Anna To The Infinite Power (8 page)

She backed away from the window, farther and farther, until she finally reached the door and jerked it open to stumble through and slam it behind her. Then she tore down the hall to Rowan’s room and flung open his door. As the sound of his violin died, she was aware that the music in her head had vanished, too.

He frowned at her. “Maybe I’d better start locking my door.”

Anna’s lips trembled as she said, “Rowan, I’m afraid.”

“Now, Anna, leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m -- ” He broke off to stare at her quizzically. “What’s the matter with you?”

She took the words as an invitation to enter his room, which she’d always considered forbidden territory. Inside, she felt safer. “I’m scared, Rowan.” He lowered his violin and stared at her skeptically. “I can’t believe it -- not you. What are you scared of?”

“It’s that woman. She’s trying to drive me out of my mind.”

“What woman?”

“That Michaela Dupont.”

“What do you mean, trying to drive you out of your mind? What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything -- not openly. Well, yes, she did -- she flashed her earrings around until they made all kinds of fluttery lights, and I got a headache.”

Rowan shook his head, a look of total disbelief on his face. “I never heard anything so insane. You always get headaches. Why blame this one on her?”

“Because she wanted me to have one. I know she did.”

“Anna, you’re crazy. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, not to mention the best music history teacher we’ve had at the conservatory. Why would you imagine something like that about her?”

“I can’t explain it. I just know she’s trying to do something to me, and I don’t know what it is, and I’m scared.”

“Anna, you’ve got to be imagining all this. Flashing earrings, for God’s sake!”

In the safety of Rowan’s room, Anna was almost tempted to believe he was right. Perhaps her headache had distorted her reasoning. She felt better now, but not enough better to forget her fears entirely. “If I have to go to her house next Saturday, will you go with me, Rowan?”

“Anna, I have orchestra practice on Saturdays. You know that.”

“Please, Rowan.”

“Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Rowan, I’m begging you. Please go with me. I’m so scared.”

She thought she caught a glimmer of something like pity in his eyes. Then he sighed impatiently. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I can’t go with you, but as soon as practice is over, I’ll head for Michaela’s. You won’t have been there much more than a half hour. She surely won’t have done you in in that length of time.”

He didn’t believe her, but Anna didn’t care. “You can’t come earlier?”

“No, I can’t. Now stop pestering me.”

Anna nodded, resigned that she had gotten as much from him as he was likely to give. “I guess I can tell her you’re coming. That should help if she’s planning anything.”

“Oh, no -- not that again! Anna, if you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll throw something at you.”

“All right, all right. I’m going.” She left, feeling calmer. Rowan was undoubtedly right. She was letting her imagination play strange tricks on her. Which wasn’t at all like her. It was just that the headaches she suffered often made her half-crazy. That was what had happened today. Her headache had started it, making her dream up all sorts of stupid pictures that had nothing to do with anything real.

Anna decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the communications room, working on a project for school. She grew so involved that by the time Sarah Hart called her for dinner, her headache had disappeared, and she had almost forgotten her earlier fright. Now she couldn’t believe she had acted so irrationally.

Dinner consisted of soybeans, cooked and flavored like Boston baked beans, a small canned ham, coleslaw from a cabbage that had matured in the hydroponic roof garden, and a dark, sweet bread Graham Hart had made earlier and frozen.

The atmosphere was strained, Sarah and Graham Hart exchanging only a few polite words, long heavy silences between. Anna watched them sullenly. At one point Graham stabbed a piece of ham with his fork, held it up, and said, “I suppose we have Anna to thank for this.”

His wife lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Then, sounding almost apologetic, he added, “I wasn’t complaining.” He turned to Anna and changed the subject. “Well, did you learn anything at Michaela’s today?”

Anna scowled. “A little, Mr. Hart. But not anything about music.” She watched with satisfaction as three pairs of eyes darted to her.

Graham Hart gave a self-conscious laugh. “What’s this Mr. Hart business?”

“I have to call you something,” Anna said.

“Anna, please don’t make things worse,” Sarah Hart said.

Graham Hart looked thoroughly confused. “Why can’t you call me what you’ve always called me?”

