From: Terma99@aol.com
Date: Wed, 31 May 2000 01:14:24 EDT
Subject: Cadenza by Terma99 (36/44)
Source: xff


Cadenza
by Terma99

Chapter Seventeen (36/44)

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*********************************

Immersed in the melody of the bassoon guiding them into the 
second movement, Joshua felt the relief wash over him that 
he had let his heart open to release its withheld sorrow for 
the audience. It wasn't a secret he needed to keep in 
anymore--it was a gift. This was the suffering that drove the 
human impulse to create. The knowledge of loss--a tragedy as 
old as time--certainly as old as the concerto he played or the 
violin he played on, shaped by hand, hundreds of years ago. 
He closed his eyes, leaving the stage and the orchestra behind, 
lost in the instrument's clear voice. The andante wove itself 
around him, protecting him. Inside that musical cocoon, he 
could find the caring that was otherwise so elusive to him.

"Joshua..."

The single note of a rasping voice entered his mind. It was his 
name again, spoken with coldness, bitterness and revenge. 
He'd been hearing it these last weeks over and over like a 
sick taunting game. 

*Not now. Not here,* his mind hissed as his slow trill matched 
the gentle pluck of the cellos. No one was allowed into this 
perfect space that belonged to him alone. 

"Joshua..." it whispered again, sounding closer. Joshua refused 
to acknowledge it; only the soft pulse of the Andante was real, 
the rest was all a bad dream.

"You do not listen..." it spat under the suspended fifth, 
hanging on the phrase as Joshua's violin completed the 
progression, descending into resolution. It was closer--it was 
coming closer.

Fear broke the spell and Joshua's eyes shot open just as the 
orchestra held the final note of the movement, his bow 
drawing so slowly over the E, sustain, sustain...and quiet.

The Thin Man was on the stage, under the same golden lights, 
walking toward him across the polished floor in his filthy felt 
coat. He was walking without footfalls in front of thousands 
who all sat unknowing, releasing a cough or fidgeting briefly 
in the pause between the second and third movements. They 
couldn't see the specter closing in on Joshua any more than 
Joshua could look beyond the brilliant curtain of lights to see 
the faces of the audience he knew were seated before him.

Joshua's instrument hung loosely at his side, the bow dangling 
from his forefinger. He was resting his arm, as was his habit 
for the few seconds' rest he received in the Mendelssohn 
before starting the final Allegro. His heart was pounding in 
his chest. He could hear each thump, growing louder as the 
man approached. Fear crawled into his nerves, sending a 
signal to his brain to at all costs, run! Get free!

But he couldn't. His performer's instinct was at the helm. 
Joshua took the violin up in his left hand and his chin felt for 
the warmed wood of the Stradivarius as the Thin Man 
methodically cleared the distance, moving slow and steady, 
coming for him.

Joshua breathed, the air sounding harsh and rough in his 
lungs. He turned his head to the left to look at the conductor 
who was holding out the baton, awaiting Joshua's cue to begin. 
He was about to make the small affirmative move to signal 
the director's arm to fall. Downbeat was imminent; the pause 
had been long enough, too long.

Joshua's fear made his eyes track once more toward the 
lights. The Thin Man stood directly in front of him. He was 
raising his pole-like arms, reaching out to Joshua, the cracked 
smile of death breaking across his sunken face. In the lights 
he was horrible to see, a walking corpse. "You don't exist," 
Joshua said without breath. His bone-thin hands, cold as 
icicles, reached out to Joshua, cupping his head, pressing over 
his ears. Inches from his nose, the death's head spoke. 

"Tishena," it said. 

Rome took flame as Joshua's chin dropped, cueing the 
conductor to begin.


******************************

Mulder crossed the hall to look back at the stage. The third 
movement was underway, the orchestra frolicking along after 
Joshua's violin. Except it didn't sound like Joshua's violin; it 
sounded...different.

Scully caught his concerned expression. "What is it, Mulder?"

"Something's wrong. Something's not right," Mulder mumbled, 
squinting at the brightly-lit stage and its soloist. Scully stood 
beside him, peering around the curtain.

"I don't understand. What are you seeing?"

"It's not what I'm seeing; it's what I'm hearing. That's not how 
Joshua plays this. Something's wrong. He's moved; he's 
standing differently."

Mulder watched Scully as she observed the scene. "He's just 
watching the conductor. I don't understand. I know this piece, 
Mulder. It sounds fine to me."

Mulder reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'm alerting 
security. Joshua's seen something, or...I don't know, but I 
swear, Scully, I've heard him practice this piece over and 
over. It's just not how he plays it."

His partner kept her eyes on the stage while Mulder called 
the Davies Hall security chief. They were sending extra men 
backstage and toward the lower orchestra to check for 
suspicious activity. 

Mulder hung up his phone and leaned toward Scully. "Keep 
this post covered; I'm heading backstage."

###

Mulder broke into a jog once he reached the maintenance 
passage. Whether Joshua's life was a lie or not, he knew 
nothing would keep the truth from his performance. The facts 
Scully had laid out were hard to deny, but Mulder's gut 
instinct was all but screaming at him to listen to the situation 
with a less-trained ear. 

He cut through the dressing rooms and opened the backstage 
door, flashing his badge at the techies who rushed forward to 
halt him. He stopped, standing to the side in the darkness of 
the wing, catching his breath as Joshua and the San Francisco 
Symphony finished the last seventeen bars of the concerto.

The audience broke into applause and Joshua bowed, 
somewhat haltingly. His body language was communicating a 
restrained panic that became more apparent as he exited the 
stage and walked briskly past everyone in the shadows 
toward his private room, keeping his eyes to the ground. He 
didn't see Mulder and the agent called after him, squeezing 
past the backstage security and technical crew jamming the 
hall. Mulder caught up just in time to see Joshua's private 
door slam and hear the bolt slide and lock. Mulder knocked 
on the door.

"Joshua? Are you all right? Can you open the door?"

There was no reply, just the sound of rapid movements 
coming from within. Mulder put his ear to the door. He could 
hear the quick pace of Joshua's breathing as the stage crew 
and even the symphony's conductor all gathered around, 
concerned. Joshua had missed his curtain call.

Mulder pounded and called out to him to no avail. Finally, he 
turned to the music director. "I think he saw something in the 
audience. His performance was off, wasn't it?"

The conductor nodded. "He was technically accurate, but it 
wasn't the Joshua I know. He hesitated before beginning the 
last movement."

Mulder agreed with a grim nod, jiggling the knob. "Can 
someone get a key for this door?"

A key was located, but before the stagehand could untangle 
his string of keys, Joshua burst out of his room, hastily attired 
in his casual clothes. He looked wildly at the crowd 
assembled, and made a dash, violin case in hand, for the stage 
door.

*The Thin Man has him,* was Mulder's concerned thought as 
he kept close on Joshua's heels, calling to him. Joshua rushed 
out the stage door and into the backseat of his waiting car, 
held open by his driver. Joshua slid in, slamming the door 
shut and locking it, shouting at his driver to "Go! Go!"

Mulder caught the driver by the arm as he made to circle to 
the front to do as he was asked. "Wait a minute," the agent 
said, holding open his badge. "Let me find out what's going on 
with him. I think he's just spooked."

The driver looked at Mulder's ID and unlocked the back door 
so Mulder could enter. In the dark interior, Mulder could see 
Joshua sitting in the far corner, hunched over, his hands 
around the back of his head. His eyes were closed as if he was 
in pain.

"Joshua?"

The musician was making a strange moaning sound as his 
hands shifted to cover his ears.

"What's going on, Joshua? What's wrong?"

When he failed to reply, Mulder moved across the seat 
toward him  and touched his shoulder. Joshua jumped 
violently at the contact and looked up in surprise at Mulder. 
He was shaking all over and his eyes reflected the dark 
echoes of terror.

Mulder touched his hair, trying to calm him. "It's okay, 
Joshua. I'm here. What's going on?"

Joshua's eyes narrowed and he shook his head like he didn't 
understand. Mulder repeated himself and Joshua still failed to 
comprehend. 

"I..." he finally began to say, his fingers coming up to touch 
the curve of his ear. 

"What?"

"I...can't hear you."

*************************************

Chapter Seventeen
END (36/44)

Chapter Eighteen (37/44)

*********************************

Chapter Eighteen: Tishena

*********************************


Weightlessness. In a world without senses, the child floated. 
His small body had slipped through the ice and he had sunk 
into the murky pond like a sodden leaf. His toes didn't quite 
reach the muddy bottom, his head was not quite breaking the 
surface. He was submerged, the heavy waters rocking him up 
and down, up and down. Surrounded by fluid in a cold womb, 
Joshua wanted to sleep, drift with numbness into oblivion. 
Senselessness could be realized were it not for the thuds 
shuddering from above. Men were searching for him, crossing 
the ice, calling out, testing the brittle surface with long poles. 
They came closer to his frozen head, striking the silver film.

A sudden current rippled through the water and he started, 
air retching from his lungs like a sickness. He wanted to 
breathe, his chest pleading for relief. His head tipped skyward 
and his eyes opened. A rowboat cracked the surface as it 
glided overhead and stilled. A man leaned over the side, 
peering into the water. His blurred mouth was moving as if he 
were shouting for someone. The man's hand reached down, 
breaking into the icy silence of the water, reaching for him.

###

Davies Medical Center ER
1:45 AM

Joshua jerked and opened his eyes.

"It's okay," Mulder said, laying his hand on Joshua's head, 
stroking the edge of his ear with his thumb. Joshua had been 
dozing on the gurney. Mulder hated to wake him, but hated 
even more to watch him struggle with his dreams. He stood 
next to him trying to communicate comfort even though he 
knew Joshua couldn't hear the words. He stroked the side of 
his face. It made sense to try and ground him with touch.

Joshua's eyes tracked over the room, skittish and afraid. He 
was still having difficulty orienting himself in the white 
rooms of the ER.

"Spinning..." he said with difficulty, halting on the start of his 
words. It would take some time for Joshua to learn how to 
speak comfortably without the use of his ears. The room was 
still moving to him, an inner ear imbalance somehow related 
to his sudden auditory failure. He looked pale to Mulder, 
closed off and frightened. Joshua had barely said three words 
to him since they left Davies.

Mulder reached for the erasable noteboard and pen the nurse 
had provided lying near Joshua's bed.  /How are you feeling?/ 
he wrote.

Joshua frowned, motioning for the pen board. /What's wrong 
with me?/ he wrote sloppily, still lying on his side, too out of 
it to sit up. Two hours ago he'd been administered a dose of 
Meclizine to calm the vertigo and himself. He had become 
nearly hysterical at one point during the course of exams the 
emergency neurologist and ENT ordered on him. They'd 
feared an aneurysm. Joshua didn't take well to being strapped 
down for the MRI. It didn't matter; the images of his brain 
had come back normal. Two hours had passed now and they 
still failed to find any answers. 

/We don't know yet. You seem to be in no danger./ Mulder 
replied in writing.

Joshua read the words and pushed the pad away.

Mulder took it up again, wiping the slate clean with his hand. 
/They'll send for an audiologist tomorrow./ Joshua read it, but 
did not respond. He closed his eyes, pressing his head into the 
pillow. "I want to go home," he whispered.

###

Marina Flat
2:34 AM

Mulder assisted Joshua in readying for bed. He helped him 
change out of his clothes, moving the covers back for him to 
lie down. The Meclizine was starting to wear off, but the 
majority of Joshua's despondency was attributed to 
disorientation and ultimately, shock.

Mulder sat next to Joshua on the bed as he got comfortable, 
settling on his stomach. Mulder placed his hand on the man's 
back, rubbing gently until he felt him relax. 

/Try to sleep. Scully and I will watch you./ Mulder wrote on 
the pad. He reached over Joshua's head to shut off the lamp 
and draw the blanket up over his shoulders. It was only after 
Joshua had closed his eyes and seemed to drift off that 
Mulder got up to face Scully, who'd been watching them from 
the center of the room.

