Phantom's Dance by Lesa Howard
The car was quiet on the rest of the trip. But by the time we pulled into his driveway in River Oaks, I’d gotten over the initial shock. And even though I worried his mother would sense something was wrong, Ms. Raeburn turned out to be a delightful person, putting me at ease. She was kind and considerate, and I could see how she’d had a strong influence on Raoul’s life. There was only one sticky moment when Ms. Raeburn left us to go to the kitchen, and Raoul took me by the hand and led me upstairs.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To my bedroom.” He smiled and the dimple in his chin shone.
“Are you trying to get me killed?” I teased, parroting the words he’d said the day I’d taken him to my bedroom. Then we spent the better part of an hour in his room listening to music and him showing me his school pictures and trophies—not just in football, but baseball too—and in spite of the neon welt on Raoul’s face, I forgot about Erik and enjoyed my time at his home.
On Sunday, Jenna came over to help me do my homework. With everything that had happened, I was more than a little behind. As soon as she arrived, I told her about Erik attacking Raoul.
“Holy cow. You’re kidding me.”
I shook my head. “Raoul believes he’s gone now—that he scared him off.”
“I would think so, after getting his ass handed to him like that.”
“Let’s hope ,” I said. Then we got to work.
We’d studied at the dining table, where we set up my laptop, books, and binders, for a couple of hours, when Jenna slammed her book shut and sighed heavily. “Enough. I need a break. How about some ice cream?”
I lifted my brow. “What about Mrs. Hahn?”
“Oh, one scoop won’t hurt.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
So we walked to the Marble Slab Creamery several blocks from the apartment and sat in a booth, gabbing over our ice cream.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Sure. Wait. What for?”
“Being there for me.”
She blushed. “Forget about it.”
“No, seriously, if you hadn’t spoken to Raoul the way you did, I don’t think we’d be together now.”
“He’s a great guy. I couldn’t stand to see you split up.”
“Thanks,” I said again, and she smiled and nodded.
“I suppose, since we’re being serious and everything, now’s as good a time as any to tell you my news.”
“Hmm?” I mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream.
“I’m sort of dating Dionte.”
I swallowed and craned my neck forward. “Come again.”
“Dionte Wells, from Urban Honesty. We’re going out.”
“No way!”
“Yeah, we exchanged numbers that day at the studio. I didn’t want to tell you until I saw how it went, and then you know, well, all hell broke loose.”
I skimmed over her reference to my assault to keep us on the happier conversation. “Wow, you and Dionte.”
“That’s not all.”
“What?” I smiled and taunted her. “You luuuv him.”
“Real mature. But no, I’m leaving the Rousseau Academy.”
I stared at her then, spoon floating before my open mouth, and blinked a few times. “You’re leaving the school?”
“I’ve been miserable for a while. I’m tired of the crazy schedule and constant criticism—and never getting to eat ice cream.” She shoveled a spoonful of butter pecan into her mouth as if her life depended on it. “Ever since we went to the Street Feet Studios, I’ve known I wanted out. If I’m going to dance, I’ll dance the way I want to.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“Yeah, they want me to wait a month and think it over because once I let go of the scholarship, I won’t be able to get it back. But I know what I’m going to do. When this month is up, I’m leaving school.”
Chapter Sixty Eight
When we returned to Templeton Towers, Jenna decided to go home. Standing on the street, I watched her car pull away and thought about what she was doing—leaving the Rousseau. How many times had I considered the same thing? It was right for her. She’d been unhappy for some time. But somewhere along the way, I’d changed my mind. I loved ballet. I wanted to dance more than anything in the world, and I would not walk away. Even if I weren’t allowed to audition for the second company this year, I’d stay, work harder, and try again, and again, until I made it.
Upstairs, I stepped off the elevator, unlocked the apartment door, and froze when I heard a familiar voice streaming from the living room. It couldn’t be him. Then he spoke again, and I knew there was no mistaking his that voice. Slowly, I walked into the room. “Dad?”
