CH7

Betty and Harold Masterton, my neighbors, were retired and in their late sixties. Harold had made his money in real estate development way back in the heady eighties.

They'd been my neighbors when I bought the house, some two years ago. In those two years, we'd conversed occasionally when bumping into each other at the end of our drives.

The seclusion and privacy of Beverly Hills was designed to discourage familiarity but I couldn't help notice how Betty and Harold seemed to have classic cocktail parties three or four times a week, the big band music and babble of voices reaching me when I sat on my patio.

Their soirées would go on into the early hours. It never bothered me. It wasn't as if I had guests that were being disturbed by the noise. Besides, it was a sign of life in the neighborhood.

Through Amelia, I discovered her aunt and uncle were fun-loving lushes, inebriated almost every night. Neither mistreated her. By all accounts, they were pleasant and generous.

Amelia's only complaint was she'd occasionally miss singing classes because they were a bit forgetful when they'd drink. It was one such occasion that saw the deepening of our friendship. A Saturday morning.

The ringing of the front doorbell, a melodious chime from tubular bells, caught me off guard. It was exceedingly rare for anyone to visit me, aside from FedEx, or UPS, that is.

Opening the wide front door, I found Amelia standing and looking at me. She seemed different. It took me a moment to catch on. Amelia was wearing a lemon-yellow dress, white ankle socks and sandals. Her hair was lustrous. Big, beautiful eyes filled with hope stared from behind frameless glasses. She tilted her head. A puff of air passed through my brain. My thoughts vanished.

"Hi," I said, concentrating on her hands. "You don't have to ring the bell, Amelia. Just enter whenever you want to."

"I wasn't sure because it's so early. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything. What?"

"Can you give me a ride to my music class? Aunt Betty's sick again and Uncle Harold isn't awake."

"Sure. Hold on while I find my shoes."

That morning, I sat in the music room and watched as she sang, her tutor making small comments, providing direction, making her repeat sections she wasn't happy with.

They talked about the song, its meaning, the tone and emotions in it. Amelia was intensely focused and serious. This appeared to be very important to her. But, every so often, she'd glance my way and a big, blinding smile would flash at me and consume all the oxygen in the room.

I was enchanted by her. She'd taken over my consciousness, cast a spell over me, all without my permission. Amelia was ever-present in my mind. What would happen in the future? How could I restore my life to the normal one I'd had just a few weeks ago? Did I want to?

AMELIA LOOKED OUT THROUGH her bedroom window at the faint stars in the inky-black sky. From downstairs, the hubbub of loud conversations, sudden bursts of laughter, clinking glasses, and the music of big bands filtered up to her through her closed door. They were sounds she was used to hearing.

Her mind turned to Mike as he sat watching her so intently at music class. His eyes had been so focused on her, his return smiles really cute, really nice and warm.

Her mind drifted back further, way back to darker thoughts...

Amelia glanced up from her desk when her name was called. Mrs. Kinsey, the Principal, had her head poking around the classroom door, Mr. Logan, her teacher waving his hand at her.

"Amelia, please go with Mrs. Kinsey," he repeated, waving her up. "Come on. Hup-hup. Don't keep her waiting."

Leaving her books and backpack at the desk, Amelia left. The classroom door closed behind her as she followed Mrs. Kinsey.

"Relax, Amelia. You're not in trouble. Someone wants to talk to you," she said, striding down the hall, her mid-calf skirt swishing.

Amelia hurried to keep up, wondering who, why? At the office, when Mrs. Kinsey opened the door to a meeting room and gestured at her, Amelia entered. The door closed behind her.

Standing at the grimy window was an old man. He was slender and well dressed in a gray overcoat with black edges at the collar, an odd black hat on his head. He turned and smiled at her, his pale blue eyes twinkling.