The Demon's Riddle (2 page)

As it happened, she felt her own voice rising, even though she wasn't the soloist, sounding more powerful and forceful, coming from someplace inside her that she didn't even know existed. Everyone else heard it, too -- she caught several heads turning toward her, but when that happened Cavanaugh tapped on the podium sharply, barely interrupting his conducting motion, instantly bringing everyone back into line.
 

As the power of her own voice continued to rise, she felt the voices of the rest of the choir growing with her, supporting her. Kerry shook her head, knowing there was no one else in the choir with this kind of vocal talent, she'd been singing with variations of this group since she was nine, and she knew their limitations intimately.
 

She looked at Cavanaugh, who was steering them into the final verse of the hymn. He was smiling again, that playful little grin, and he raised his arms just a touch, broadening his gestures, like a jockey taking a thoroughbred down the homestretch.

All eyes were riveted on him now, and Kerry felt a new level of focus and concentration, one she'd never felt before. He was lifting them in some mysterious way, she was sure of that, and she wondered what kind of strange power he had that allowed him to do this, knowing it had to go far beyond his knowledge of the music, however impressive that might be. 

He held the final chord deliberately, for an extended period that went far beyond the whole note marked in the music, even with the fermata. It was as if he wanted them to hear what they were capable of, the ways in which they could rise above their previous level of performance, if they simply followed his lead.
 

Cavanaugh cut them off suddenly, and Kerry cringed, waiting for disaster to strike. Endings were usually a horror show with this group, it had always been that way, the only thing that had rescued them in the past was the wall of noise put out by the organ, which covered up a multitude of musical sins.
 

But the calamity never happened. The cut-off was crisp and instantaneous, and suddenly the church was silent, the silence almost holy in a way Kerry had never associated with the singing of this particular choir. Cavanaugh let it linger for several seconds before dropping his arms, and then he posed, frozen dramatically, something she knew he'd do for the audience on Sunday
to make the hymn more powerful.

When he finally let go of the pose, though, his demeanor changed completely. Cavanaugh looked at them, matter of fact, and then he looked down at the music in front of him, as if he had nothing but contempt for it. Then he shrugged, and looked back up at the choir, his face contorted slightly, as if he was struggling to find the right words.
 

"That was...acceptable," he said quietly.
 

The reaction of the choir was one of confusion. Everyone knew they had gone far beyond their abilities, Kerry especially. And they also knew it was Cavanaugh who had taken them to that level, somehow, although no one could quite explain it. For him to
describe their effort that way was a considerable shock, and his pronouncement was greeted with utter silence as they all waited to see what would follow.

It took a couple of minutes to find out. The guest choir director returned his attention to the podium, shuffling papers again. But this time it was no act, and not a play for time or effect, either. Cavanaugh seemed genuinely confused, and Kerry got the feeling that shuffling papers was part of the decision process while the gears clicked in his mind.

That wasn't the only feeling Kerry got, somehow she had the feeling she could read his thoughts, that she knew what he was about to do next. It was absurd, of course, Kerry knew that, but for a moment she felt she could see down to his core, just as he had seen her in this same fashion when their eyes had first met. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Cavanaugh raised his eyes and scanned the choir once again. This time his demeanor was neutral and nondescript as he called up another hymn, one of the standard ones from the usual Sunday program.

Kerry could almost feel a sigh of disappointment ripple through the choir, but she knew this had to be her imagination -- Cavanaugh had total control of them now, everyone's eyes were glued to him, giving him their full and total attention. He could do whatever he wanted with them now, musically speaking, and perhaps in other ways as well. Kerry found herself wondering, intrigued at where he might go with them. 

She found out as soon as he raised the baton, which he hadn't used for the first hymn. Kerry had the strong feeling he was doing this for effect, to show them that he could be just as adept with the tool as he'd been using just his hands for the first hymn.
 

S
he soon found out there was a reason for the change. Cavanaugh's gestures with the baton were more precise this time, and as a result their entrance was far less ragged than it had been with the first hymn. There was none of the imprecision, everything was crisp and organized right from the start. And Cavanaugh introduced the dynamics far earlier with this hymn, adding layers of nuance to this ordinary piece of music in ways Kerry had never thought possible. 

The results were similar. Once again their voices blended instantly, and Kerry felt the same urge overcome her, to lead with her voice, except that urge was much stronger this time. And Cavanaugh looked straight at her at the precise moment when it happened, as if he knew exactly what was going on and perhaps had even initiated it.
 

Kerry felt herself shiver, but she kept going, elevating her sound, then responding to his baton, meeting the exact demands of phrasing and dynamics. And as it happened, she felt the most intense feeling of
deja vu she'd ever experienced as her mind and feelings drifted back to that initial moment, the time that singing had affected her sexually when she had that first innocent crush on the boy in the choir. 

