see you go, you are such a fine actress, even if you aren't a beauty. Is there anything I or the troupe can do to prolong your departure?" He sat down by her, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
"I'm afraid not, sir, I have thought this out,and circumstances I am dealt with now deem my departure necessary." Will put a hand onher shoulder.
"You have brought a spirit of joy into the troupe, we won't be leaving until the end of the week, so if you change your mind, I'll gladly accept you back>" he smiled, then stood, walking away calmly. Annabelle burst into a fit of laughter, Laerma soon joined her.
"Just promise me one thing, that you'll come and see me one last time before we leave." Laerma sobered, as if on the verge of tears.
"I'd never forget to say good bye to you, Laerma, you're my best friend, but I don't have to tonight, so let it lie for another day." Annabelle said, laughing. She rubbed Laerma's shoulder then left into the night, to the dark house.
Annabelle felt something, on the edge of anxiety, filling her. Up above the thumbnail moon was covered by a thick blanket of dimly illuminated She walked into the house and was suprised, caught in a sweeping embrace.
"Oh, what's that for!" she laughed as he set her down.
"We are getting out of this sultry house, love." He quickly grabbed her hand and led her out the backdoor. Outside was lighter, for the first time she could catch a glimmer of his form.
He was tall, not too thin. He had a swaggering pace, which seemed to burst happiness.
"Back, through the lot, there is a wooded area, then a meadow by the lake. It's beautiful." He said quickly as they rushed through the lot.
"It's sounds beautiful" she was swept into the excitement, matching his swaggering speed in light nimbly leaps. Once they reached the trees, they stopped running. Simon held her close to him, as if to protect her from the forest things.
Still going at a quick pace, Annabelle buried her face in his jacket, to avoid getting slapped in the cheeks by branches. The smell of the house, of spiced apples, seemed strongest there. She considered it was he, not the house, which was the fountainhead of that arousing scent. Then, suddenly, he stopped. The wind teased at her hair as she lifted her head.
In the dim light, Annabelle still had to catch her breath, the surroundings held such an ambiance of beauty and purity. The meadow lay before, an impossible stretch of knee high grass. Beyond the meadow was a calm lake, the tops of the waves crested only with the dimmest of moonlight.
"Well, what do you think?" He asked, his cadence lifting.
"Think, at a time like this?" she laughed as she threw her arms about his shoulders.
"I think it's time to eat." Simon said as they sat. Simon set out a blanket and the food. Annabelle watched him.
She noticed that even in so much more light, his features were still blurred. It was then she thought of herself, she hoped the same was for her, she didn't want him to see her just yet.
They began to eat, sandwiches, chips, drinking wine from plastic wine cups and laughing at the way the bottoms fell off. They ate rather contentedly when it seemed all the clouds in the world gathered upon them, and it began to rain.
"Rain? That ruined a perfectly romantic dinner." Simon said as he gathered food and put it in the basket. Annabelle threw her soggy sandwich at him.
"No, it's still romantic" she was silenced by the same soggy sandwich to the forehead.
"All right, if that's what you want." She picked up a slice of wet cake, and began slinging it at him inthe rain. She quickly rose to her feet and ran from him, laughing.
"You mischievous little imp" he grunted as he chased after her.
The ground turned to mud quickly, they began sliding about, instead of running, then slinging mud at one another. Annabelle and Simon lived out the breadth of the shower, running and chasing, flinging mud at one another, until Annabelle misjudged some point in distance and fell into the lake with a short scream.
Simon dived in after her, mostly out of concern, then laughed as he saw her bob back to the surface, laughing. She seemed to melt into his arms with fatigue.
"All right, enough, enough" She gasped. He lifted her and walked her out of the lake. He wrapped the secured , dry, blanket around her and carried her back to the house. She was nearly asleep when he set her down on the bed. They were both wet, but the warmth of the house kept them from feeling clammy. Simon lay next to her, strangely silent. This jarred her awake.
"Is everything well, love?" she asked. He clasped her hand tightly, making a short noise.
"Why do you love me?" he asked quietly.
She didn't even have to think. "Because you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. Your sweet, funny, honest.........and mine" she laughed, but she didn't have the pleasure of hearing his laugh chime in. He made a small noise, as if he were choking then he inhaled one long breath.
"But I haven't been honest....." there was a long silence. "I've had lights for 2 weeks now, but I was afraid................I don't want you to see me." he rose to his feet, walked to the corner.
"Oh, Simon, I don't care if you're quazi-moto, I don't want the lights on either. I want the dark, forever, I don't want you to see me." the fear of this happening welled inside her. She was sure he was the best looking man she'd ever seen, far better than what she deserved.
He returned, putting an arm about her waist. "But it's time, I wouldn't care if you were Medusa's great grandchild,I'd gladly turn to stone to have just one look at my love. It's time." He reached over her, tugging on the lamp cord; a bright alien light filled the room. Her first reaction was to turn away but her grasped her chin lightly.
"Ma Belle, what beauty I've never seen." He exclaimed as he stroked her cheek. She looked at him, immediately taken by suprise.
He was as she guessed, tall, not too thin. He has a stout chin, a longish nose. His hair was dark, slightly curly, soft. On the left side of his face was shiny, and pink, scarred like a burn. The burn ran down his neck; from there it hid beneath his jacket. His right eye was a most brilliant green, the left was a milky blind. She put her hand on his left cheek softly, an inquiring gesture.
"It happened 6 years ago. I ran away from home to an art show my parents forbade me to take part in. When I was driving back I was broadsided by a truck. I was burned. I could have had surgery, but I couldn't afford it on my own, my parents wouldn't pay for it because-------" She put a finger to his lips, silencing him.
"You are the most handsome man have ever seen." She said quietly. Relief washed over them both as they slumped in eachother's arms, sleeping with the lamp on.
The next morning and the mornings following he ceased to disappear. He was there, sleeping peacefully beside her.
Annabelle did however return to the troupe, catching them just as they began to leave, this time tailed by Simon. Simon was readily accepted and they began their journey to their new destination. The new play was Angelique and Francois, the English adaptation to a French play Will wrote long ago. Simon and Angelique played Angelique and Francois, the story of masked lovers played by a pair who were at one time masked lovers themselves.
From then on, the thespian lovers, Annabelle and Simon were lost among the millions of people, happy in their own private world.
.
