The teenager drifted off into a daydream and remembered Alex telling him how a Godly gendarme had confronted his anger and the poor choices he had made, forcing him to see past the selfishness of his traumatic life and take responsibility for his own actions instead of blaming everyone else for the harrowing circumstances. After conviction for his crimes and spending a lengthy stretch in prison for his delinquency, Alex finally found his purpose in Jesus Christ and committed to spending the rest of his life trying to mentor wayward teens, keeping them from the same predictable and destructive path.
Ryan thought for awhile. I’m a good person; I haven’t done anything wrong! God would surely smile on my decision and honour me for making a stand against all the negative voices trying to dissuade me from music. The vacuum cleaner clamour overpowered the scene and refocused Ryan’s reverie back to the auditorium, but as he continued to work, Ryan remembered Alex’s reluctance to answer the question of God’s will for his music career. As if trying to escape some unwanted voice, Ryan worked feverishly, but an accidental glance up at Alex’s busy form distracted Ryan’s escape route and the words overtook him like a breaking wave rolling up onto a hot sandy beach...
Are you sure?!
Ryan guffawed over the vacuum noise and with an incredulous huff, carelessly answered the voice, unconcerned whether people could hear the peculiar conversation with himself. “Am I sure?! I’ve never been surer in all my life!”
The insignificant voice faded from his mind and evaporated into the murky depths of Ryan’s conscience, but left behind an annoying echo. Are you sure? A deliberate talisman reminding Ryan of the crossroad and the path he’d chosen. The echo was easy to drown out, intentionally pushing it beneath the waves of worldly pleasures and distractions. However, in the turmoil and loneliness of success the buoyant echo would always resurface, resounding still, chiming its haunting reminder with no way to permanently silence the ever-present whisper reverberating through the endless, wasted years.
Are you sure?
*~*~*~*
With a deliberate and calculated movement, Ryan apprehensively grasped the janitors’ room door handle and threaded the key attached to his ID card necklace into its sturdy lock and pulled the substantial door open. Although he had hastily completed all the cleaning requirements on his work list, it was still fifteen minutes before the end of his shift. He was hoping the early finish would avoid another unwanted lecture and the certainty Alex would try to muddy the clear waters of Ryan’s choice and cast doubt on Maestro’s confirmation and the future music career he was about to launch into.
Cautiously investigating the silent room, it appeared the space was empty and he was alone, a situation that fitted the forming plan taking root in Ryan’s mind. Glancing up at the workroom clock and realising he had only a few moments before being confronted, he shook the heavy vacuum backpack from his shoulders and thrust its weighty tubular chrome body into the locker, throwing the orange cord on top. With an indignant tug, Ryan reefed the staff ID card from his neck and stood staring at the coveted free entry ticket to any venue around the festival circuit. Running a tired hand through his sweaty locks, he pondered the card for long moments and then threw the plastic necklace onto the table where Alex completed the substantial paperwork required by the building’s authorities.
The more Ryan contemplated his future and the Maestro’s words, the more certain he became of his own imminent success and the less he needed inspiration from musicians on the same ladder as he hoped to climb. Ryan had made it to the starting line and the new Stratocaster and the jamming session with the band was all the evidence he needed. Just maybe, in time, he would be the one other teens worshiped, clambering to gain a glimpse of the bright new star and his enduring music. A floating apparition of Freddie Mercury’s graven image wandered arrogantly across Ryan’s mind, offering an affirming smile. Then scrutinising the youngster with a disturbing leer, he placed an imaginary arm over the boy’s shoulder and crooned, ‘That’s my boy; triumph is yours. All you have to do is grasp it.’
The imagined picture vanished and left Ryan coursing with adrenaline. Everywhere he turned confirmation followed, leaving him anxious to collect his guitar and ride off into the musical sunset. As Freddie Mercury’s words lingered in Ryan’s imagination, abandoning the ID card became his first act of faith in his own ability and the surety he had the confidence to grasp the opportunity so obviously laid at his feet.