She looked uncomfortable. Mulder didn't care how it 
appeared to her right now. Joshua needed a friend. 

"I don't think requesting a specialist is going to make any 
difference tomorrow," she said in a hushed voice. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the ENT ran Joshua through all the standard 
examinations tonight and concluded that there was no 
apparent physical cause for his condition--no injury, 
infections or tumors."

"That's because the cause isn't physical," Mulder said firmly.

Scully sighed. "Mulder..."

"Why are you whispering, Scully?"

Scully looked obstinately at him--her impatience with him 
was quite visible. She gestured for him to move with her to 
the far end of the flat. Mulder followed with trepidation for 
her coming argument. She turned to him once they'd reached 
the kitchen bar. "I'm whispering because I'm not 100 percent 
certain he's deaf. His MRI indicated his auditory nerves are 
functioning normally."

"I don't care about the tests. It's obvious to me he can't hear."

"According to Joshua he was struck deaf by the so called Thin 
Man--who no less than a thousand people failed to witness--
just before the final movement of the concerto.  After which, 
Joshua went on to finish the performance flawlessly. "

"So? He's a good violinist."

"Or a very good actor. And if you elect to believe his story at 
face value, you've allowed yourself to be more influenced 
than I thought."

"But it's like Beethoven...he's like Beethoven," Mulder insisted.

"What?"

"One of the first conversations I ever had with Joshua...he told 
me about Beethoven conducting the premiere performance of 
the Ninth Symphony while he was stone deaf...he followed the 
bows of the first violins."

"That might be fine for waving a stick, Mulder, but Beethoven 
wasn't playing an intuitive instrument. The violin...its 
fingering is relative to the pitch of the orchestra. Joshua may 
be a virtuoso, but I don't believe he could possibly have 
pulled off a concerto finale in this condition; if it is a 
condition."

"You're saying he's making this all up?"

"Yes...No. I don't know. He may believe that he's not hearing. 
In cases of psychogenic hypacusis the perception of deafness 
can be brought on by extreme stress, but I'd hate to find 
ourselves in a compromised position with him. I think we 
need to operate as if he can hear us."

Mulder stood staring at her. "You really believe he'd lie about 
something like this?"

Scully opened her palms in frustration. "Of course he would. 
He's been lying to us all week. It's very convenient that he's 
already fed you a history lesson to back up this whole 
scenario."

Mulder pursed his lips and shook his head. "You can't 
convince me of that, Scully."

"Mulder!" she exclaimed, although her voice was still hushed. 
"How much more corroborating evidence do you need?"

"I don't buy it, Scully. Everything you've shown me so far on 
him is purely circumstantial," Mulder replied, beginning to 
lose his grip on the enforced reasoning in his voice.

Scully's mouth parted as she stared back up at him, blinking 
in amazement. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You're 
denying everything we've proven. You're clinging to invisible 
suspects and fantasies. What will it take to make you see him 
for who he really is?"

"What will it take for you to see that he might actually care 
for me?" Mulder said abruptly. He stopped, shocked that he 
had just said those words to her. 

"What are you saying to me, Mulder?" she said, unsteadily. 
"That you're in love with him?"

Mulder struggled to provide a response, but found he 
couldn't. His lack of reply stunned them both as they stood in 
the far corner of Joshua's dark flat caught in a surrealistic 
limbo.

A small object hit the floor and both agents flinched. Out of 
the darkness, an erasable marking pen rolled freely toward 
them across Joshua's wooden floor. They looked beyond it to 
find Joshua standing in the center of his flat holding a sign. 

/Get out!/ it read.


************************

3:42 AM

Sleepless, Joshua sat at the end of his bed for over an hour, 
staring across the bare floor to the back of the piano. The 
instrument's long back was a cold, remote black. In its center, 
like an island, sat the Stradivarius case staying afloat in a 
frozen ink sea. Joshua felt himself rise and reach out for the 
thick weave of the case. He unzipped and unlatched it in two 
simple movements. Inside, the violin lay patiently, waiting for 
him to wake it like a sleeping fairy maiden. He took her in his 
hands, familiar, and tucked her under his chin. He smelled the 
ancient wood, colored an even mahogany in the dim light 
from the street--its aged imperfections smoothed by paucity 
of light as if it were reborn into the night. 

His fingers moved to first position, his wrist dipped to take up 
the bow, twisting the peg taut. Bow met string as his arm 
moved instinctively. The open 'A' rang out, and for a single 
moment of relief, Joshua could swear he had heard it clear 
like the ring of a church bell. But when the vibrations under 
his chin stilled, the perfect 440 'A' rang on in his head until 
he silenced it. The violin would still give to him, but he had no 
capacity to accept its gift, only the memories of thousands of 
hours of solitude lost with the failing of his ears. 

Lovingly, he lay the Stradivarius back in the case along with 
the bow, loosening the strings for long storage. He closed the 
lid and slipped the locks into place. He slowly walked away 
from the piano around the bench to look out the window. The 
Bay was smooth and calm like polished onyx. In his mind he 
saw the frozen pond beyond the farm--a soft blue-gray 
sheet--and tried to remember the serenity he had found 
under those dormant branches. The border collie looked up 
from where she had fallen asleep at his feet, the eyes of trust 
and love. Another winter from then his grandfather would 
come and save him, raise him to greatness; but the dog had 
remained behind. He never knew what had become of her.

With a sob, Joshua gripped the piano bench, lifting it over his 
head and cast it into the cold thin pane of the window, 
smashing it into a billion brilliant pieces that flew apart in 
perfect silence--tishena.


*************************************

Chapter Eighteen
END (37/44)

Chapter Eighteen (38/44)

*********************************

3:55 AM

Mulder found him sitting on the floor at the side of his bed, 
bleeding from the hands in a glinting sea of broken glass. He 
was in the dark, shivering in the cold wind that flew in from 
the ocean blowing his home apart. Trinkets and papers had 
fallen from the shelves and lamps had tipped over and 
broken in the gusts. Joshua was cold, unresponsive. His eyes 
were open, but his face was streaked in blood from where he 
had tried to cover his eyes. 

Mulder helped him up and held him against his shoulder, 
covering him with his coat. He walked him slowly out to the 
car where he'd been waiting, parked on the street out of sight, 
until he heard the crash of the piano bench escaping the 
fourth floor and splintering into kindling on the sidewalk 
below. Scully had gone back to the hotel.

Joshua sat still in the passenger's seat as they drove to the ER. 
His torn hands were lying limp in his lap, wrapped in lime-
green dish towels that Mulder had found in a Sonoma 
shopping bag. By the time they reached the medical center 
again, Joshua's shivering had stopped and he stared bleakly at 
his wrapped hands. Mulder turned off the car and was about 
to open the driver's door when Joshua finally spoke to him.

"Why has God abandoned me?" he asked in a voice wavering 
from being used without the guidance of his ears. "I've never 
played with more honesty before in my life."

Mulder shook his head and mouthed, "He hasn't."

"But you have," he said, lowering his head in despair.

###

Davies Medical Center
5:30 AM

Mulder sat, despondent, counting the number of blue-gray 
floor tiles in the hospital hallway. He felt there was something 
he should be doing, someone he should be talking to, 
arresting, shaking up and down for answers, but there was no 
one left to ask. The mystery of Joshua's curse had been 
revealed. There was nothing to do but wait and hope. Joshua 
was a musician who couldn't hear--that was a cold hard fact--
Mulder didn't care what the reasons were anymore.

He also couldn't care that Lt. Jarvis chose this early peak of 
the morning to make an appearance. The misplaced rogue 
gunman of the West strode up the hallway toward Mulder's 
slouched form, taking the seat next to him.

"Mornin', Agent Mulder," he said, tipping an invisible hat.

"Why are you here?" Mulder asked tiredly.

"I'm doing you a favor," he said.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"I don't know if I'd be so quick to judge. I'm having my men 
keep those nosy reporters out of this hallway," he said with a 
nod toward the main parking lot. "Seems your boy put on 
quite a show last night."

"I don't find that amusing," Mulder said darkly, shifting as if 
to stand.

"That's not humor you're gettin' from me, son," Lt. Jarvis said, 
stalling him. "Just the truth."

Mulder wanted to end this conversation before it got started. 
"I've had enough of the truth this week."

"Now just settle yourself down and listen here for a minute. I 
didn't come here to get you all in a froth. I'm here to do my 
dutiful follow-up on a disturbance call from the boy's 
neighbors. Somebody's upset they've got shattered glass and 
bench legs in their rosebushes."

Mulder sighed. "Joshua's understandably upset. I shouldn't 
have let him be alone. He's very vulnerable right now and 
unpredictable. You can't blame him for that, after what he's 
been through."

Jarvis rubbed his mustache, agreeing. "Well, I'm not here to 
arrest him, anyway. I'm here to talk to you. I know a little 
something about you--and I don't mean your fondness for 
violin-playin' fellas. I did a little checking up on you and I 
know about the kind of work you do. It's a far cry from 
throwing bums in the can, but if you'll give me your ear a 
minute, you might learn something from an old street cop."

Mulder sat back in his chair, wary. "I'm listening."

"I've spent over thirty years dragging junkies and drunks and 
just plain crazy folk off the streets and into the lockup so 
they'll stop bothering the regular folk. We clean 'em up, feed 
'em, give 'em a warm place to sleep before the law says we 
gotta turn 'em loose again. It doesn't do much good; they just 
come right back. Each time they're just the same or maybe 
even a little worse off. Do you know why they keep coming 
back?"

Mulder shook his head vaguely. He'd been up all night and 
didn't feel like conjuring the energy to launch into a social 
commentary.

"They keep coming back because they can't face their demons. 
A man who overcomes addiction is a man who's faced himself 
and his troubles head-on. Locking these fellas up only gives 
them a place to hide one more day. I don't pretend to know 
your business, but I do know you've been bending over 
backwards to protect that boy in there and it ain't doin' a 
heap of good for him."

"I'm doing my job," Mulder insisted.

"Yep, and I do mine. But I know you were feeding me a tall 
tale that night at the opera and your friend in there wasn't 
doing very well to hide himself in your coat. I interviewed 
the second valet; he saw what really went on, but I kept it out 
of my final report because I trusted you knew what you were 
about."

Mulder looked at the floor. That fabrication had caused him 
more trouble than Lt. Jarvis could guess. 

"I've seen plenty of demon-haunted men, but I ain't ever 
seen anything like what's after that poor boy. It's not the kind 
of thing I'm familiar with, but I know you are, so I'm more 
than willing to keep back from your case. What I'm saying is, 
maybe protecting him is only making his demons get 
meaner."

Mulder looked over at the older man. Lt. Jarvis was regarding 
him with patience and support. Perhaps he wasn't half the 
pompous ass Mulder had taken him for. He'd been good about 
the photos, after all. "Thank you for respecting my business," 
Mulder said civilly. 

Lt. Jarvis stood up and placed a big hand on Mulder's 
shoulder. "Just do me a favor and keep the boy from throwing 
the rest of the piano out the window, okay?"

"I will."

###

Mulder stood at the foot of Joshua's bed, watching him sleep. 
He was lying on his side, breathing in shallow gulps of air. 
Even in sleep his adrenaline-charged body refused to let him 
relax. He seemed so fragile to him right now, like glass, ready 
to shatter under the slightest tremble. How could he even 
begin to leave Joshua alone to stake his own battle?

Joshua's eyes opened and he looked to Mulder. 

Mulder took up the message board and wrote across the pad. 
/I don't know how to free the boy from the barn./

Joshua flexed his hands; they were partially bandaged, but 
useful. He held out for the pen and wrote in blocky letters. 
/Find a key./ 

###

Mulder was wandering back from the coffee vendor, nursing 
his third cup of brown swill, when he saw Joshua's mother in 
the hallway, opening her son's door and slipping inside his 
room. 