Sitting on the sofa, my father whipped his head up to look at me. Then he bounded to his feet and hurried around the coffee table. Scooping me into his arms, he crushed me to his chest and kissed the top of my head.
When I mumbled into his suit jacket, “I can’t breathe,” he released me and held me out in front of him.
“You’ve grown, Tina Ballerina,” he observed.
“When did you get here?” I asked.
“Today. Your mother called me a few days ago and told me what was going on, and I tied up everything in Norway so I could come home as soon as possible.”
My gaze went to Mom seated on the sofa. Her eyes were red and she held a tissue in her hand.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Sit down,” Dad instructed, and moved aside for me to take a place next to Mom. Then he shoved a stack of magazines out of his way and settled on the coffee table in front of us.
“Your mother says you’ve been sneaking out at night to meet a man named Erik.”
I whipped my head sideways to gape at her. “You told him? We had a deal. I promised not see him again, and I haven’t. I kept my part of the bargain.” My last words were stinging, meant to point out her breaking of our agreement.”
“That was concerning the school and your teachers. I had called your father the night you didn’t come home. He’s the one who suggested I give you some space for a few days.”
I clenched my hands at my side. Dad had known what I did from the beginning.
“And I’m glad I did now,” Mom continued. “After reading the text this man sent you.”
“You went through my phone!”
“You wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I had to do something. I, we, need to know what we’re dealing with. You’re under age, and according to the texts, it’s obvious the two of you were doing more than dancing.”
“I was not! I only went for lessons. He was the one…” My denial fell away in a garble of unintelligible nonsense because I still couldn’t bring myself to say it to them.
“Anyone could tell by reading those emails you’ve been intimate with him.”
Humiliation swept over me, leaving me in a cold sweat. I looked away from them both and swallowed the bolder sized stones in my throat. Without responding, I rose and moved to the French doors at the balcony. Staring blankly out the window, I understood how foolish I’d been to believe this would merely go away.
Dad came up behind me, gently turned me around, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “If you say you only went for lessons then we believe you. But that leads to another question. Did he force himself on you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t make me. I’m never seeing him again, okay.”
“Listen to me, baby.” He paused, and looked back at Mom. “Your mother and I cannot let this go. If he assaulted you, the man has to be dealt with. The authorities have to be notified.”
“Honey,” Mom spoke up and left the sofa to come stand beside Dad, “you’re too young to comprehend how men like this operate. They stalk their prey and victimize young innocents.”
Images of the picnic, the sketches and stop-motion video, and the drugged wine, loomed from my subconscious. Images I wanted erased from my memory, wiped clean, and the
“I can’t. Please don’t make me. The police, everyone at school finding out, it’s too much. I can’t handle it.”
Curling his arms around me, he bundled me close, and I wept as Mom stroked my back and reassured me. When my crying ran its course, they ushered me to the sofa again.
The two of them remained standing, hovering over me as if to keep me from fleeing. Then Dad said, “Sharon, can I talk to you?” And he walked into the kitchen.
Giving me a reassuring touch before leaving, Mom followed him. They stayed there for several minutes, murmuring and conferring with one another before emerging. After resuming their seats, Dad took my hand in his. “We understand this is upsetting for you, and we aren’t going to press the issue with the police right now.” He surprised me then by taking Mom’s hand in his free one. “But we’ve decided you need to see someone—a doctor, a counselor, someone who specializes in this kind of thing.”
“Mom?” I croaked, panic thundering in my chest.
“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll be with you the whole time.”
Chapter Sixty Nine
Dad and I sat together alone on the sofa that night while Mom showered. Despite the circumstances that had brought him home, it was comforting to have him here. With my head on his shoulder, I rested there, his presence making me feel safe.
“I’ve been selfish,” he said as he picked lint off his slacks.