This time, though, she knew there was nothing innocent about her feelings. Kerry was joined to Cavanaugh now, she knew that, in ways she was only beginning to understand.
 

As the hymn continued, it was as if time stopped for Kerry. The ticking clock on the balcony behind them was utterly irrelevant; the only notion of time that mattered for her was Cavanaugh's baton and the way he maneuvered her through the music. She felt as if she could understand the tiniest gesture, every nuance and detail of it, as the conductor turned the ordinary hymn into a small work of art.
 

The rest of the choir knew it, too. Kerry saw several heads turn as the music progressed, and at first she didn't understand it, but as they came to the final verse Kerry finally realized that they were looking to her for direction, that they knew she was working in tandem with him to raise the level of the singing.

For a moment she wondered if anyone knew what else was going on during the intuitive communication between them, and when she considered this possibility she blushed furiously once again. Cavanaugh smiled, and in that instant Kerry knew that he had access to her thoughts and knew full well the level of intimacy he had established between them. 

The final verse itself was triumphant, to say the least. Confident that the choir was under his control now, Cavanaugh threw his entire body into his conducting, swaying and persuading, cajoling and urging them on, allowing his movements to follow and augment his gestures with the baton.

The volume crescendoed, slowly and almost imperceptibly, until finally they reached the last chord, which Cavanaugh held for what seemed like an eternity. The seconds continued to pass, until finally Kerry began to wonder how long they could hold this note for, especially given the difficulty of maintaining such a pure, pristine sound.

She thought it might be some kind of test, and Kerry smiled at the exact instant she had that thought. She knew he was showing her something, that he wanted her to understand the degree to which he could raise the level of performance here and that he could do it at any time.
 

When they were done this time, Kerry thought she might have heard some deep breaths, although this could have been her imagination. She smiled to herself and almost chuckled, but as soon as she did this Cavanaugh looked at her with a mixed expression, half warning and half amusement. She met his gaze head on this time, to let him know that she was his equal, that she wouldn't be intimidated, and his visage relaxed slightly, the grin playing at the edge of his mouth.
 

Then, once again, he spoke. "That was...better," he said, smirking and looking right at Kerry. She blushed, but not as badly this time, thinking how much she was enjoying getting on equal footing with him.
 

This time the pause between hymns was shorter. The choir director seemed more decisive as he went through his papers, choosing sheet music and quickly announcing the third hymn. It was familiar, but this time there was no hint of disappointment in the choir's reaction, for they were beginning to realize that their achievements were taking place independently of the music itself, that if they simply followed his lead Cavanaugh could elevate any hymn, regardless of how simple and banal it was.
 

He wasted no time launching into this one, forsaking the baton and returning to hand gestures. They responded instantly to his leadership, and Kerry found herself astounded at how quickly the change and the learning process were taking place. She thought back to her time at Oberlin, how laborious some of it had seemed, especially in the beginning, and she found herself amazed at the way Cavanaugh was able to consolidate the process so effortlessly and expeditiously.
 

As the hymn progressed, it became immediately apparent that there wasn't as much discrepancy in the performance level between this hymn and the previous one. It was excellent right from the start, and the higher confidence level of the choir would have been obvious to anyone, even a lay person with no knowledge of how to rehearse a piece. For the first time in months, Kerry found herself forgetting how depressing her current circumstances were, and she sang with a lightness that made it feel like she was floating on air.

There was no drama at the end, either, just a simple, more subdued closing. In part that was in keeping with the quieter nature of this hymn, but Kerry also realized that Cavanaugh was showing them something else, that he didn't need tricks or flourishes to make his talent apparent and obvious. When they were done the choir remained rapt, totally focused on him, eager to do more, to see where he was going to take them next.

Unfortunately, though, he was done, at least for the moment. He did some paper shuffling when the hymn was over, and they looked at him with anticipation, hoping he might select something more complicated that would challenge them, both individually
and as a unit. But it quickly became apparent that Cavanaugh was merely straightening out his music, and finally he closed the file. Kerry could have sworn she heard a groan ripple through the choir, but she knew the director wouldn't have tolerated that, so it must have been her imagination.

His instructions after that were brief: another rehearsal, tomorrow night, same time, although he gave no indication of what he had planned. Kerry could feel the curiosity buzzing through the choir, the unasked questions simmering in the background, but the director made it obvious with his brusqueness that he would take no questions and they were done for the evening.

