Part 2 (1/2)

If I had had any common sense, I would have taken care of my business, run back down the stairs, and headed for the street. But common sense was never one of my strong points. At least, that was what my mother had always claimed, before she left. So she probably wouldn't have been surprised at what happened after I left the bathroom.

The funny thing is, it still surprises me. I mean, I'm not usually all that bold and brave. And when you consider what had already happened in the theater that night, I should have been shaking all over. But when I spotted that little sign over the door that led to the balcony, I just couldn't resist sneaking up to take a look. I had admired the balcony from the stage the first night of rehearsals. I also knew it was off-limits, except when the theater had some attraction that really packed the house.

I figured I might never have a better chance to see it. Even so, I hesitated for a moment, wondering if my father had gotten there yet. But then I decided that I had had to wait for him, so it wouldn't hurt him to wait another minute or two for me.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the door.

The stairwell was dark and surprisingly cool, considering what a hot night it was. Keeping one hand against the wall, I made my way slowly up the short flight of stairs.

The carpeting m.u.f.fled my footsteps. The theater seemed deathly still.

I was tingling with excitement, and for a moment I had the feeling I was headed for some wonderful adventure-that maybe when I had traveled through this strange, dark pa.s.sage I would come out in some totally different world.

Sometimes my imagination gets out of control.

Naturally I was disappointed when I reached the balcony and discovered that it was, after all, only a balcony.

But only a little disappointed. Because it was wonderful being up there. By the dim light filtering up from the stage area, I could see great long rows of seats stretching in front of me. To my right the rows marched upward, rising until they were lost out of sight in the darkness at the top of the theater.

When I turned left, toward the stage, it was even more wonderful. The theater was stretched out beneath me like some glorious, oversize dollhouse. The modern movie theaters I go to suddenly seemed bare and tiny compared to this s.p.a.ce.

I settled into a seat and stared down at the stage, imagining myself there, acting, singing, gracefully dancing.

Suddenly I caught my breath. Someone was dancing down there.

It was her!

Leaning forward, I held my breath and watched as the s.h.i.+mmering figure of the Woman in White glided across the stage. She was wearing that same old-fas.h.i.+oned dress, which I now realized must be the costume she had been wearing when she was killed. She had her arms raised, as if she were dancing with some invisible partner. But she was alone. And she looked sad. Very, very sad.

From somewhere, I heard the faintest strain of music.

At first I could barely make it out. But after a moment I recognized it as a song Paula had played for us earlier in the evening. It was ”The Heart That Stays True”-the song Lily Larkin had been singing when she was murdered.

I should have been scared, I suppose. But I didn't sense any evil in this ghost. Just terrible loneliness.

So I wasn't frightened at all-until a huge hand clamped down on my shoulder.

Then I nearly fainted.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Chris Three things happened at once: I started to scream; I spun around in my seat; and I heard a familiar voice snarling, ”What are you doing up here, kid?”

It was Pop. He looked fierce, not at all like the sweet old grandfatherly type I had imagined him to be.

I swallowed and looked back toward the stage. The ghost was gone.

Had he seen her?

”I said, what are you doing up here?” repeated Pop, giving me a little shake. I turned back to him. There was anger in his eyes-and something else, too. Only I couldn't figure out what it was.

”I-I just came up to look,” I stammered. ”I wasn't hurting anything.”

”Well, just get yourself right back down,” said Pop gruffly. ”This balcony is off-limits to anyone who doesn't have a ticket-which is most people, most of the time. You kids get to sneaking up here and the next thing you know one of you will be falling over the edge. Then your parents will be suing the theater because we didn't keep you out of here! They ought to sue themselves for not teaching you better manners! Go on! Scat!”

I got out of there as fast as I could, racing down the stairs so quickly I nearly made Pop's prediction about hurting myself come true. I shot across the mezzanine, down the next flight of stairs, through the lobby, and out the front doors-something like the Cowardly Lion running away from the Wizard of Oz, except that I opened the door instead of going through the gla.s.s.

My father was just pulling up to the curb.

”Well, looks like my timing was perfect,” he said cheerfully as I quickly got into the car. ”They must have put you through some workout tonight, Nine. You're all out of breath!”

If he only knew, I thought.

Lydia and I had seen the ghost on Wednesday night. There was another rehearsal scheduled for the next evening. But by ten o'clock on Thursday morning I was so desperate to talk to somebody about what I had seen that I thought I would go out of my mind waiting.

Finally I decided to call Chris. It took me six calls because there were over a dozen Gurleys in the phone book, and I had no idea where she lived. I just started at the top of the list and worked my way down. No answer at the first two, an old lady at the third, no answer at the fourth, and a very cranky man at the fifth. He said he worked nights and I had woken him up. He also said several other things, but I had better not put them on paper.

I was about ready to give up after the episode with Mr. Cranky. But then I remembered my grandmother's saying that people who gave up on something with less than a hundred tries didn't deserve to succeed anyway. That always seemed a bit on the high side to me, but I figured five was really on the low side. So I tried again.

”h.e.l.lo, this is the Gurley residence,” said Chris.

Bingo! ”Chris,” I said. ”This is Nine.”

Chris ignored me and kept right on talking. ”This is Bonk, the cat, speaking. No one else is available now, so the folks have put me in charge of the phone.”

An answering machine. I hate answering machines!

”At the sound of my meow, please leave your name and message. I'll make sure it gets to the right person. Also, please let me know if you have any spare mice.”

There were a couple of seconds of whirring noise, then a loud meow.

I almost said, ”This is Nine. I saw the ghost. Call me as soon as you can!”

Fortunately, I caught myself in time. If Chris's parents got to the answering machine before she did, they'd think I had really freaked out.

”This is Nine,” I said. ”I need to-”

I was interrupted by a clicking sound. ”Nine! How are you?”

”Chris?”

”You were expecting maybe the Woman in White?”

”Don't say that!” I snapped.