fantasy of perfect pitch...prologue

Prologue



“Yes-I stand by what I say before: there is something special about this child.”

I understand only too well what this man is talking about. Even before he told me about Elle’s talents, I could tell something was different about her. Something was…well, special. Since the moment I first laid eyes on Elle, I knew she would not be ordinary. Sure, every mother likes to think their child is remarkable, but I think it was more than just my biased opinion that caused me to think this.

Elle is a child with a sweet disposition and a beautiful voice. This is what I first noticed when she came into this world. Her cry on the moment of her arrival was clear and soft, almost as if it was a song, and it seemed to center around one pitch. After one short cry, the tiny baby was placed in my arms, her soft skin washed clean by the midwife, and the second thing I noticed was her eyes. They are large and bright, the color of ripe wheat, with flecks of green, deep brown, and, oddly, violet. I was immediately struck by the liveliness of her eyes; the flecks of color seem to maintain their own personalities.

But now all I am focusing on is keeping my child safe. I maintain a protective stance in front of Elle’s crib, my hands gripped tightly around the wooden edges. I am still not sure if I trust this man.

It was mere minutes ago when this man, Hiram Gulthador, knocked on our door. When Paul answered the door, the man said nothing, but instead brushed by us and began to walk down the hall, taking extremely quick and lithe strides for someone of his age.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Paul, ever the polite one, and in a few quick strides was on the man’s heels. “What do you want? You have no right to intrude on my family like this.” Paul grabbed the man’s collar, holding him back from entering our bedroom, but the man struggled under his grasp, clawing at Paul’s hands.

I hurried to stand between the man and the door to our room, hoping to prevent his entrance if he struggled free of Paul’s grip.

“I only wanted to see the baby!” the man’s voice was low and hoarse, and there was an oddly urgent tone to his voice. Almost as if he was concerned about Elle’s safety. I reached behind me and shut our bedroom door. Paul’s arm moved quickly up to circle tightly around the man’s neck.

The man gave up on clawing, and to my horror, he began to kick and punch at Paul’s legs and torso. Judging by the pained looks crossing Paul’s face, this wizened old man was not nearly as frail as he looked.

“Stop it!” I screamed, and I heard Elle begin to cry behind me. For the moment, however, I was more concerned for my husband’s safety, so I grabbed the old man’s arms, pulling them away from Paul. The man was frightfully strong. “’See the baby’?!” I repeated, incredulous, struggling to keep a hold on his wrists. “Really, do you think we would let a complete stranger see our only child? A complete stranger who, I might add, invited himself into our house, without announcing so much as his name, much less his reason for disturbing us? A complete stranger who is now harming my husband? We could very well phone the police right now, and you know it! So why do you think it ridiculous that we not show you our child?”

“Chloe-” began Paul, who is always the one to cool my hotheaded nature, but I stopped him.

“I’m going to call the police, Paul.” But I did not move, not willing to give up my position in front of the bedroom door. Elle’s crying behind me grew louder. Just wait, dear child, everything will be all right…

“Wait!” said the man. His voice was even more choked then before, due to Paul’s tight grip on his neck. “I can explain.” He dropped his arms, showing surrender.

“Maybe you should have done that when I answered the door.” Paul’s hold on the man’s neck loosened, but only enough to allow him to speak.

“I am sorry. I am afraid I’ve been out of civilization so long that I don’t know how to act.”

This wasn’t exactly the answer I had expected, but I did not waver an inch from my stance in front of the door.

I glared at the old man. “Tell us why you’re here.”

He sighed as though I was an idiot. “You do not know about your daughter, do you?”

Paul and I exchanged a worried glance, but say nothing.

“Now please,” he said, and slouches his shoulders. “Let me see the baby. I promise I will not harm her, or even stand within five feet of her crib. And you may keep me in a headlock if you like.”

My natural instinct is to keep the door firmly closed, but Paul gave me a significant look. Just appease the weirdo; it said, I won’t let him hurt her.

I trust my husband’s judgment, so I opened the door, and hurried inside to stand beside Elle’s crib. She was still crying, and I reached down and petted her downy hair, but did not remove her from her crib. She looked up at me with those odd eyes, her cries slowing.

“Ah.” The old man kept his five feet distance as he had promised, and he was standing, oddly, with his eyes closed. After all that he went through to get in here, he’s not even going to look at her?

“Ah.” He repeated, and nodded several times. “Quite, quite…” He seemed to be talking to himself. He inhaled deeply several times, and then smiled. “As strong as they said, at least…by the time she’s seventeen…”

I raised an eyebrow at Paul, whose arm was still around the man’s neck.

Finally the man opened his eyes. “Do you not notice?” he says, this time to us. “Do you not know?”

I shook my head confusedly, experimentally. “You act…as if there’s something…something wrong with her.” I said the words carefully, still not sure if I trusted this man.

“Not at all. There’s something special about this child, but you seem sadly uninformed.”

Curiosity overcame my panic and suspicion.

“Then tell us what this is all about, and why you are here.”

“Well.” The man sighed again, and suddenly looked very old. “My name is Hiram Gulthador, and I guess my job here is to tell you everything.”