With that, he picked up the file, then reached down and grabbed his helmet. They were still so transfixed that before they realized what had happened he was off the podium and down the stairs, then out the door. They heard the heavy church doors thud shut a few seconds after he left, and then they heard a rumbling sound, sputtering at first, as he started and then throttled his motorcycle. There was a pause before the rumbling grew into a light thunder, and then he was off into the night, leaving them stunned at what they were capable of under his baton and his capable hand. 

Chapter 5
Same Place - Same Time
 

A sudden torrent of conversation rippled through the choir as soon as he was gone, some of it excited, some curious, much of it filled with a girlish buzz she'd never heard from this mostly-female group before. Kerry ignored them, not wanting to be part of any of it, and not wishing to share her experience of him, the way he'd touched her and reached deep inside her.

Instead she flew home, making the short walk back home on her own, enjoying the relative coolness of the late night air. Her father kept an apartment at the rectory, and for a moment Kerry thought about spending the night there, to savor what had just happened. But she knew her father would never approve, and at some point he would come after her to see where she was, and Kerry knew there was no way she could handle that kind of fuss on this special night, one she wanted to keep as pure as possible. 

So she decided to return home, making the walk slightly longer. They lived close to the church, but there was still a stretch of quiet country road she had to traverse to get there, a stretch her father always fussed with her about, warning her about what could happen to her if she was alone at that hour of the night. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she tolerated it as one of the more minor forms of smothering she had to endure from him.

Still, she took her time, wanting to enjoy her freedom for as long as possible, knowing he would be hovering over her as soon as she arrived, something that was part of his nature that he simply couldn't suppress. 

When she got to the door, he was there waiting, just as Kerry had known he would be. Sitting in his favorite chair, the one where their mom had always doted on him, making sure everything was just so and arranging his world for him. The sight of him disgusted her, just as it always had, and once again Kerry had to remind herself that this was her father, that she wasn't supposed to feel this way about him, and she had to temper the anger that surged through her every time she thought about what he'd done to their mother.

"How was rehearsal?" he asked, trying to sound neutral and hide the suspicion that was natural in his voice.

Kerry made an effort to gather herself, forcing herself to breathe, thinking about the way she used her breath in phrasing and the way she had soared with Cavanaugh, and that all of that had taken place only moments ago.

"It was...ok," she said, trying to sound as matter of fact as possible.

"Just ok?" he asked, the level of suspicion increasing.

"Yeah," she answered, suddenly suppressing a smile that came over her all at once, a warm feeling she associated with Cavanaugh.

He paused, and Kerry knew he was considering what tactic to take next. "How's the new choir director?" he finally asked.

"He's...good."

He waited, and Kerry knew her father wanted some kind of explanation, or elaboration, something along those lines. Before tonight she would have given it to him, mostly out of embarrassment, then hated herself for giving in to him, for feeding into his suspicion.

But something about her was different tonight. Kerry felt changed in a way she couldn't quite define -- some of it was more confidence from the rehearsal, the knowledge that the way she had sung was who she was, and she didn't have to explain that to anyone, not even him. On a deeper level, though, she felt Cavanaugh's presence, inside her, as if it was part of her now, as strange as that would have sounded had she chosen to express it.

All of those thoughts took a precious few seconds, and Kerry could feel her father's eyes on her, probing, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. This time she ignored it, though, and finally she looked right at him, challenging him with her eyes, the way she had with Cavanaugh, even though the circumstances were completely different, of course. She stared, counting the seconds to see what he'd do, knowing that she'd never done anything like this before, and that the consequences would be quite dire if her father decided that he had
to win, which was his normal choice.

Time seemed to stop for that brief period, just as it had during the music, albeit with completely different implications. Finally her father looked down, and Kerry racked her memory, trying to remember if this had ever happened before during her entire history with him. She had to resist the urge to smile, forcing her expression into a straight face, and when she was sure he was defeated Kerry began to walk past him, slowly, to make sure she didn't disturb anything with a pace that was too quick or too lingering.

Finally she paused at the top of the stairs and looked back at him. "It was a long rehearsal," she said, knowing what a lie that was. "I'm going to bed early. Night, dad."

Kerry thought she heard him reply softly, to say good night in return, but that might have been her imagination. On another night he might have kept after her, asking more questions, demanding details, doing everything he normally did.

Kerry counted off a few more seconds to make sure this didn't happen, knowing she could set him off if she rushed upstairs too quickly. But she looked at him as she counted, and suddenly her father looked old, for the first time in a way that Kerry realized was the beginning of frailty and weakness.

The realization tempered her victory slowly, but then she thought back to James Cavanaugh and the inspiration he had given her and the seeds of change he had placed deep within her. She thought about those seeds, their implications and the way they might affect her future, and she considered what they might grow into as she began to spend more time with him.