Ryan panicked as his gaze settled onto the workroom clock. Alex would be finishing soon and he had to get out before the older man complicated things and started asking questions. Finding a piece of paper and a pen on Alex’s desk, he quickly scribbled across the scrap a single word... Thanks. Then taking a final look around, pushed the door open and closed it with a gentle plunk. Incredulous eyes followed Ryan’s escaping figure from the auditorium. He’d come in late and now he was leaving early, but Ryan didn’t care. The Stratocaster was on his mind and he had to retrieve it from the sound booth.
The last hurdle before his new life could begin.
By the time Ryan had rescued the guitar and found his way out into the crowded Quai de Vernex, the sun had gone down, leaving the balmy night aglow with shimmering party lights. Amateur musicians busked their wares in amongst the distracted crowd, trying to capture their wandering attention and maybe earn a few francs from benevolent listeners. Ryan had had a close encounter with a probing beam from Alex’s searching eyes scouring the auditorium and was almost detected, although a quick dance into the sound room hid the teen and left Alex none the wiser to Ryan’s whereabouts. However, after discarding his official staff ID, Ryan had a few more anxious moments proving his identity to the sound staff, but an opportune sound engineer recognised the vacuum cleaner youth and the guitar was reluctantly handed over.
Standing, staring into the ambling crowd from the pickup position the Maestro had described, Ryan waited anxiously with his prize slung over his shoulder and dangling down his back by the plush guitar straps. In the distance, Ryan happily recognised the tall, thin figure of the Maestro striding towards his position and weaving in and out of the pack. Waving above the horde, Ryan attracted his attention and the Maestro smiled and waved back in recognition.
From out of nowhere, a disturbance erupted, catching Ryan in the middle of a violent fray and shoving the teen from his feet with a brutal motion. Ryan felt the grassy ground come up to meet his face and his tongue tasted the moist green vegetation between his teeth, while the weight of the guitar wrenched from his grasp and then a sharp pain tore at his shoulder. He could hear voices screaming down a distant tunnel and then the horrified swarming images of people moving and gawking in slow motion around his prostrate body.
A distraught and tall teenage figure divided the throng, forcing his way to the forefront and compassionately kneeled over Ryan calling his name, but nothing made sense except the rising nausea and the excruciating pain in his shoulder. Ryan desperately tried to focus, but the more he tried the faster the scene distorted, collapsing into an uncontrollable blur before the lights finally blinked out.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 49
Anne-Claire squeezed her eyelids tightly shut and then open, hoping to coax her tear ducts into action and lubricate the painful tracks left behind by the frightening and sleepless night. Since the mysterious voice had woken her earlier in the evening, she hadn’t heard a sound from either the tunnel or the world above her, but just in case, she’d strictly forbade her eyes to close in sleep, leaving a conscious avenue of escape if the need arose.
Dawn announced its presence with the first murmurs of golden orange light leaking down into the tunnel entrance and giving the impression of a halo just a few metres from Anne-Claire’s exhausted body. She turned her head and glanced deeper into the tunnel where absolute darkness met her gaze and hurt her straining eyes. Turning back to the light and attempting to analyse the strange disturbances that had stolen her sleep, Anne-Claire struggled to find lo
gic, becoming almost impossible to decipher the blurred line between dream or reality and confusing the situation intolerably.
A sudden explosion of birdsong resonated into the unfamiliar confines and flooded the sixteen year old with warmth and surety that only morning could bring. Although the familiar sounds of her native Switzerland eased the fear of the deep night and partially chased the haunting nightmare away, the dank and cold of the dark tunnel seeped into Anne-Claire, causing her body to shiver uncontrollably. Even wrapped in the warmth of the stranger’s heavy velvet cloak, she was starting to ache from the traumatic effects of her bizarre surrounds, forcing her thoughts to consider escaping the castle’s beguiling labyrinth and attempt another rendezvous with the peculiar world outside.