That was odd, he thought. How did she know? The morning 
papers had yet to be delivered. He didn't have much time to 
wonder before his eyes caught a shadowy form in a long felt 
coat turning to flee at the far end of the long hall.

"Hey!" he yelled, dropping the nearly emptied cup and 
running for the end of the hall. "Stop, Federal Agent!"

He reached the corner in time to see the stairwell door 
clicking shut. He ran for it and took off down the cold cement 
steps, pulling his weapon. The gray-headed figure was a few 
flights down, moving slowly. It wasn't long before he gained 
the distance and the figure held up his hands as Mulder 
pinned him against the wall. The "figure" barely came up to 
his shoulder. He turned him around. 

"Nanette."

"I'm sorry," she gasped out of breath. "Don't hurt me."

Mulder let her go and holstered his weapon. "Why did you 
run from me? And why the hell are you wearing this coat? I 
could have shot you!"

She held her hands up in fear. "Don't shoot me! Don't shoot 
me!"

"I'm not," he insisted. "But you could tell me why you're 
sneaking around in here."

"I brought someone to see Joshua."

"Who?"

"The only one who doesn't know him as a musician."

"His mother," Mulder realized. "Did you go in to see him? He's 
been missing you."

The old woman lowered her mussed gray head. "I can not see 
him. Poor darling; not like this. Not after what I've done."

"What did you do?"

She shook her head sadly like she couldn't answer him.

"Goddammit, Nanette! Joshua's been struck deaf. Don't you 
think now might be a good time to confess? I don't give a crap 
about your past or whatever rituals you participated in sixty 
years ago. I'm not even remotely interested in arresting you 
for illegal immigration, forgery or otherwise. All I care about 
is helping Joshua and I need answers from you, now!"

She looked up at him with reddened gray eyes. "It all started 
so long ago; I never knew the evil we did would become so 
deadly. Joshua's grandpapa thought he'd be safe if he only 
stayed out of Ukraine. He forbade Joshua to ever tour near 
there. But it's grown so powerful. It's crossed continents and 
generations. Every day it becomes stronger," she hissed.

"Explain it to me, so I can help you stop it."

"You cannot stop it. It is immortal. But...I will try so you can 
understand. It began with the birth of a child..."

###

Joshua stared at his bound hands, wrapped in white gauze. 
They seemed such a simple sacrifice. He'd cut them off at the 
wrists if it meant the restoration of his ears. He kept hoping 
he would wake up to the sound of his own breathing and let 
this nightmare end. Instead he was encased in a glass box, 
invisible and impenetrable. He was separated from the one 
thing that defined his very life. He didn't know the measure 
of himself without music. Music was the length and breadth 
of him. It dictated his ambitions, his friends, his passions. 
Without it, there was nothing. He became invisible. He ceased 
to exist. He remembered his birthday party--the gold 
balloons, the laughter, the indulgences. The world was his that 
day. Fortune had smiled on him briefly, her fickle favor now 
all but forgotten. 

He didn't have the mind to protest when his mother entered, 
looking lost and afraid for him. She came to his bedside, but 
unlike the others, she didn't try to speak. So many lips had 
been mocking him with their ability to make sound. Hers 
were still, but her eyes said everything--they spoke of love, 
unconditional, as she took his bound hand and held it 
between her own.

"I can't play, mama. I have to leave the stage...I'm nobody 
now."

Her sad eyes looked deeply into his. They were dark blue like 
his own. "You are my son," they said as she reached for him, 
cradling his head in her arms, holding him tightly to her 
breast.

Joshua surrendered to her embrace. For the first time he 
allowed himself to be a child for her. Since this whole tragedy 
began, he allowed himself to weep.

###

He was resting now, exhausted from the tears and wails he 
didn't hold back--he couldn't hear himself to be ashamed by 
it. His mother sat next to his bed, her hand over his, silently 
willing him to sleep.

His mind was quieting, giving up the struggle to strain for 
sound. His thoughts hushed and his consciousness abated. In 
that stillness he could begin to hear it--faint simple tones, 
string for string--a Bach partita, the foundation of music. The 
violin sang him to sleep.

*************************************

Chapter Eighteen
END (38/44)

Chapter Nineteen (39/44)

*********************************

Chapter Nineteen: Gifts

*********************************

Marina Flat
6:12 PM

The day was growing late when Joshua was allowed back into 
his ravaged apartment. The clean-up crew left a message at 
the hospital telling him it was safe to reenter as long as he 
kept away from the missing window, now covered by thick 
plastic sheets. He walked slowly across the bare wooden floor 
trying to understand where his things had been placed. His 
belongings had been gathered and stacked at the far end of 
the flat. His bed had been cleared of glass-dusted sheets, 
leaving only the bared mattress. The shards and broken 
lamps and frames had been swept up and thrown away. His 
mother had come by for the Stradi hours ago and was sitting 
with it right now over at the St. Francis hotel where she'd 
arranged for a room for him. Joshua's driver was waiting 
outside in the car while he stopped to get some clothes and 
personal items for the next few nights. He couldn't see much 
farther beyond that.

Joshua opened his closet and stepped inside, pushing pants 
and shirts along the racks with his bandaged hands. His 
fingers were going to be fine. Only one of the cuts had 
required stitches. Even so, there would be more scars. He 
longed to shower and change into a fresh set of clothes, but he 
just couldn't seem to coordinate his mind and body to the 
task. He'd wait until he reached the hotel, he thought numbly, 
tossing a few pairs of slacks and shirts over his shoulder.

His balance was much better. The medication was working 
even if it left him a little groggy. He welcomed the dullness, it 
kept him from thinking too much. It kept him moving along 
to the next hour. He'd sat through another grueling round of 
exams at a specialized clinic earlier that afternoon with an 
audiologist. They closed him in a soundproof booth while they 
held tuning forks against his skull. He could feel the 
vibrations through to his teeth--but his ears, nothing. Nothing 
was getting through. He hadn't expected it to. He'd have to 
fend for himself now, without the benefit of sound to help 
him find his way. He didn't know how long he'd want to 
journey like this. The thought of being permanently deaf was 
overwhelming, a pain unlike anything he'd ever known. He 
could hardly fathom the passage of time. How did he come 
from the minor tragedy of losing a pair of pants to this? Every 
new day seemed to deal him another blow. Today, Mulder 
had failed to visit him even once and Joshua had no sensible 
way of contacting him. He hadn't seen him since the early 
morning, hours before his mother arrived at the hospital. She 
was all he had now. 

Joshua nearly jumped out of his skin when he exited his 
closet to find Scully standing in the center of the room, 
speaking to him. She looked angry. She was waving a sheet of 
paper at him.

"What?" he asked when he'd recovered himself. Dammit, 
didn't she remember he was stone deaf? She kept on 
speaking, growing more heated. He set his clothes down over 
the plastic-covered couch and walked past her to the end of 
his flat to rummage through his misplaced belongings for a 
pen. He was reaching down into a stacked drawer when he 
felt dust floating into his eyes. He blinked and looked up. A 
half-inch bullet hole had materialized in the wall just past his 
shoulder.

He spun around. Scully had her gun on him.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed and dove for the safety of the kitchen 
bar, scrambling on his belly toward the cabinets, hoping to 
find an object to protect himself with. He couldn't hear if she 
was coming up on him so he kept whipping his head around 
as he ripped open drawers and cabinets. He threw out 
pristine bowls and spoons he didn't even know he owned 
until he found a large knife. 

Something white skittered toward him and he rolled left, 
hoping to miss it, all the while shouting for help. When he 
righted himself he saw it was the pen board. On it was a 
message.

/I'm not trying to shoot you. I thought you were going for a 
gun./

Joshua got up slowly onto his legs, still bent behind the 
counter. "Show me your hands!" he hollered at her. Presently, 
he saw her arms rise into the air beyond the bar. He stood up. 
She had a shocked expression on her face, but her weapon 
was holstered. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

She nodded for the pad and Joshua handed it to her 
cautiously, keeping the knife in his bandaged right hand.

She wrote quickly and held up the board. /You can't hear me, 
can you?/

"No!" he shouted in disbelief. "You didn't believe me?"

She took the board, wiped and wrote, /Not until you didn't 
hear the shot. I'm sorry./

Joshua winced and gripped his side where he had fallen 
wrong, trying to catch his breath while she erased and wrote 
more.

/Mulder told me you were going to buy a gun./

"I should have. Shit, I thought you were coming after me."

/I'm here about Mulder. He's missing./

"Missing? How?"

/Something's wrong. He hasn't come back./

"Come back from where? Where did he go?"

/I thought he was with you until I searched his hotel room./ 
She paused, erased, and wrote, /I found something very 
disturbing./

She set the message board down and retrieved the paper 
she'd been waving at him along with several other sheets and 
torn pieces of what looked like Marriott stationery. She set 
them out on the counter one by one for Joshua to read, 
pressing them flat.

What began as Mulder's study notes of the message from the 
cell wall had increased over time to include several new 
phrases neither of them had ever seen before. Joshua read 
the first of the scraps. They were smaller, torn away pieces. It 
looked like they had been deliberately separated from the 
larger sheets.

"You must hear us."

"You do not listen." 

"You never play for us."

"We try to silence you, yet you still play."

"We are tired of waiting to be heard."

"It will end soon."

"You will come to us."

The torn-out phrases where written in the Thin Man's hand.

The rest of the writings, the bulk of them, were even more 
disturbing. They were ramblings scrawled across sheet after 
sheet of paper in a straight, strong hand.

"Mulder wrote these?" Joshua asked, wishing he was wrong.

Scully nodded gravely.

The ramblings, like the ramblings of the homeless suspects, 
were angry gut-deep words of hatred and fear.

"...what have you done to ME? I came here to help you. I 
BELIEVED you. I was doing my JOB. You used me. I tried to 
help you. You got into my dreams. What kind of shit are you 
trying to PULL? You thought you could just SUCK me off? ALL 
that BULLSHIT at the opera. I came there to END it. You made 
me watch you with that BITCH. You knew it would turn me 
on. You were SEDUCING me. You don't care about anyone. You 
USED me. You MADE me want to kiss you. You knew I hadn't 
BEEN with anyone. What the fuck was I thinking? You and 
your GODDAMNED violin. DON GIOVANNI. You used me. You 
knew how to get to me. You pretended to RESPECT me. You 
pretended to LIKE me. No one respects me. No one GETS me. 
You played me like you play that piece of WOOD. YOU let them 
get a photo of us. I NEVER let anyone in, not ANYONE. What 
did you MAKE me do? You are a protected witness! This is my 
JOB! WHAT did you make me do? You are a protected witness! 
I let you FUCK me, you sick little fag. I LET YOU FUCK ME! I..."

Joshua pushed the paper away from him, letting the knife 
drop from his hand. He couldn't stand to read any more of it. 
"That's not him," Joshua choked, brushing his shaking hand 
over his mouth. "It wasn't like that." He looked across the 
counter at Scully, feeling the hot prick of tears. "You didn't 
think...? You didn't believe this, did you?"

Scully regarded Joshua with contrition. /I always believe too 
late./

"But what do you believe now?"

/I believe Mulder may try to kill you./

Joshua looked away, wiping his eyes. No, that was impossible. 
Mulder would never hurt him. He wasn't like other men. 
Joshua hadn't meant to say those things to him. He was hurt 
and angry, but he never really believed Mulder could have 
those phobic notions. The writings were a lie, a perversion of 
the truth--they had to be. Scully tugged at his sleeve, pushing 
the note board his way again.

/In his room I found a book on composers. It was sitting in 
the middle of this mess./

"The book..." Joshua said slowly, "was my gift to him."

Joshua saw Scully mouth the word "gift" a few times, as if that 
word meant something to her. She wiped the board and 
wrote, /Your family curse--it said something about the giving 
of gifts./

"We'd be bereft of gifts or of giving."