“That wouldn’t seem right. After all, you’re Rowan’s dad, not mine.”

“Do you have to remind me?” he asked irritably. Anna said nothing.

“Besides, what difference does that make? If we’d adopted you, you’d have called me Dad, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so, Mr. Hart.”

Rowan put in, “Just call him Graham.”

“Rowan, you keep out of this,” his father said. “She’ll do no such thing! She’ll call me Dad, just the way she always has. You hear that, Anna?”

“Yes, Dad,” Anna said demurely.

“And no sarcasm!”

“No, Mr. -- ”

“Dad, Dad, Dad!” His face went florid now.

“Yes, Dad.” Anna, pleased with herself, glanced at Sarah Hart and shrugged as if she couldn’t understand what Dad was getting so excited about.

“And what did you mean a few minutes ago when you said you’d learned something at Michaela’s, but not about music?”

“I’m not sure you’d want me to say.”

“Go ahead -- say.”

“I meant I’d found out something interesting.”

“Like what?”

“Like you gave her a jar of our marmalade.”

Sarah Hart said, “Graham, you never told me that.”

“Why should I tell anyone I gave away a jar of marmalade?”

Anna said, “The least you could have done was ask me.”

He looked bewildered. “What have you got to say about it?”

“Nothing that anyone would listen to, I suppose. But I should have plenty to say about it. After all, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have things like marmalade.”

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered.

Sarah Hart said, “What’s going on between you and that woman, giving her our food when food is so scarce?”

Graham Hart, mouth hanging open, pushed back his chair and got up. He swallowed and in a very controlled voice said, “I have had just about enough. I am now going into my bedroom, which is soundproof, where,” his voice rose to a shriek, “I will scream my head off, take the Lord’s name in vain, and a few other things!” So saying, with great dignity, he left the table.

By the time Anna was ready for bed, she had completely convinced herself that the disturbing experience of the afternoon had been nothing more than a flight of fancy. If she had had the good sense to take her medication, she would never have behaved so ridiculously. Just imagine, fearing her own bedroom!

She glanced around it now. Nothing but the same old solid, sensible furniture she knew so well, a single bed that doubled as a couch, a big oak desk that had once belonged to Graham Hart, a no-nonsense chest of drawers, a straight chair, an easy chair covered in the same plaid as the bedspread and draperies, and a television screen hung high on the wall so that you could lie in bed and watch the mindless shows that lulled you to sleep. Everything about the room was functional, which suited Anna just fine. You see, she chided herself, nothing strange here, nothing scary.

She got into her pajamas, then made herself glance out the window to assure herself there was nothing there but the safe familiar world. Although the fog was not as dense now, it seemed to shift around the park, obscuring streetlamps, yet, now and then, allowing the more distant lights to break through, one here, one there, sending out rays that blurred in the mist. Was that a light from Michaela’s apartment? Anna wondered. No, it must come from one of the other buildings. Now it’s gone. But there’s a new light. Michaela’s? Too far to the left. The lights appeared and vanished, appeared and vanished, like some kind of eerie fireworks glimpsed through a heavy veil.

When Anna felt the first stab of pain in her head, she instantly turned away from the sight and quickly drew the draperies. She should never have let herself watch, yet it had not occurred to her that lights playing strange tricks in the fog could trigger one of her headaches. She put a cool hand on her forehead, then rubbed the back of her neck with her other hand, moving her head around in circles to relax the muscles. Not too bad, she decided. Not a real four-star headache. Fortunately, she hadn’t watched the lights long enough for one of those.

She stretched out on top of her bedspread, eyes closed. Perhaps she should turn on television. Later. When the ache eased. Although she hadn’t intended to go to sleep, after a time, she dozed fitfully. In a dream, she could feel something hard and icy brash against her hand. The chill of it crept through her and finally awakened her, shivering. The room was cold now, and she was still lying outside the covers. She glanced down to discover that what she had felt in her sleep was the little box. With all that had happened earlier, she had quite forgotten it.

She sat up, ran her fingers over its cool, gleaming surface, then opened it. A delightful fragrance of cedar wafted up. She felt very pleased with her new possession. What would she use it for? She needed a container for paper clips. This would serve very well. As she closed the cover she noticed that the box sat on little feet. What she hadn’t seen earlier was the key at the bottom. Of course. She should have known. Michaela hadn’t collected merely boxes; she’d collected music boxes.