With her mind aching from the sleepless night, Anne-Claire lightly ran her fingers through her hair wondering whether she’d dreamt the whole scenario, but winced as an itinerant fingernail found the wound, convincing her this much of her experience at least was true. Carefully, she felt around the dry injury with a gentle probe and began to ponder her situation, recalling the facts and the events that’d led to her perplexing adventure: Grandpa’s fantastic tale; the names on the dungeon column that pointed to the spot where she’d purportedly hit her head; and the poorly timed earth tremor that seemed to open up a doorway into this strange world... but where am I?!
As if making a mental stocktake of truths and fallacies, she rubbed her hand across the soft cloak draped over her body and conceded that was real. But then her mind drifted back to the eccentric man, the owner of the cloak. He was adamant I was bathing in my underwear and turned away from me as if I really was standing in my underwear. And why was the man riding a horse in the middle of a busy roadway anyway?! Then there’s this perplexing silence that seems to pervade everywhere I turn. The familiar landscape appears completely different, too; yet now that I think about it, even the steamboat whistle I heard seemed earthier sounding than La Suisse’s. Anne-Claire pondered the incredulous situation trying to find a believable answer, but the longer she teased the facts, the deeper the confusion settled.
An unexpected sound sent a fearful wave of pins and needles coursing through her body as crunching boots disturbed the gravelly shoreline only metres from the tunnel entrance, startling the young woman and immediately silencing her rambling thoughts. Light and shadow danced across the tunnel opening as if someone was searching nearby, prompting a tense, guarded response. Anne-Claire held her breath, considering her escape route and listening for signs her protective burrow had been compromised.
“I tell you, Jean-François, she was bathing shamefully just down there in the water and I gave her my cape to protect her modesty... and then she disappeared!”
Jean-François laughed at his friend’s ridiculous description. ”My dear friend, Henri. It is time you took a wife. Imagining nymphs in your sojourn is a sure sign. What of the delightful Lady Ami Rambert? Now there is a woman to fill your imagination.”
“I do not steal women to become my wife, Jean-François, unlike you.”
The gibe took his friend off guard. “The challenge of such an adventure only adds to the allure, my friend. Tavel was only an army officer, whereas I am from the prestigious Savoie lineage and Nicolaïde is far better off with me.”
“Yes, well, I still don’t agree with abducting a wife; and to make matters worse, if you hadn’t been full of the canton’s finest wine when I found you last night, we wouldn’t be out here now at dawn with flaming torches searching for the young woman. And by the way, she still has my riding cape!” Henri chided, feeling his companion was making a mockery of him.
Jean-François drew near his friend and whispered as if an unseen adversary was listening close by, “It is rumoured that Nicolaïde’s sister, Dominique, has been abducted and is being prepared for a new life.”
A concerned frown crossed Henri’s features, evident even in the flickering light of their flaming torches. “Dominique de Blonay? The sixteen year old maiden and fabled beauty challenged only by her sister Nicolaïde has been abducted?!?”
“Hmm, that’s the one,” Jean-François’ head tilted upward in pride.
Henri became suspicious suddenly. “How do you know this, Jean-François? Do you have a hand in her abduction?”
“Come now, Henri. Do you think I would stoop to such a felonious reverie and steal two beauties, as you so nicely put it?”
Henri’s eyes thinned into slits. “Jean-François, nothing shocks me about your behaviour anymore.”
Anne-Claire’s breaths were short and shallow as she listened to the fantastic commentary drifting down to her ears. Surely someone was playing a trick on her and messing with her mind. Grandpa had told her about the fabled Dominique de Blonay, and she knew of Nicolaïde de Blonay from her school history lessons.
A sudden spill of gravel leaked down into her hiding place and it panicked her. Tasting the grit and dust smoking into her protective position, she instinctively scurried backwards into the darkness, crawling on her elbows and stomach but exasperatingly twisted in the avenger’s cloak. With her heart hammering, she strained to untangle the frustrating black riding cape snarled around her arms and legs, simultaneously pushing her body further into the black tunnel in a bid to evade the two peculiar men systematically searching for her aboveground.
