The Devil's Opera(175)
“Why are you doing this?” he heard her ask. He said nothing, simply caressed her cheek, and let his fingers trail down her neck and across the skin revealed by the scoop neck of her garment—her oh-so-revealing garment.
Marla flinched at the first touch, then stood ramrod stiff as he poked the gun barrel into her stomach.
“Why?” Schardius finally replied. “Because I have wanted you for twenty years, my dear.”
“What are you talking about?” Marla demanded. “Twenty years ago I was three years old, and I for sure wasn’t anywhere you were!”
“La Cecchina,” the man said. “The songbird of Florence. That was you twenty years ago. I was never able to have her, but now you are here, and you I shall have.”
* * *
Friedrich slunk to a pillar and peered around its edge carefully. Frau Marla and her abductor stood in a pool of light. He could see clearly now that the man was holding a pistol in his right hand while his left was touching her face. And enough of the abductor’s face was in view that Friedrich could identify the man: Andreas Schardius. That rocked him back a bit.
“You’re crazy!” Marla exclaimed.
Friedrich pursed his lips and shook his head. That was perhaps not the wisest thing that Frau Marla could have said. Truthful, without a doubt, but definitely imprudent in this situation. He pondered what to do. Running back upstairs to get help would leave Frau Marla with no immediate succor, and who knew what the madman would do?
But what could he do down here alone, against a madman with a pistol? He pressed himself against the pillar, and thought rapidly. Meanwhile, the conversation continued on the other side of the pillar.
“I suggest you keep a civil and contrite tongue in your head, woman.” That was said in a level and calm tone that nonetheless caused the hair on Friedrich’s neck to stand on end. He didn’t know about Frau Marla, but Schardius was definitely putting some fear into him.
“I’m a married woman,” Marla said. “I’m not beautiful. I’m big and clumsy. Why do you want me? I’ll never be an ornament for your house, or your arm, or a court. Why are you doing this?”
“Your voice,” Schardius said, finally exhibiting some passion. “I want your voice.”
Friedrich looked around the pillar again in time to see Schardius first stroke Marla’s neck and throat, then wrap her hair in his fist and pull her head to his for a brutal kiss.
Marla placed her hands against Schardius’ chest and pushed with all her might. After a moment, she broke free, leaving more than a little of her hair in the madman’s grasp. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth. It came away bloody, from where the “kiss” had broken the skin of her lips against her own teeth.
“You’re a madman,” Marla hissed. “You’re not a man; you’re an animal, a crazy insane thing!”
Schardius backhanded her with his left hand. Marla staggered a step, and Friedrich winced. At least Schardius hadn’t used the pistol to hit her.
“Another word and you are dead,” Schardius said as he straightened his arm with the pistol aimed directly at Frau Marla’s head.
* * *
Amber blinked. “I’ve been worried about that, but Marla says he hasn’t approached her.”
“Byron thinks Herr Schardius is stalking Frau Linder,” Gotthilf said.
“He had a stalker’s file in a hidden drawer in his office desk,” Byron explained. “And we found this outside his office building.” He held up the glove.
Now it was Amber who turned pale. She obviously recognized the glove as well as Byron had. It was distinctive, Gotthilf admitted. Amber was made of strong stuff, though, and carried on by asking, “What do we do?”
“Is Schardius here yet?” Byron’s tone shifted from harsh to gunmetal hard.
“I haven’t seen him, but I wouldn’t necessarily see him tonight. He’s supposed to be in the audience, not backstage.”
“Is Marla here?”
“Yes, she came in early. She’s already backstage.”
“We need to be there now!” Byron’s head started swiveling, looking for doors.
Amber turned, pulled a key-ring from her pocket and opened the door she was standing in front of. “Come on.”
They passed through the door, and she locked it behind them. Gotthilf looked around. All he could see were wires and cables, curtains and panels, and people scurrying around.
“This way,” Amber motioned to them. “She was in the dressing room when I left her about half an hour ago over on stage right.” She snorted at their confusion. “The other side of the stage. Now come on.”