/Did you give Andy a gift?/

Joshua felt a shiver run through him. He looked down at the 
assortment of wrapped packages still tossed carelessly near 
the foot of the bar. "Yes. Some wine in Sonoma, right before..."

Scully held up her finger a moment for him to hold that 
thought. She wrote, /Did you tip the valet at the opera?/

"Yes..."

/And Harris, you gave him money?/

Joshua was beginning to understand the connection. "Yes, a 
few quarters. Sometimes I drop spare change on street 
people. I don't have change very often. I rarely buy 
anything...I charge it and Nanette pays the bills...My God, it's 
the money, isn't it? The gifts. The missing money Mulder 
believed my grandfather stole from his people. Is that what's 
causing this?"

/I think so./

"What do we do?"

/#1 Don't give me ANYTHING./

/#2 We find Mulder before he finds you./


*************************************

Chapter Nineteen
END (39/44)

Chapter Nineteen (40/44)

*********************************

SF Field Office
7:12 PM

Joshua sat in the evidence room staring at the clock. He was 
under FBI protection again while they waited for some sign or 
sound from Mulder. Scully had alerted all agents and SFPD 
officers in the area to contact her if he was spotted anywhere 
in the city. 

Joshua watched the clock click to the next minute. It was 
nearing downbeat at Davies. In just 45 minutes, another 
violinist would be taking the stage in his place. By some twist 
of irony, his replacement was the same violinist Joshua had 
covered for last week in Berkeley. Joshua had never missed a 
concert before in his life. He ached to be on that stage. Deaf or 
not--the instinct to perform was overwhelming. He felt like 
an animal with his leg caught in a trap, struggling to get free. 
All his attempts to keep his misfortunes a secret from the 
public had now awarded him an entertainment section front-
page story. "Violin Virtuoso Struck Deaf by Mysterious 
Illness," it read in bold black type for everyone to pity.

On the table in front of him lay the evidence bags containing 
the scraps of his case. All these random pieces of paper 
written in different hands, in different languages, had done 
little to save him. All it had done was seduce the one person 
who'd been most dedicated to understanding its mystery. 

Joshua picked up a letter and held it in his hand. Angry words 
were scrawled across the dirty page. Someone they never 
even identified was speaking of hurt and damage brought 
upon them by his music. Sooner or later everyone who was 
close to him became corrupted, lost or dead. Joshua could see 
a wake of ruined lives washing out behind him year for year. 
Everything he dreamed of for himself as a child had come 
true--the violin, the money, the adoration and recognition. 
Over half the world had applauded for Joshua Segulyev, the 
little frozen boy brought into the light and cherished by a 
multitude of people he never took it into his heart to play for. 
The Thin Man's words spoke the truth--he only played for 
himself. It was no small wonder he was cursed by such a 
powerful destructive force. Greatness draws its fire from 
somewhere, leaving a rotting smoldering waste. 

*You do not listen,* they'd said.

He'd been too late for his grandfather and Elise. He didn't 
listen to the tremble in their voices as they started to fade 
from existence, vanishing in their efforts to give themselves 
to an insatiable recipient. Mulder at least had the presence of 
a possessed mind to write it down when the violin no longer 
held the ability to deafen him. 

"You'll need to know, my love," Joshua spoke in silence. 
"Whatever happens between us, I forgive you."

The door opened and Scully rushed in carrying a bullet-proof 
vest. She pointed to it and to Joshua as she hung it over the 
chair next to him. 

Scully reached for the pen board and wrote quickly. /We 
don't have much time. Dillmont's spotted Mulder at Davies./

"Mulder would never harm me," Joshua said, eyeing the vest. 

Scully looked concerned. /Mulder will attack you in a manner 
he's accustomed to. He'll be armed./

"I don't want to believe it," he said weakly.

/He has a strong mind, but he's also a very good shot. You 
need to be prepared./

"He's been influenced to come after you before. He told me. 
What did you do?"

/I had to think faster than him./

"That's fast, isn't it?"

/Very./

"What did you do to stop him?"

/I pulled the fire alarm./

Another agent came to the door, calling for her attention. 
Scully pointed to the vest and hurried out of the room, 
indicating that Joshua follow her as soon as possible.

Joshua sat in the chair and stared at the nylon-covered black 
armor. This curse was of his own making, a burden he needed 
to take ownership of before it crushed its next victim.

**********************************

Davies Symphony Hall
Security Monitoring Room
7:42 PM

The security room was a swirling mess of FBI agents and 
Davies Hall security. Joshua stood in the center of their 
muddled confusion, tossed about like a lost twig of driftwood. 
Without sound, he could only guess at what they knew. Agent 
Dillmont was leaning over the seated surveillance tech, 
pointing at the monitors and arguing with Agent Scully. The 
security chief seemed to be having issues with her as well, 
taking more than one moment to point in Joshua's general 
direction. They were evidently questioning the sanity of 
allowing a walking bull's-eye inside the Hall's doors, 
especially since Mulder had slipped through their radar.

Eventually she broke away from the men and reached for 
Joshua's ever-present pen board. It had managed to take up 
residence under his arm where the abandoned Stradi once 
belonged.

/I believe Mulder doesn't realize you're not performing 
tonight./

Joshua shook his head. "How?"

/You finished the concerto last night. In "their" minds, you 
may still perform to spite them./

"You can't allow the concerto to be performed tonight," Joshua 
said, looking to the security chief. 

/They know that. They're devising a plan to evacuate the 
hall./

Joshua felt some relief at knowing that and eased back from 
the main bustle. Scully had plans to use him as a lure--safely, 
she'd assured him. Joshua wasn't sure if he agreed with her 
plan. He wasn't here to follow her commands; he was here to 
find a solution. Joshua's eyes tracked to the surveillance 
screens, flipping between black and white live video shots of 
the Hall. Quite unexpectedly, he saw something that made all 
too much sense to him. A camera at the high interior of the 
performance hall showed the hanging plastic sound deflection 
shields, and more importantly, the microphones. Every 
performance this week had been set up for a recording by 
EMI. Tonight, mic five was swinging far too low and out of 
sync with the others.

Joshua felt his heart begin to race. He knew where Mulder 
was. He looked up at the mass of people around him. All he 
needed was a chance to get away.

****************

7:58 PM

Joshua ran down the third floor maintenance access hallway. 
He couldn't hear if anyone was following him, but he 
suspected Scully was not fooled by the sudden clang of the 
fire alarm. The ensuing panic was now set for automatic and 
Davies security had over two thousand people to assist in 
evacuation.

Joshua slid to a stop against the last door in the long hallway, 
shoving it open with his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, 
he saw the corridor's opposite door begin to open. She was 
harder to shake than he thought. 

He tugged the door shut behind him, fighting the hydraulics, 
and was dismayed to find it wouldn't lock no matter how 
hard he pounded on the bar. He left it and took off for the 
long stairway ahead, the one that ran straight up into the 
rafters--a stairway he had climbed many times before. He 
charged up the steps in twos, reaching the gate as the air 
rushed in and out of his lungs. He forced himself to calm 
enough to manipulate the trick release on the lock that kept 
the gate solidly secured. He snapped it open with effort and 
passed briskly through, turning to slam the gate firmly 
behind him. Below, a shaft of hallway light broke over the 
distant base of the stairs.

Joshua climbed the remainder of the distance. He was at the 
sound room door now, but he had no way of knowing what 
activity lay inside. He took fate into his willing hands and 
jerked the door open, entering its dim interior.

He almost stepped on the head of the technician lying 
unconscious on the floor in front of him. The side of his 
forehead was bleeding from the tight blow of a pistol grip. 
The disabled man was handcuffed securely to the base of the 
control board, his arm extending upwards, twisted away from 
his fallen body. Ahead, Mulder stood with his back to Joshua, 
his gun aimed at the windows down toward the empty stage, 
oblivious to the chaos that reigned in the aisles and hallways 
beyond. His concentration was reserved for one target alone, 
and that target was standing behind him.

"Mulder..." Joshua called to him and the agent slowly turned 
around. His sharp green eyes gathered Joshua into their focus. 
Mulder's face was calm, but cold, intent. He raised his weapon 
slowly, taking a step forward. His lips moved tightly as he 
began to speak to no one who could hear.

"You know I can't hear you..." Joshua said, trembling, trying 
not to look into his eyes--the caged anger in them was 
terrible to see. Joshua didn't need to read lips to understand 
the words; he had read them in Mulder's own written hand. 
The agent came closer, holding his arm out straight. He stared 
down the sight of his gun at Joshua, aiming to kill, as all 
agents are trained to kill. *Deadly force is an unfortunate, but 
necessary option.*

Joshua held up his hand in a meager defense, unconsciously 
taking steps back until he staggered against the body on the 
floor behind him. He fell to a crouch, regaining his balance. 
Mulder's aim lowered accordingly. 

"You were right, Mulder--all along you were right. You 
thought no one would believe you, not even me. I've been 
deaf for a very long time. It started with my grandfather...but 
it ends..." the words were hard on him and he choked them 
out, "...it ends with me." He came onto his knees, reaching up 
in supplication, reaching out for the gun with an opened hand 
like Mulder had reached for the Stradivarius, with reverence 
and fear.

"Mulder..." he pleaded, his fingertips just brushing the muzzle 
of the gun. "I won't curse the prince for freeing me."

The gun fired, a red and white flash. Joshua fell back hard 
against the sponge tile wall. A ringing sang in his ears 
accompanied by a crushing pain in his chest. He slid down the 
wall and slumped over on his back, crumpled over the body 
beneath him. He couldn't move; his eyes were burning as they 
began to lose focus. Mulder stood over him, the gun still in his 
hand, its muzzle exhaling smoke as the room grew colder and 
brighter and a head began to form, rising out of Mulder's 
shoulder, gray and ghastly. The Thin Man emerged, stepping 
out of the agent's body like it was made of water. Mulder 
gasped and his eyes flew wide once the specter broke free. 
The gun dropped from his hand as if it had burned him. He 
lunged forward toward Joshua, bending over him, shouting 
his name.

"Joshua...! No! God! No!"

*I can hear you...* Joshua thought and in one fluid move, 
stood up. He didn't understand how he was able to move past 
Mulder, who was on the floor scrambling for something.

"Joshua..." 

It wasn't Mulder's voice now; the voice was coming from 
behind him as the room brightened even more and the 
carpeted floor began to whiten with snow. Trees materialized 
and a cold wind blew up from behind. Joshua was standing 
alone on a country winter road lined with conifers. The 
scattered tracks of horseshoes and carts carved in the white 
blanket were splattered with the red stain of blood. He could 
hear men's voices and the crunch of heavy boots, moving 
closer. Joshua turned behind him to look up the road. A mass 
of marching men were just clearing the crest of the hill. They 
were dressed in tan uniforms, a red star centered on each cap. 

*The soldiers are coming,* he thought, and ran for the cover 
of the trees.


*************************************

Chapter Nineteen
END (40/44)

Chapter Twenty (41/44)

*************************************

Chapter Twenty: The Lost Kingdom

*************************************


It was cold in the woods as Joshua ran deeper. He was in the 
country somewhere, hearing the wild birds rustling in the 
treetops. From the road he thought he had seen smoke rising 
from a man-made fire. He ran toward the smell of burning 
wood and manure until he came to a small hamlet of 
thatched-roof sod farmhouses with old-fashioned iron plows, 
scythes and wheelbarrows near their perimeter. At the edge 
of a clearing stood a small farm home, a fire burning from its 
chimney. From inside came the wails of an infant.

Joshua walked around the back of the house, looking for a 
door. At the back step sat a young girl, unnaturally thin, 
shivering in a felt coat much too large for her small frame. 
She was poking at the snow with the end of a tree branch. She 
heard him approach and lifted her sallow face to smile up at 
him.