In the terrifying process to elude her hunters, Anne-Claire’s hand brushed against a familiar companion, flooding her trembling escape with precarious relief. Pulling it harshly by the earphone cords from its hiding place in her shorts’ pocket, the rectangular box danced against her leg. In a flurry of agitated fingers she swiped the play button and a small light illuminated her surrounds, adding surety to her escape path although Niccolo’s impassioned B-L-A-H!!! squeaked from the tiny earphones and carelessly threatened to give her position away.
On her hands and knees, Anne-Claire wriggled deeper and deeper into the widening tunnel until she could finally stand. Assured of her ability to escape from her pursuers and accompanied by Niccolo’s screaming light, she pushed further into the blackness. Then as she rounded a corner in the shadowy passage, the path dipped down dramatically and showered her with heavy water droplets from the passage ceiling. As her frightened body desperately gasped for breath, the dripping water spilled across her face and leaked between her lips, threatening to choke her and give away her location. She strained her ears in between needed gasps, silently blowing the seeping water from her mouth and attempting to identify the sounds her intruders had found the tunnel opening and were pursuing her, but the tunnel remained reassuringly silent.
Finally allowing her breath to flow freely, she gulped in violent mouthfuls until the erratic heaving calmed and her pounding heart rate began to subside. No longer threatened by her hunters, she slumped exhausted against the tunnel wall, but instead of finding solid rock pressing into her back, the unexpected rough feel of a heavy wooden door greeted her touch. In another incredulous surprise, the bizarre place had once again offered Anne-Claire an enchanting challenge.
Spinning around to face the barrier and flooding it with light from Niccolo’s screaming stage, Anne-Claire marvelled at the ancient grain of timeworn timber. Outlining its impressive features with the improvised torch, the large rustic door had an imposing metal ring as a handle, apparently attached to a substantial metal bar securing the entry firmly into an overbearing door jamb and holding the barrier tightly shut. Purposefully, she placed her hand onto the metal circle and tried to twist it, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated by the door’s determination to keep her out and stifle rising curiosity, Anne-Claire placed both hands on the loop, ready to use her full force, when a sobering thought raced across her mind.
What could possibly be on the other side? Maybe it was another chamber that could trap her permanently, or a pit full of unspeakable crawling things. Then an even worse imagining perturbed her. She was definitely under the lake and maybe this door was holding back Lac Léman’s expansive ch
illing waters from filling the tunnel and the castle with lake water. Anne-Claire held the ring with both hands, contemplating what she should do and whether she should just restrain her curiosity and let things alone that didn’t concern her.
Then a loud, muffled boom echoed down into the tunnel from the direction of the dark dungeon. With new energy generated by fear-fuelled adrenaline, her hands acted instinctively, twisting the imposing metal ring in her grip and releasing the metal bar almost completely from the door jamb, but still holding the door precariously closed by a corner of the heavy lock. Steadying her mind and weighing the booming threat against her proposed action, she paused and considered the attempt to open the door may be short sighted and have dire consequences.
No longer convinced this was the best avenue of escape, Anne-Claire tried desperately to reverse the situation and reseal the door, but the imposing access had cracked open slightly, straining malevolently against the lock and spilling freezing water droplets around the jamb and onto Anne-Claire’s anxious feet.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 50
An inconspicuous and small white marquee pitched on the Garden of Rouvenaz’s grass bustled with curious music festival visitors. Some approached the mysterious contents with guarded inquisitiveness and others brashly marched straight in, more than willing to soak up any free festival offering. Decorated with colourful banners and suspended by ropes from the canvas walls, the bright placards announced in flamboyant letters: JESUS—COMING SOON—BOOK YOUR SEAT NOW TO AVOID THE CRUSH and below that, YOUTH WITH A MISSION.