“Dad…”
“Shhh.” He patted my hand. “It’s true, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make up for the past year.”
“So are you coming home?”
He sighed. “Not exactly. I’ve come home to Houston, but I’m going to stay at a hotel for a while. That’s part of the reason for the counseling. We need it as much as you do.”
“And the divorce?”
“How did you know about that?” He leaned his head outward to look down at me.
“I overheard Mom on the phone with you.”
“We’re putting it on hold for now.”
I sat up straight. “That’s great!”
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s—we’re—a work in progress.”
Reclining against his arm again, I inhaled the familiar smell of his cologne and thought, the key word is progress.
The next morning, Mom left for the office and I stayed behind. Dad and I had made plans to go to breakfast together, and then he’d take me to school. Stuffing my things into my dance bag, I noticed my phone hadn’t charged because the cord was loose at the USB port, so I went to the desk to find an old one.
Pilfering through the drawer, I ran across my old phone, but had to keep digging for its cord. In the shuffle, the bag containing the Xanax managed its way to the top of the heap. That’s when something struck me.
Lifting the bag out of the drawer, I recalled Erik’s taunting concerning the police. He’d said, “Does this mean you plan to turn yourself in for the stolen Xanax you keep hidden in your room?” How had he known I’d kept them hidden in my room?
I glanced at the clock by the bed. There wasn’t much time before Dad would arrive. Hastily, I slammed the desk drawer and hurried to the bathroom. Ripping the bag open, I dumped its contents into the toilet. Watching the bar and a half of Xanax swish around in the swirling water, I tried to recollect if I’d told Erik where the pills were. I remembered telling him about taking the half one, but wasn’t sure about the others.
Tossing the empty bag in the trashcan, I headed back to my room and sat on the edge of my bed. I kept asking myself, did I tell him where the pills were hidden? Then, like a bolt of lightning, something else hit me. He knew about Raoul. When he’d torn off Raoul’s necklace, he’d told me I couldn’t wear something that belonged to him. How had he known the necklace came from Raoul? I knew I’d never talked about Raoul with him.
“Chris, are you ready?” Dad’s voice cut into my pondering. He’d entered the apartment.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
I picked up my bag, hoping that these two things were isolated incidences. After all, there was the possibility I had revealed the pills were in my room, seeing as my memory of that night were chaotic. Plus, wouldn’t it stand to reason that I would hide them there?
Brushing aside the questions, I wanted to enjoy my time with Dad. It was nice to be with him, no longer angry about what he’d done. With all that had transpired my hurt feelings toward him had simply disintegrated.
After breakfast, we were caught in traffic on the way to the Academy, so I was late arriving. Everyone was already in the studio warming up. Tossing my bag onto a dressing table, I slipped out of the dance skirt and sweater I’d worn over my workout clothes and hurried to join them. I smiled to myself as I recalled the last time I’d been late for Ms. Zaborov’s class. It had brought Raoul into my life. I was prepared this time. I had a note from Dad.
As expected, the instant I walked in the door, eyes turned my way. But almost immediately, I sensed something more was at hand. They were conducting floor barre exercises, and the entire class stopped and ogled me, even though the music continued.
Jenna was close to me on the floor, and I looked at her quizzically. Vaulting to her feet she whispered, “Let’s get you out of here.” Then she hauled me out the door and down the passageway to the dressing room.
“Jenna,” I complained, and she released her grip on my wrist, “what’s going on? Why did everyone stare at me like I’d grown another head?”
“Mrs. Hahn was found in the garage last night. She’d been attacked.”
“Huh!” I gasped.
“She’s in the hospital. There’s all kind of talk going on about it.” She lowered her voice then and asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Erik,” I mumbled.
“Exactly.” She glanced around her and continued in the whispered tone. “The police have been here since early this morning. And that’s not the worst of it.”
I frowned and had a sinking feeling I didn’t want to know anymore.