"Hello," she said in a strange language Joshua knew he 
shouldn't be able to understand and yet he could.

"Hello, little one," he answered in the same tongue. "Why are 
you out in the cold?"

"We can't go inside," she said as the infant continued to cry. 
"The baby just came."

"What baby?"

"You want to see?" she asked, getting up. Joshua followed her 
to the side of the home where they could peek through the 
crumbling sod brickwork. A large fire was burning from a 
stove inside. There was a cot against the far wall. A woman 
and a man stood over it, drawing a blanket over the face of 
someone who lay limp on the bloodied straw mattress. There 
were two older children in the room, a girl and a boy. The girl 
was holding the newborn. All of them were thin and drawn; 
they moved slowly.

"Who are they?" Joshua asked the girl, who was standing on 
tip-toe next to him.

"My mama and Auntie and cousin Joseph and Tatiana and a 
friend of Uncle's."

Joshua watched as Tatiana handed the baby over to the young 
man--the 'friend.' He looked stunned and sorrowful. Joshua 
couldn't hear all that they were saying over the child, but the 
woman was motioning the man to leave, quickly. In another 
moment he did, shoving his shoulder against the back door. 
He exited and started off across the clearing.

"Where's he taking the child?" he asked the girl.

She looked up at him, sad. "Mama told him to take the child 
and leave it in the snow."

"Why?!"

"So it wouldn't cry for milk."

"Why isn't there any milk?"

"The soldiers don't want us to have any. They took away all 
the goats. Mama says they sl..slaughtered them." She smiled, 
proud at the new word she'd learned.

Joshua looked toward the clearing. The man had almost made 
it into the trees beyond. Joshua ran after him. He wasn't going 
to let him kill the child. 

###

"Wait! Stop!"

Joshua cried out to the shuffling form ahead of him. Although 
the man had a generous headstart, it wasn't difficult to catch 
him. Joshua slowed when he was a few paces behind him. The 
child was quiet now as the young man approached an 
abandoned storage hut in the woods and sat down heavily on 
the front stoop.

Joshua came and stood in front of him. "Listen. I don't know 
who you are, but you don't have to harm this child. I can 
help..."

The young man didn't acknowledge him. He sat with the baby 
in his arms, wrapped in a brightly colored jumpsuit, his little 
finger to its eagerly sucking mouth. He was beginning to 
weep. Joshua reached out to him.

"He can't see you," the little girl said, running toward them. 
Joshua stilled his hand just shy of the man's shoulder. 

"Why not?" he questioned, although it did appear to be true. 
"You can see me," he reasoned.

She ran up beside him, panting. "That's because...you saved 
me."

Joshua stared at her, confused.

"Don't worry about the baby. He won't hurt her."

Joshua looked down with pity at the young man, wracked 
with misery. "How do you know?"

"He was in love with Auntie. I saw them kissing after Uncle 
was sent away."

The little girl took his hand, leading Joshua away from the 
young man, back into the woods.

"I don't understand...you say I saved you?"

The little girl raised her arms so Joshua would pick her up. He 
did and the lithe thing wrapped her thin arms and legs about 
him, pressing her small face to his cheek. "I told you, my 
darling," she said in his ear. "When you played for me, you 
saved me."

**********************

"Grandpapa!" Joshua yelled into the white powdered sky. 
Snow was falling from the late afternoon sky, muffling the 
carriage of his voice. The girl wasn't with him anymore--he 
was alone and desperately trying to find his way back to the 
deserted hut.

He wandered for what seemed like hours until he heard a 
noise not far off in the snow. He followed it and came upon a 
narrow path. A man was on it, up ahead, hauling a 
wheelbarrow with a few blankets in it and what looked like a 
metal milk can. 

Joshua followed him until they reached the familiar hut. He 
watched the man lift and carry the blankets and can inside. 
He left the door slightly ajar, and Joshua slipped through it 
entering the small space. The inside was lit by dull sunlight 
seeping through seams in the wooden walls. He saw the man 
reach down into a lidless chest and lift the little baby girl up 
into his arms, bouncing her on his hip. She began to cry and 
he set her back down while he filled a small bottle with a 
yellowish-toned milk. He sat on the floor cross-legged, 
gathering her into his lap as he fed her. She cooed and sucked 
heartily on the thick nipple.

Joshua moved into their private space, sitting on the rough 
wood floor just across from him. He listened to him speak to 
the baby in a voice he hadn't heard in over two long years.

"Drink up, little one. We have a long journey to take today. I 
have found the rest of the money Ivan collected for us. It will 
buy us a way to Poland. The soldiers believe me. They think I 
am him. They think I am the son of a Red Army Civil War 
hero. I think I will need to keep this beard longer than the 
winter."

The baby reached out with her stubby fingers for the short 
growth of dark hair that already clung to the young man's 
chin. He was almost a child himself, not much older than 
Joshua was when he left for tour. 

"I do not know if what I am doing is right, Mirriam. But I 
know your mama would be so happy to see you if she had 
lived." The young man's voice caught at the mention of her, 
Anna Segulyev, wife of Ivan Segulyev, who would return 
from a Siberian prison one day soon to find his family gone 
and his marriage betrayed. This was were it all began, with a 
heart-broken young man who would do anything to keep the 
one thing in life that truly belonged to him.

Joshua sat still and watched his grandfather tenderly feeding 
his infant mother. He didn't care that he couldn't touch or 
speak to him. It meant everything for him just to see him 
again, alone and unguarded. Joshua knew there wasn't 
anything he couldn't forgive him for. All the love he had for 
Anna and their child--to take the lives of an entire village 
into his hands to save her, only to have her become lost to 
him with her eventual marriage to Joshua's father, to the cold 
hands of a stranger--this was his curse. 

Grandpapa moved the nipple from the baby's smiling mouth 
and she gurgled up at him. How Joshua longed to have been 
the owner of that smile--to know such caring from his very 
first days. He would have known a childhood without dreams 
of ice and snow and twisted hands. He would have known the 
soft caress of this man's beard the first year it began to grow. 
He knew he didn't belong here, this all happened long ago, but 
he wouldn't leave this room, not now, not for anything. 

"Why didn't you tell me, Grandpapa?" Joshua lamented, 
speaking to himself as he watched his guardian bend to kiss 
the baby's soft head. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill? I 
would have cared for you. I wanted to take care of you. I 
wanted to thank you, but you didn't let me." 

A ringing hit Joshua's ears and he winced, covering them, 
feeling a crushing pain in his chest. Beyond the ringing were 
voices, echoing and distant. He thought he should know them, 
understand them. He slumped to the cold floor, twisting in 
pain. He wasn't going to leave. Not this time. He wasn't...


"Give us some room. Let us in."

        "We have a shooting."

"Victim looks to be approximately 30 years of age."

        "Can you cut this off him?"

"Step back, please."

        "Is he breathing?"

"Where's the weapon?"

        "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Sir, will you step back?"

        "Is he? Is he wearing a vest?"

"Cuff him. Get him outta here."

        "Wait. Not yet. I'll hold him."

"I need to see..."

    "Someone, please. Can you tell me? Is he wearing a 
vest?"


*************************

Joshua was lying on a cot on a hard, stiff mattress. He could 
smell something awful burning; a fetid steam was floating 
into the low room. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, throwing a 
filthy blanket off of him.

The girl was back, standing in the doorway. She had a small 
blackbird at the end of a long string tied to her wrist. The 
bird kept trying to take flight, leaping into the air to fight at 
the end of the restraint. It chirped and fluttered back to the 
floor, heaving.

"What happened to you?" Joshua asked, sickened by the girl's 
emaciated limbs and sunken face. She had looked thin before, 
but was now a mass of matted hair and pale bones. Her 
clothes were worn and there were open sores on her legs.

"You need to wake up. You're supposed to be with us."

"Where?"

"Come," she said, and began to walk from the room. The bird 
flew to the end of the string, shadowing her stiff frame as she 
shuffled down the hall.

Joshua followed. In the next room saw what he had smelled. 
On a stove was a large pot, bubbling the last remnants of a 
hastily eaten meal. On the floor were stripped branches, 
chewed leaves, and the rotting corpse of a cat, riddled with 
larvae. Its fur and tail were the only parts that didn't make it 
into the pot.

He looked away, covering his nose, and hurried with her out 
the open back door. Winter had faded and spring was upon 
this once frozen land. Ahead, the clearing was now covered in 
fresh grasses and wildflowers. He followed her across the 
grass and into the woods at the other side, to the deserted 
end of the village. He could smell a fire burning as dusk began 
to fall. The girl was leading him toward a large granary shed, 
a barn. 

The girl stopped at the tall sliding door and indicated he go in. 
Joshua looked through the narrow opening. He could see the 
red lick of flames reflecting within. "I don't want to go in 
there," he said, standing still.

"Ivan is waiting. You must go in. He'll be angry if you don't."

"What's in there?"

"Salvation," the girl replied, taking his hand in her cold 
skeletonized fingers. The bird gave up the fight and came to 
light on her shoulder as they entered together.

###

Joshua stood quietly in the barn's dark interior watching the 
assemblage entering through the slit in the opened door. The 
arrivals were mostly famine-ravaged women, barely alive, 
moving slowly. There were very few men and only one child 
who was now approaching the body that lay in final repose 
atop a wood and straw-leaden pyre built onto the low empty 
storage loft. Some people had been carried here, others 
wheeled in on carts. Some lay on the floor unmoving; a few he 
was certain were dead. 

He waited with them, listening to their mumbled chants, not 
understanding why he needed to be here. He kept his eye on 
the door. A slim shaft of fading twilight was still penetrating 
the dark barn, lit deep red by a fire burning in a pit next to 
the funeral bed.

The girl untied the bird from her wrist and re-anchored it to 
the foot of the pyre. She said a few words Joshua couldn't 
hear which the assembly repeated in weak, dull voices. She 
reached down with a white bone hand and lifted a burning 
branch from the fire, holding it to the straw. 

The pyre was alight and the girl stepped away.

The flame flicked over the shrouded body in a whipping 
blanket of orange, yellow and red swirls, quickly growing hot 
and fierce. A wave of flame leapt from the pyre to the floor 
below, lighting a collapsed bale of hay. The rotting straw 
combusted, blowing flickers of hot sparks across the floor to 
the dry, cracked wood of the structure. A long support beam 
lit and flame licked up its length to the ceiling.

"Hey!" Joshua yelled, although no one could hear him over the 
sudden roar of the growing fire, which was now spreading 
across the roof beams. He looked to the gaunt faces around 
him. They took no notice of the danger. Their sunken eyes 
regarded the flickering wisps with indifference. A few 
stepped forward, toward the flames, stepping into them, 
letting their tattered clothes catch fire and begin to consume 
them. The human torches slumped to the floor one by one as 
they burned. There was no weeping or screams. 

This wasn't right, Joshua thought, feeling panic welling in him. 
They had all come here to die, but *he* wasn't supposed to 
end here. He ran for the door to find it slid shut and locked 
with chain. He pounded on it, struggling against the rising 
cloud of choking smoke and heat. This had to be a dream, a 
nightmare from his childhood, exchanging ice for fire. He 
pounded on the door with his hands. His Grandpapa would be 
coming soon to let him free, to take him away from this.

"Grandpapa!" he cried, slamming his shoulder into the door. It 
groaned, but wouldn't budge. No one would be coming to save 
him this time. He coughed as the smoke seared his lungs and 
sweat ran down his neck. His grandfather was in Poland by 
now, bribing his way to America. He was left behind. They'd 
all been left behind.

Instinctively, Joshua turned away from the barred door and 
ran through the smoke and burning bodies to the back of the 
structure. The girl was there on the ground, crawling through 
a broken board near the far corner. She was almost through.