Anna turned the key to wind the box fully. Then she lifted the lid to hear the tune. As she listened, the notes came through like tinkles, sweet and clear. Suddenly she tensed. She knew that tune. That horrible tune! The one that Michaela had played that night so long ago. It was awful in a way Anna couldn’t quite describe. Ghostly, perhaps. She slammed the lid shut, and the music died. What an unfortunate coincidence to have chosen a box that played that same melody. Anna got up and set the box on her chest of drawers, careful not to disturb the lid. Tomorrow, she decided, she would dispose of the miserable thing.

The fog crept in until it enclosed and swallowed up the whole apartment house. In her sleep, Anna turned restlessly, dreaming strange dreams. There was a presence out there in the mist, a specter trying to enter the room.

Let me come in, Anna. Let me come in.

No, never.

Please.

No!

Anna, you must.

Go away. Leave me alone.

I can’t go away, Anna . . . can’t . . . can’t . . . can’t...

The words trailed off to lose themselves in the sound of tinkling music, the song Anna hated so much The melody grew louder until it swelled through her head. The fog was sweeping into the room now. Through a haze Anna could see an iridescent glow from the mother-of-pearl on the music box. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that the lid was closed. Yet the music surged on and on, deafeningly.

“Stop it, stop it!” Anna clapped her hands over her ears for a moment, then got up and struggled toward the box, feeling as if she would never make it. Finally, her hand closed over its hard coldness. She lifted it and, with all her strength, flung it across the room.

For a second there was total silence. I’ve won, Anna thought, I’ve won. In the next instant the tune began again, soft now, and with it, colored lights shot from the box, blues, pinks, violets, greens, like reflections from the mother-of-pearl. They played upon the ceiling, upon the walls, they danced through the room, bombarding Anna with their brilliance.

“Stop it, stop it!” Anna cried. She knew only that if she gave in nothing would ever be the same again. There was pain out there, and hurt, and God knew what else.

Let me come in, Anna. Let me come in.

“No, no, no!” Anna screamed and closed her eyes to shut out the sight. The music flooded through her body now, torturing her brain. “Stop it, stop it,” she yelled again, and grabbed her head between her hands.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the music died. Anna opened her eyes, feeling very small and cold and frightened. Smoke hung as thickly on the air as fog now. For a moment she had the panicky feeling of being lost, lost in a place as strange and terrifying as anything she had ever visited in bad dreams. Then she glanced up, and it was all right. Mama was beside her. Anna slipped her hand into Mama’s and felt a little safer. She wanted to say, “See, Mama, I’m a big girl. I’m not crying,” but Mama had told her to be quiet. Not a word, Mama had said.

Anna felt a crush of people all around her, sensed their anxiety, their fear. What were they all doing there on that ramp? Where was Papa? Anna held tight to Mama’s hand. She didn’t like this ugly place. Black smoke spewed out of big chimneys and made everything smell bad. She wanted to go home.

A man with shiny black boots and lots of bright buttons on his clothes was looking people over. His quick nod was pointing either left or right.

“He’s making a selection,” someone said.

Anna didn’t know what that meant, but soon the people had divided into two lines, Anna and Mama at the tail end of one of them. When the man finished, he left, and other men in shiny black boots took over to rush people along toward big buildings.

Suddenly Mama whispered, “Look, Anna, there’s Clara. You remember my friend Clara.”

Anna looked where Mama pointed, but she didn’t recognize anyone among the group of skinny women who were marching by, all of them carrying the kinds of instruments Mama and her friends used for making music. Not one of the women glanced toward the people on the ramp.

As the man prodded everyone along, Mama broke away from her place at the rear of the line, pulling Anna with her to run alongside the musicians until she overtook her friend. “Clara, Clara, it’s Irene.” The woman, never breaking stride, looked around. Anna could see that she was, indeed, her mother’s friend, although she was no longer the plump woman Anna remembered. Her eyes looked dull as she stepped out of the group. She shook her head sadly and said, “You, too, Irene.”