“Some of the girls said they heard your name mentioned. There’s a rumor spreading that you were involved.”
“No. No way. This cannot be happening.” I tread a path back and forth in front of our dressing tables, flapping my hands at my sides. “Erik did this. I know he did.” I rambled, not giving Jenna an opportunity to respond. “But how have they connected me? What exactly are they saying?”
“I don’t really know. I’ve only heard bits and pieces of con…”
Jenna faltered when we heard, “There you are,” and we glanced around to see Ms. Zaborov had entered the room. “Jenna, I must speak with Christine.”
We exchanged looks, and I was sure Jenna’s face mirrored my alarm.
“But I…” Jenna stammered.
“Now,” Ms. Zaborov commanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” And Jenna bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried out of the room.
“We have been waiting for you to arrive,” Ms. Zaborov said. “Put something on.” I glanced down at my leotard and tights. “You will need to come with me.”
My pulse quickening, I pulled on the skirt and sweater I’d only moments earlier taken off. “Where are we going?”
“There is someone who wishes to speak with you.”
I swallowed my dread and followed Ms. Zaborov to Assistant Director Crane’s office. Seated at her desk conversing with two people occupying the chairs in front of her, Mrs. Crane glanced up at us. “Here she is now. Come in, Christine. Thank you for locating her, Lena. You may go.”
“No,” I yelped and then cleared my throat. “I’d like Ms. Zaborov to stay with me, please.”
Mrs. Crane looked to her guests, and one of them nodded assent. “Very well,” she said. “Please, close the door behind you.”
We stepped into the room and Ms. Zaborov quietly shut the door and moved to stand poised and imperial in a corner. I couldn’t say why, but I felt better h
“Christine, these are Detectives Arnold and Ortiz. You’ve probably heard about what happened to Elaina Hahn.” I nodded. “Well, there here to determine what may have happened.”
A man stood and offered me his chair. “Please, sit down.”
My legs quivered like gelatin, as I moved to lower myself into the seat.
“Don’t be scared,” the woman sitting next to me said. “We have a few simple questions. It’s no big deal.”
I assumed she was Detective Ortiz, with biscuit-colored skin, black hair, and the Rs rolling subtly off her tongue. Dressed in a gray business suit, her long hair was in a bun like mine. She smiled kindly and dragged herself forward to perch on the edge of her seat. Then she pilfered through a jacket pocket and pulled out a small recorder, pressed a button on its side, and placed it on the desk.
My stomach knotted and started to burn, and before she could speak I blurted, “I want my mother to be here.”
She smiled and glanced up at her partner. Then Mrs. Crane said, “We’ve been trying to contact your mother. Her assistant is tracking her down now.”
“What about my dad? He’s in Houston. Can I call him?”
The detective placed her hand on my arm. “We only have a couple of questions. We’ll be speaking with your parents at another time.”
I glanced at Ms. Zaborov, who gave me a reassuring nod.
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
Chapter Seventy
Detective Ortiz was patient. She would ask a question and give me time to think about my answer. How long had I been attending the Rousseau Academy? Did I know Elaina Hahn, and how long had I been taking lessons under her. Those were easy enough to answer, but when she asked, “Where were you around eleven-thirty last night?” I wanted to hurl myself out of the chair and run for the door.
“I was at home with my parents,” I said. “Why? You don’t think I had anything to do with the attack on Mrs. Hahn, do you?”
“We’re only trying to piece some things together,” the male detective said.
I looked around the room to Mrs. Crane, Ms. Zaborov, and then at the two police detectives. Fleetingly, I considered telling them about Erik, what he had done—tried to do—to Raoul. But I was terrified to reveal that I knew him and possibly implicate myself.
Detective Ortiz scribbled in her notepad the entire time, and after a few more questions, strange ones about my goals as a dancer and the second company audition, I was told I could go back to class. Standing and heading for the door, I paused. “Is Mrs. Hahn going to be okay?”