"Nana!" Joshua cried out, falling to his hands and knees to 
crawl after her. She turned to him once she'd freed herself of 
the barn. He pushed his head and right arm through. He could 
see the woods beyond fading into darkness, but he couldn't 
get out this time. He was too big.

"Nana! Don't leave me in here! Help me!"

The girl got to her unsteady feet and backed slowly away. "I 
can't help you. I'm the only one who survives," she said 
sorrowfully, and walked away into the gloom, dragging the 
corpse of the dead bird on its string behind her.

"Nana!"

Behind him, Joshua heard the roof of the barn crack, 
beginning to fall in upon itself. He pulled his head back in, 
scraping his shoulder against the ragged wood. He sat on the 
dirty floor holding his shirt sleeve over his nose, trying to 
block the nauseating stench of burning human hair and flesh, 
witnessing the incarnation of death before him. Bodies were 
still falling to the floor, one over the other, engulfed in flame, 
their white eyes melting in the unforgiving heat. Joshua 
looked to the origin of the inferno and saw a familiar form 
taking shape. The Thin Man rose from his corpse on the pyre 
and sat up, immune to the destruction he had created. He 
stepped down, cutting through the laps of red and orange. He 
neared the first body, dead on the floor, its hair still alight. He 
reached out to it with a bony hand. The woman's spirit lifted 
and took his hand, stepping into his body. He reached for 
another and it did the same, becoming absorbed by him. He 
collected their souls one by one, gathering up the dead as 
their emaciated bodies peeled and flickered and crumbled 
into black charred bones.

When the dead had all gone into him, the Thin Man began to 
walk toward Joshua, who was huddled against the only wall 
of the barn yet to catch fire. Joshua's eyes were burning with 
smoke and his lungs were begging for relief. The fire was 
moving closer as was the Thin Man's hand, reaching for him.

"I'm not dead yet," Joshua choked, refusing to accept his 
invitation.

The walking corpse heard him and stilled. "You foolish boy. 
Your death was never my design."

"You killed them," Joshua said with anger to the haunting 
spirit, addressing him as if he were addressing the living. 
"You killed them all. You made them sacrifice themselves for 
your vengeance."

"Is this what you see?" the dead man leered. "Look again."

Joshua could still see in the glowing carnage the memory of 
watching those women and men walk knowingly into flame.

"You believe the fire is worse than the madness?"

"My grandfather had no hand in this. He was afraid for his 
child. He did not set out to destroy you."

The specter stepped closer, looming over Joshua. His voice, 
which Joshua could never identify, now resounded with the 
vocal patterns of nearly forty people. "You think this is about 
revenge. You think this is about spite--one man to another. 
You are wrong."

"Then what is it you want from me?"

"To remember where you came from," the Thin Man 
whispered, smiling that cracked-lipped smile of white teeth. 
"To remember what became of us." The roof above them 
broke with a loud crack and fell in. Joshua dove to the wall, 
covering his head as they were buried in splintering wood 
and smoke.

*************************************

Chapter Twenty
END (41/44)

Chapter Twenty (42/44)

*************************************

There was a crushing pain in his chest. Joshua was covered in 
debris, pinned to his back by smoldering ashen wood. He was 
alive, but trapped. His lungs were restricted; he could barely 
draw air. He lay in silence for hours, listening to the pop and 
hiss of the rubble as it cooled.

At one point he heard footsteps and raised his head to look 
through the tangle of boards. He could just barely make out 
the form of a girl, picking over the fallen mess with the end of 
a long stick. His head fell back, exhausted. He struggled to 
catch his breath and tried to lift his head again, shifting 
slightly. He saw her raise a rock over her head and throw it to 
the ground, cracking something underneath. He tried to cry 
out to her, but his lungs wouldn't fill. She reached down and 
picked something up. She held it up to the light of the pale 
moon. In silhouette he saw her walk away from the dying 
bonfire with a piece of human bone.

**********************

Time passed and Joshua idly wondered why he wouldn't die. 
His lungs screamed to him with each shallow breath. His arms 
and legs were pinned, immobile. His chest was crushed by a 
large beam. The pain and cold had reached a point of 
intensity where it no longer registered. He was tired and 
wanted to sleep.

"Tell me. Is he wearing a vest?"

            "Yes. He is. It didn't go through."

"His ribs may be broken. Is he moving air?"

I'm here, Joshua thought. Come find me. They left me here to 
die.

        "Take him away."

"Just a minute; he's coming around."

        "Keep him back, ma'am."

Above him in the moonlight, Joshua could see the shadowed 
forms of men, rushing around over the debris, searching for 
him. One was calling his name.

"I'm here," he whispered. The man stopped and came over to 
where he was trapped, extending his hand, reaching for 
Joshua in the chaos of the fallen barn. Joshua struggled and 
slipped free his arm, reaching for the strong, elegant hand--
designed both to kill and to save.

********************



Marina Flat
1:33 PM
Sunday (three days later)

The Bay breeze blew against the plastic covering over the 
open wall, rattling it like a flag. The view was translucent, 
distorted and strange. Joshua turned away from the fluttering 
window and back to the small trunk sitting open on the back 
of the piano. Slowly, he continued to place small items in it: 
books, picture frames, and other personal effects from his 
disarrayed and dismantled shelves. He breathed carefully; his 
chest was still incredibly sore from the bruised ribs that had 
stopped Mulder's bullet in a mitt of Kevlar. The rest of the 
ache he felt had nothing to do with his injuries. 

He packed one newspaper-wrapped item at a time, trying to 
regain some momentum for his exodus from San Francisco 
tomorrow morning. He was already two days late starting his 
rehearsal week with the Pacific Symphony in Los Angeles. 

The front bell rang.

"Come in!" Joshua called out, biting against the sharp pain the 
deep breath had cost him. *Must remember not to yell,* he 
told himself, carefully nestling a small black and white photo 
and duck within the rest of the objects in the trunk. 

Agent Scully opened the door and slipped in, securing the bolt 
behind her. "You should keep this locked," she said, coming 
over to Joshua.

"Why? What could I possibly have to fear?"

Scully paused to look over his ravaged apartment as if seeing 
it for the first time; perhaps she was. "You're leaving 
tomorrow?" Scully asked, eyeing his mincing movements. 

Joshua forced a little smile as he set an alarm clock in the 
trunk. "It's not much worse than the stabbing. I'm used to 
rehearsing with a handicap nowadays."

"But, your condition, I thought..."

"Pacific Symphony ticket sales have doubled since the latest 
chapter in my sordid life hit the LA Times. They've added an 
extra night. Everyone wants to come see the 'cursed' violinist."

Scully stopped a few feet shy of the piano. She seemed like a 
lost bird caught in the center of his wind-blown home. She 
looked like she didn't know where to stand.

"Did Mulder send you?" he asked, hopeful.

"No, Joshua. I've come on my own behalf. I just...wanted to see 
if I could talk to you."

Joshua stopped his idle packing when he heard the gravity in 
her voice. He gave her his full attention. "I'm sorry," he said, 
moving away from the trunk to clear a pile of shirts and 
hangers from his couch. "Please sit down."

She took a seat at the edge of the cushions, clasping her hands 
in her lap. Joshua took the chair opposite her. "What is it? Is 
Mulder all right?"

She nodded. "Yes, he's fine. Well, not completely fine--he's 
still in custody, but otherwise on the mend."

"I've been worried. They won't let me speak to him," Joshua 
said dejectedly. 

"That's why I'm here. To tell you I've been in touch with 
Washington. I've secured authority to have him released 
within the hour. And also..." she took a moment to find her 
next words, "...to apologize to you."

"Apologize? Why?"

"I made a mistake. I'm hoping that I can set things right 
again."

"What mistake?" Joshua asked quietly. Scully might have 
been a slight woman in stature, but her resolve was 
something any man would be plainly foolish to stand in the 
way of. He couldn't imagine what it was she'd felt she'd done 
wrong.

"I misjudged you, Joshua. And what's worse...I misjudged 
Mulder. My misjudgment has led the both of you to this and 
I'm here with the hope that I can correct it."

"Scully, I don't know what it is you think you've done, but 
Mulder and I...we made our own mistakes. I just want him to 
know before I leave...I want him to know that I forgive him."

"He knows that, Joshua. What he can't do is forgive 
himself...I've never seen him like this. He blames himself--for 
me, for you, for everything."

"I wish he'd let me reassure him."

"You've been a good friend," she said steadily, although there 
was a tremor to her upper lip. She licked it still and 
continued. "A better friend than I've been recently. I thought 
I was protecting him, but now I see I've protected him too 
much. I keep him safe from everything, even happiness. He 
cares for you, Joshua. And I tried to keep that from him."

"I don't understand."

"I led him to distrust his own instincts about you. I look too 
hard at the facts; I miss the truth. Mulder isn't an easy man to 
love, but I failed to realize that it's far from impossible."

Joshua now understood what she was apologizing for. She was 
sorry for planting the seed of doubt about him in Mulder. She 
didn't realize that he was guilty of the exact same crime.

"I gave you no reason to trust me, Scully. You did the right 
thing. You were looking out for him. I would have done the 
same."

She met his words with a slight smile. "Thank you, Joshua," 
she said, letting her tension recede. It seemed she had come 
here to be forgiven, by him of all people. 

"You're welcome," he answered. 

She looked off again, her fingers tapping nervously in her lap. 
"Can I ask you something?" she said, earnestly.

"Sure."

"Has Mulder told you why we've stayed partners for so long?" 
She asked this as if she didn't know the answer herself. It 
both surprised and saddened Joshua that after all these years 
she didn't know. 

"He doesn't tell me about you. He never let me in there."

She started to say something, but instead raised her fingers to 
catch the sudden tears that were forming in the corners of 
her eyes. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting that."

"Why?"

"Because, I've been afraid."

"What were you afraid of?"

She gave up and let the tears fall from her eyes, dropping in 
her lap. "Ever since I saw you standing together in your old 
bedroom...I was afraid I had lost him."

"You saw us?"

"No, Joshua, that's just the problem. I refused to see you--the 
two of you and what it might mean. I refused for days and 
when I got the photo, all I could think was that you must 
have *done* something to him. You must have been 
manipulating him because *no one* belongs to Mulder...no 
one..." she repeated quietly, looking down. "You've seen a side 
of him I've never known."

Joshua finally began to understand the nature of the sworn 
protective relationship these two had shared for so long. 
"Maybe I've seen him, Scully, but I understand enough about 
him to realize he doesn't belong to me. From that first night at 
dinner, I saw how you moved together as one person. I was 
foolish to think I could have a place in that."

Scully made an attempt to smile as she came to realize their 
common predicament. "We both love him, Joshua. The 
problem is, neither one of us knows what to do about it." 

They caught each other's eyes for a long time--both of them 
offering a flag of surrender in a battle that was never fought. 
The battlefield had just slipped through their fingers.

*************************************

Chapter Twenty
END (42/44)

Chapter Twenty (43/44)
*************************************

Marriott Hotel
5:46 PM

Joshua stood outside Mulder's hotel room door, fingering the 
card key Scully had given him. Mulder had been released a 
little over two hours ago from Federal custody and returned 
to his room to rest. Joshua pressed his ear to the door. It was 
quiet on the other side. He knocked.

There was no answer.

Joshua took the card and slid it into the slot, waiting for the 
light to turn green and the door to unlatch. He opened it and 
went in. 

Mulder was sitting in a chair facing the window. The curtains 
were only half-open and the sheer inner drapes were still 
sealed, only letting a diffusion of daylight in. His eyes were 
open, staring at nothing in the veiled view. Joshua closed the 
door slowly behind him and stepped in quietly as if someone 
were sleeping. Mulder's hair was still damp from the shower. 
He'd managed to slip into a pair of jeans and nothing more. 
His bare arms lay heavily on each armrest. Next to him on the 
table sat *The Lives of the Great Composers,* opened to the 
chapter of Beethoven.

