Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

nightmares were getting worse. At first, he’d tried to write them off as nothing more than subconscious manifestations of his inner turmoil. But the frequency and power of them foretold something much more sinister. He’d studied the occult far too long to overlook the significance. Portents and harbingers of death were part of his stock and trade. But objective, intellectual discovery and personal experience were far different things. And it wasn’t as if this were the first time either. His grandfather had died days after his first night terror. He’d been too young and traumatized to see the correlation. And now, he felt like that frightened boy he had been thirty years ago. He simply couldn’t bear that sort of loss again. Elizabeth was alive, but the nightmares still came. Try as he might to rationalize and deny, there was a truth in the dreams he couldn’t escape.
    He fought against sleep and the horrors it brought. Eventually, he lost the struggle and fell once again into the world of nightmares.
    * * *
    The late afternoon sun warmed Simon’s back as he faced the heavy door. He held up his hand to knock, paused, and then rapped his knuckles against the metal. It had been a long enough day already. Elizabeth took bloody forever to find her perfect shoes for work. Thankfully, she seemed too tired to tag along when he mentioned he might have a lead on a job. She offered to go with him, but he would have none of it, and insisted she rest. The last thing he needed was her standing over his shoulder. If this incredibly asinine idea fell apart at the seams, at least without her there, she’d never be the wiser. He’d left her at the apartment and headed out on his errand. Before he could finish his thought, the small rectangular peep hole door slid open and Charlie’s bright eyes peered out.
    “Oh, you,” he said, the light dimming noticeably. “Lizzy’s not here.”
    “I came to see you.”
    Charlie paused for a moment, then undid the locks and opened the door. “Come on in.”
    Simon stepped inside. The club was empty and quiet, a stage waiting for the curtain to rise.
    “Something wrong with Lizzy?” Charlie asked.
    “No, she’s fine. I... I came... I understand you’re in need of a new piano player.”
    Charlie laughed in surprise. “I am. You know somebody?”
    “I’d like to apply,” Simon said, trying to sound as though he weren’t mortified at the very thought.
    “You? Lizzy said you were a professor or something back in England.”
    “I am. I was, but I also play. The two are not mutually exclusive, you know.”
    Charlie laughed again. “Well, ya sound like a professor. I’ll give ya that. Let’s see what ya got, Maestro.” He gestured to the small upright in the corner.
    Simon nodded and walked over to the piano. He sat down on the small bench and rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs. He didn’t play very often, but perhaps all those lessons his mother had forced him to endure as a child might actually serve a purpose. He wasn’t familiar enough with the music of the day to play any by memory and paled when he didn’t see any sheet music.
    “Do you have any songs, any sheet music?”
    “Ya read music?”
    “Of course I do.”
    Charlie rolled his eyes. “You’re touchy enough to be a player. In the bench.”
    Simon stood and lifted the seat. He chose a Cole Porter standard, “Let’s Misbehave”, and said a silent prayer as he started. Luckily, the few times he’d sat down to aborted attempts at seeking solace in playing had been enough, and his fingers limbered as he played. In spite of his earlier misgivings, Simon found himself enjoying the music. There was something so alive in it. The allegro defied even the most morose mood. As his fingers danced over the keys, he felt himself growing lighter by the moment, getting lost in the playful, knowing wink of the melody. In the twenties, the glass was always half-full and touched with a splash of Vermouth.
    “Not bad, Professor,” Charlie said when he finished.
    “Thank you. And the job?”
    Charlie leaned onto the piano and watched Simon carefully. “You’re good enough. But...”
    “But?”
    “Why do you want it?”
    Simon closed the music and kept his eyes away from Charlie. He’d never been in this position before and it was decidedly uncomfortable. “We need the money.”
    “And?”
    Simon frowned. He thought about an elaborate explanation, but Elizabeth had been right about Charlie. He was a shrewd