Joshua stopped in front of Mulder's outstretched legs, waiting 
to see if he'd respond. Scully was right; he'd never seen a man 
sunk so low in self-loathing before. Mulder's stubbled face 
looked drawn and haggard; it appeared his 48 hours in Jarvis' 
slammer had been sleepless ones.

"That's a good story," Joshua said, nodding toward the book 
like he was starting up a conversation with a man in the park. 
"An inspiring tale of human tragedy and endurance. It would 
be my favorite bedtime story if it weren't true."

Mulder's head turned toward the book. He picked it up and 
brought it into his lap, closing it. He ran his hand over the 
leather cover once and held it out to Joshua. He wouldn't look 
at him. "Take it," he said in a scratchy whisper.

Joshua fought the sorrow he felt rising in his throat. "I won't 
take it back," he answered him. "It was freely given."

Mulder's fatigued arm shook and he brought the book back 
into his lap, clutching it in his hands. His face twisted in pain. 
"You shouldn't be here, Joshua. You shouldn't be anywhere 
near me."

"I don't fear you, Mulder. I never did."

Mulder lowered his head. "You should have."

"Mulder, look at me."

Mulder's head stayed low, his lips moving as if in prayer. If 
he wouldn't look up, then Joshua decided he would move 
down. He kneeled on the floor in front of him, next to the arm 
of the chair, finding his eyes.

"I refuse to fear you. The danger is gone now. Their message 
has been heard. I understand what they want from me and I 
plan to rectify it."

Mulder refused to reply, but his eyes couldn't help betray a 
flicker of curiosity as they stared at the floor.

"When I was out, I went back there, to Chutove. I saw many 
terrible and wonderful things. They showed me how they 
lived and how they died. They had been forgotten, and they 
wanted me to know, to see where I had come from. Unlike my 
grandfather and father, I am the first descendant in a position 
to draw public attention to an abominable tragedy the world 
has ignored. I intend to use that ability wisely. I've 
rescheduled my tour. The Vienna Philharmonic is thrilled I 
will be joining them in all their travels. I'm also sponsoring 
them to extend their tour to one more city. 

"I'm going back there, Mulder, to my homeland. I'm hosting a 
benefit concert in Poltava Province. I'm very much looking 
forward to it, actually. I think my grandfather would be 
proud of me." He paused, searching Mulder's face. The man's 
mouth twitched at something approaching a smile. It looked 
as if he might be coming around a little.

"I gave my whole life credit to a man who took from so many 
people," Joshua continued. "They say it takes an entire village 
to raise a child...I suppose they're right. I needed to 
understand how I came to be, and they needed to understand 
who I was. I have a tremendous gift, but I've always kept it 
to myself. That was my sin--my vanity in thinking I had been 
the only one to earn it. You helped me see that. I asked you to 
find a key and you were that key...you were all along. It just 
took time to see," Joshua said with hopefulness. Mulder's 
beautiful, haunted eyes finally braved to look at him. 

"I *shot* you, Joshua."

"You were being used."

"No...I was being used *effectively.* I was being pulled by my 
weaknesses and instincts. The things I said..." he broke off, 
swallowing hard. "I said things to you no one deserves to 
hear..."

"Those weren't your words."

Mulder raised his head, his teeth clenching together. "But they 
*were.* Those words were in-me," he said, accenting the last 
syllables with a rough poke at his own chest. "In-me. They 
found a place buried so deep in my subconscious I didn't even 
know it was there. Those words came out of me, Joshua. I'm 
deeply ashamed by them. I can't deny what I wrote or said."

"I don't think you should deny it," Joshua said, accepting his 
confession in stride. "I think we lose sight of the truth when 
we become deaf to what our conscience is trying to say. I 
refused to listen to the suggestion that my grandfather might 
not have always been the man I knew. That was my mistake. 
Maybe you should accept that voice inside you, understand it, 
forgive it, and move beyond. In the end they're just words, 
Mulder. Nothing more. They mean nothing to me."

Joshua set his hand on the top of Mulder's bare foot. When he 
didn't protest, he took a brave scoot forward, laying his head 
on the agent's knee. Joshua thought Mulder might push him 
away, but instead felt his hand come to rest on the back of his 
head.

"I miss you," Joshua whispered. "Come back to me."

He heard Mulder sigh and felt his fingers begin to move 
through his hair. "No, Joshua," he said heavily. "It wasn't 
meant to be. I should have been stronger. I should have 
remembered that anyone who has ever been close to me has 
been put in mortal danger. You asked me once why Scully and 
I had never made love. It's because we know if we lose sight 
of each other for even a moment, one of us will wind up dead. 
I can't live without her, and she...I can only hope she's made 
this choice for the same reasons. I've already asked Scully to 
make this sacrifice with me; I can't ask another. You have a 
life, Joshua. One that will be better once we've gone our 
separate ways."

Joshua raised his head to look up at his lover, to plead with 
him. 

"You keep people alive..." he continued, his exhausted face 
expressing all the awe and respect he held for Joshua and his 
art. "...I destroy them. Sooner or later I destroy even the 
people who mean the most to me. I've already fired a gun at 
my own head to try and save her from me. I can only hope 
I'll remember to check if it's loaded next time."

"No, Mulder." Joshua shook his head, knowing the darkness 
that had always haunted Mulder found its counterweight in 
himself. "Don't say that to me and expect me to walk away. 
You have a place in this world, as obscure as it may seem to 
most. You were created for a reason. I've come to understand 
the sacrifice involved in bringing an exceptional person to be. 
You and I are the same man. We both make choices that keep 
us separated from the rest of the world. We found each other 
here--you can't tell me that wasn't meant to be."

"I don't have a choice, Joshua. This life chose me."

"We all make choices in how we live, Mulder. You can make a 
different choice--leave all this." He smiled and took his hand 
wistfully, holding it to his lips. "Come with me, overseas. I'll 
show you Vienna, Paris, Cairo, Moscow..."

"I've been to Russia," Mulder said with a small grin. "I didn't 
much care for it."

Joshua answered him with a silent laugh. "I knew you would 
refuse me. But I couldn't help asking all the same. It's a 
fantasy I can't seem to let go of."

Mulder gently fingered a swirl of dark hair over Joshua's ear. 
"It's nice to be asked."

Joshua moved up onto his knees to kiss Mulder, softly, just to 
the side of his mouth. He didn't get the same polite decline 
this time as he had on the ruins. Mulder's eyes were 
searching his; his mouth loosened, wanting, but he was afraid 
of what damage would be done. Tears came into his eyes. 
There was something Mulder needed to say and it pained him 
to hold it back. 

"Tell me," Joshua said.

"I have to give you up...and it's killing me inside," he said 
bravely, his misery falling into a sorrowful grin. Joshua came 
up and took the man into his arms, holding him tightly, 
pressing his lips to his cheek, reaching for that comfort they 
had both been aching for these last several days. Mulder's 
arms were warm and strong around him; he  felt the 
dampness from his eyes as Mulder lowered his face to his 
shoulder. 

"Don't give me up...don't ever give me up," Joshua whispered 
to him as they rocked gently against one another in the pale 
light of the shaded window, at home on the lonely side of the 
glass.

###

Slowly, deliberately, Joshua stood and took Mulder into his 
arms--holding his complete focus on him, kissing his face, his 
eyes, his mouth, breathing with him, wanting to make him 
feel alive, loved, cherished and desired. This was the sexual 
nature of men Joshua had sought to show him. He led Mulder 
to the bed, undressing him, kissing him deeply, laying him 
down beneath him, patiently coaxing him back to the isolated 
serenity they had found together in Sonoma. As they kissed, 
Joshua could feel Mulder beginning to accept, reaching for 
him with his mouth and arms. Mulder's touches were 
hesitant, yet pleading--like the empty arms of a neglected 
child, trembling with the need to be held. All those human 
comforts Mulder had adapted himself to deny were here for 
him--it didn't matter what form the giver took. 

Lying together unclothed, limbs entwined, allowing each other 
to touch openly and find healing, was all that occupied the 
four corners of the room as early evening traveled into night. 
A journey had been made--from fantasy to the awakening of 
a new passion, the power of physical touch made their bond 
stronger. It wasn't a sin that each perhaps still held a kernel 
of doubt. The crumbling foundation forbidding this union was 
forged in antiquity. 

During the slow movements of their embrace, Joshua could 
hear Mulder whispering, a phrase over and over. He bent his 
head to catch it. "I can be gentle," he breathed, as his lips 
touched each tender bump of Joshua's ribs. "I can be gentle." 

Joshua sighed when he entered his lover, holding his rough 
face to his own, asking him to open his eyes, kissing him 
softly, stroking his arm and chest and leg, reassuring him in 
any way he could that he was good; he was just. Mulder 
deserved to be touched; he deserved to be desired; he 
deserved to be forgiven; and he deserved to allow himself to 
love. Joshua's arms held on strong, weathering the powerful 
motions building between them; and although he remained 
quiet, Mulder allowed himself to succumb during those final 
releasing moments--his head falling back limp on the pillow, 
his face relaxing in peace. Joshua thought maybe there was a 
chance his message had been heard.

The intensity of pleasure is fleeting, even when it might 
never be had again. But Joshua found the real reward of their 
final coupling in the long, still embrace that followed. The 
battered witness gathered his protector into his arms and 
held him close against his chest, willing him to sleep, stroking 
his fingers through his hair. They held each other, wrapped in 
blankets, and slept soundly without incident until dawn. 

The hardest thing Joshua ever had to do in his life was to slip 
his arm out from under his lover's head and dress in the quiet 
of morning before the stars had failed. For once he was the 
one to leave Mulder asleep and alone in his bed, warmed by 
their passing. He kissed him softly on the cheek and opened 
the curtains so the soon-to-be-rising sun would wake him. He 
said good-bye silently as he slipped out into the hall to face 
the long lonely ride to Los Angeles. 

*************************************

Chapter Twenty
END (43/44)

Prologue (44/44)

**************************************************
Prologue--four months later
**************************************************

FBI Headquarters
6:05 AM
Monday

Mulder sat in his familiar chair behind his too-neat desk, 
staring at a small unopened package addressed to him. It was 
early on the morning of his first day back from suspended 
leave. Although Skinner had barked the term "ass in a sling" 
at him more than usual during the last four months, his shaky 
career path was reinstated (after extensive disciplinary 
review) thanks in a major part to the supportive first-hand 
accounts provided under oath by Scully and Lt. Jarvis 
regarding his conduct in San Francisco. Joshua's verbose 
written statement vouching for his character was an X-File in 
itself, now currently filed under 'transferable demon 
possession' somewhere in the bottomless drawers behind him. 
Mulder once again made FBI history in being the first agent 
"absolved" for shooting a protected witness in the chest at 
close range. Skinner hadn't said, but Mulder knew the AD was 
somewhat aware it had been a crime of misdirected passion.

Scully had spent these months holding down the fort, 
sneaking over to his apartment most evenings with notes and 
photographs of the latest paranormal case she herself was 
heading with a long-missed enthusiasm. For what it was 
worth, his affair had managed to bring them closer. It 
managed to reestablish the kind of bonding between two 
people that needed no clear definition to exist any more than 
his lingering memories of Joshua.

It had been difficult over these long empty days that he'd 
spent alone at home, or on long walks around DC, trying to 
sort through all the many things that had been said and done 
during his weeks in San Francisco. It was hard, that was all he 
knew--another loss to bear in a long line of losses Mulder had 
experienced throughout his life. Waking that last bright 
morning to a cold and empty bed smelling of his lover was 
more painful to him than he could have imagined. The 
loneliness he carried with him now eclipsed the shame of his 
crime. Mulder found himself avoiding elevators and hanging 
up whenever he was put on hold. This was the way it had to 
be.

Mulder reached into his coat pocket for the postcards he'd 
brought in with him and stood up to pin them to his 
wallboard one by one. The first had arrived a week after his 
return to DC. It came by way of Scully from its sudden 
appearance in his FBI office mail. It was a postcard of 
Sleeping Beauty's castle lit up at night sent the day of Joshua's 
Disneyland Hotel performance in LA. The violinist's message 
was short and friendly, discreet. It was an attempt to sustain 
contact that Joshua chose to continue week to week, sending 
him cards from places Mulder had never been to: Stockholm, 
Prague, Lisbon, Rome. Mulder hung them now on his wall. A 
growing collection of mini snapshots and foreign stamps, the 
postcards were his way of following Joshua's travels as he 
made his way over the world. The short lines sounded happy, 
but there was a sadness that had been emerging as time 
passed and the cards began to arrive less frequently than the 
first. Mulder had yet to send a reply.

Satisfied with his thumbtacked arrangement, Mulder sat 
down to open the parcel on his desk. It had been shipped a 
few days ago care of the Vienna Philharmonic, which was now 
winding its way into Russia. Inside was a letter and a flat 
object wrapped in bubble wrap. Mulder began with the letter.



Mulder,

As I write this I am sitting at a small child's desk in the 
upstairs room of a farm house that has stood near the edge of 
the Poltava Valley for over a hundred years. Outside my 
window I can see the branches of the cherry trees beginning 
to bud across the orchard. It is not yet spring, and still very 
cold here on the steppes. I light a fire and pile as many 
blankets as they can spare on my bed at night to keep warm. 
Ukraine isn't like anyplace on earth I've ever seen. Her people 
are quiet and proud and ultimately generous and forgiving. I 
hadn't expected to be welcomed into their very homes, but I 
feel incredibly blessed to accept the invitations. The child who 
used to sleep in this room has grown and moved away, and 
his parents were seeking a new 'son' to adopt for the time 
being. I have learned many things here, such as the true 
definition of 'cold shower,' and how many different Ukrainian 
words there are to describe boiled potatoes. So far my hosts 
have not complained about the violin and I have not 
complained about the chickens who sleep clucking in the 
rafters overhead. 

I have been here for nearly two weeks, overseeing the final 
progress of the grand opening of a makeshift concert hall near 
the Chutove village center. When my request was received 
four months ago (I cannot believe how much time has passed 
since I left the States!) the largest unused structure was 
selected--an old granary barn--and architects and structural 
engineers from Kiev assembled to conceive and build it. I 
wish you could see it--it has a steadfast and rustic charm like 
the farmers who still work the surrounding lands. The 
acoustics could be more ideal, but my money would only go so 
far. Scully might be amused to hear that I ended up 
auctioning several collectibles of mine including the once-
seized Louis XIV harpsichord to a private collector in Morocco 
to finance this project--not to mention the cost of securing 
accommodations for 65 Philharmonic members (not all of 
them welcomed the idea of sleeping in drafty farm houses!). 
My accountant in New York has threatened to have done with 
me if I don't come to my senses soon. News of my efforts 
have gladly drawn stories to the world's papers, and 
donations to the Recovery Foundation of Poltava Province 
have been arriving by the thousands. 

Tomorrow night I will play the Sibelius violin concerto for 
600 Chutove villagers and their neighbors and friends. It is a 
sad and triumphant piece, filled with strife and longing. I 
chose it because it reminded me of what I know these people 
suffered and yet they are still here--thriving and 
independent. My interpretation comes from my experiences 
in San Francisco, the images I saw in my dreams, and my 
need to try and right that unforgivable wrong. But, just to 
cover my bases, I've boned-up on my Ukrainian-traditional 
Christmas Carols. All that robust fiddle-playing my 
grandfather used to joke about--he was closer to 
understanding his past than I imagined. The farmwife whose 
care I am under, Olga, has taught me the name of the lullaby I 
can now play accurately from memory. It is called "Blessed 
are They Who Protect the Sleep of the Innocent." 

The Chutove concert is for my people, but I also feel it is for 
you. When I play the Adagio di molto I feel Sibelius is 
speaking about a passion long left behind. I play for them and 
I play for you, but I also play for myself--perhaps I always 
will. Perhaps it isn't a sin to let the violin bespeak the 
contents of my heart. Perhaps it is simple human honesty that 
marks a virtuoso. In case I am wrong, I have also scheduled 
the Tchaikovsky for the following night. The audience will 
love it--it is familiar to them, and although it means little to 
me, I understand now that I can make music beyond my own 
experience.

I have been hesitant to write you, to open my heart when I 
have received no words from you. I try to believe it is the 
difficulty in tracking my progress that keeps you silent. But 
logic intervenes and tells me you have your own reasons and 
I will need to learn to accept them. But not today. Today I am 
happy to be where I am at this small desk writing by 
lamplight and happy to be able to hear the sadness and 
yearning in the sound of my violin.

Nanette writes to me from France. She is enjoying her 
retirement, reacquainting herself with her own country. She 
is very happy for me and plans to come to my performance 
when we reach Paris. I miss her and know we will have a lot 
to talk about.

I feel I have traveled far, but gained little distance from San 
Francisco. Inside this box is my final gift to you. Take it--it 
was always meant to be yours. 

--J



The bubble wrap contained a compact disc recording from 
EMI Classics-- "Mendelssohn/Bruch Violin Concerti." It was a 
compilation of both Joshua's Mendelssohn and an earlier 1998 
recording he'd made of the Max Bruch Concerto. Mulder read 
the label on the back. 


Felix Mendelssohn, Violin Concerto in E Minor, Op. 64
    I--Allegro molto appassionato/Cadenza/Presto
    II--Andante
    III--Allegretto non troppo/Allegro molto vivace

JOSHUA SEGULYEV, violin
THE SAN FRANCISCO SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
MICHAEL TILSON THOMAS, conductor

(Cadenza mvt I : Joshua Segulyev)

Joshua's impromptu cadenza, his gift to him, was 
immortalized in 78 minutes of digital audio for all eternity. 
Mulder opened the case; a message was handwritten on the 
inner sleeve.


"Once upon a time there were two princes. Each was given a 
magical map that led them on their own separate quest. They 
were both gone for years, so long, that when they returned 
triumphant there was no one left who could remember them 
and they had aged beyond recognition. It is on the ruined 
walls of that lost kingdom where we will meet again, my 
friend, and we will know one another by name."  



Mulder sat quietly for several long moments, staring at the 
message and at the silver disc. The CD player Scully had 
brought into the office was still sitting atop the desk. 

*I think we lose sight of the truth when we become deaf to 
what our conscience is trying to say.*

He didn't need to make that same mistake, he decided. He 
popped the disc out of its case and slid it into the player. The 
Mendelssohn began and Mulder, listened.


*********************************
End (44/44)
(roll credits)

Missing chapters? Go to:
www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html

Feedback: Terma99@aol.com

I had planned this big, finishing statement that would knock 
everyone's socks off, but after twenty chapters of casefile, I'm 
spent.
It took seven months to write and lots of time spent in front 
of the computer typing while friends and family rolled their 
eyes got pissed at me. Tell me it was worth it, eh? It can't 
suck too bad if you made it this far, could it? 

I'm kidding. I do have extensive post-reading author's notes 
that I'll post to my site in a few days, discussing some of the 
ideas and inspirations behind Cadenza. Come visit if you get a 
chance and we'll chat.

www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html

Meanwhile, tell me how you feel at: Terma99@aol.com
From: Terma99@aol.com
Date: Sat, 27 May 2000 15:37:48 EDT
Subject: Cadenza by Terma99 (Music Notes)
Source: xff


Listening to Cadenza

The writing of this fic has been conducted under the 
influence of the following masterworks of classical music. A 
classical oboist myself, I've had a life-long love affair with 
this music and the San Francisco Symphony and bringing it 
together with my first passion, writing, has made Cadenza a 
very special work of fiction for me. I've included the key 
movements of each piece that inspired certain scenes and 
were playing quite loudly on my stereo while I composed the 
scenes or daydreamed about character development, etc. So 
here we go in order of appearance in Cadenza. 

1. Brahms Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D Minor
    (Itzhak Perlman, violin)

Joshua's "signature" piece. He played this concerto (there is 
a total of three movements) in Philadelphia the night the 
bombs were discovered. He also won a Grammy for his 1988 
recording of the Concerto with the New York Philharmonic 
which earned him his three year world tour. Scully is playing 
the solo cadenza section when the story opens. He also plays 
a part of it for Mulder when he explains how he associated 
Brahms with his grandfather.


2. Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E minor
    (Christian Ferras, violin)

The Mendelssohn is the concerto Joshua's rehearsing with 
the San Francisco Symphony throughout the story. It's also 
my most favorite violin concertos, it shows off the 
instrument so very well. 

Joshua's playing the third movement during the ruckus in his 
apartment and the softer second movement during Mulder 
and Scully's "day at Davies" make-shift office scene where 
the photos go flying. He'll be playing the whole darn thing 
during the premiere gala. The violinist in this recording, 
Ferras, is my favorite virtuoso. I'd like to think this is Joshua 
himself playing on this recording and the following Bruch.


3. Bruch Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor
    (Christian Ferras, violin)

The Bruch concerto is so filled with passion and suffering, 
struggle, and joy, I based most of Joshua's personality on this 
piece, especially the first movement. I listened to this while 
writing the frozen barn scene and Joshua's first encounter 
with the Thin Man and any time he remembers his past. The 
first movement is the story of his life. The second movement 
*might* be about love, but I'll let you decide. It also might 
contain something that sounds like a lullaby.

4. Schubert String Quartet No. 14 "Death and the Maiden"
    II: Andanto con moto 

A eulogy for Elise. Joshua plays the lead violin part in front of 
the window for the portion of the quartet's slow, quiet 
second movement I've included here. Is does sound less 
lonely with the cello and viola.


5. Beethoven Symphony No. 9 in D Minor
    I: Allergro ma non troppo

Beethoven at his best, it is almost a sin to put only one 
movement of this greatest of symphonies on a tape, but hey, 
I don't have room for 78 minutes--that takes a whole CD. But 
you'd know that if you were paying attention during Mulder's 
first classical appreciation lesson. Listen, and remember 
Ludwig was completely deaf when he wrote this. If that isn't 
enough to make you feel insignificant, ask yourself why you 
don't own the complete symphonic works of Beethoven 
already in a five CD boxed set. Shame! Get the Karajan 
version, now!


6. JS Bach Concerto for Violin and Oboe in C Minor
    II: Adagio
    (Issac Stern, violin)

This is the piece that takes Mulder by surprise in a Berkeley 
church. In Cadenza, I have Joshua playing alongside my 
favorite oboist in the whole darn world, William Bennet, SF 
Symphony principal oboist. I first heard him play at Davies 
when I was 15 years old. I was a clarinet player at the time. I 
changed to oboe that very day. Oboe is a beast of an 
instrument to tame--it's finicky and temperamental, but 
when it sings, it can cut into you like no other sound in the 
orchestra. I have a tempestuous love/hate relationship with 
my beloved Fox 400 grenadilla oboe. I've experienced the 
greatest personal highs (nailing the solo in the Tchaik 4 
onstage at the Hoffman with the Diablo Valley Philharmonic) 
and personal lows (managing to cut my upper lip open and 
splitting my reed in half during rehearsal of Mozart's 
Marriage of Figaro Overture and missing the whole damn 
solo) with this baby. 

But back to Bach, I play along with my tape to this piece 
quite a bit. It's beyond lovely. But get the C Minor version, 
it's just plain better--Mulder will agree with me.

7. Beethoven, Concerto for Piano, Violin, Cello 
    and Orchestra in C major. "Triple Concerto"
This concerto is a hoot! It's a splendid example of 
Beethoven's happier works. It's festive and requires the solo 
skills of three virtuosos. I thought it would be the perfect 
piece for Joshua and his "merry trio" to perform that 
blustery Christmas night in New York during an endless 
Beethoven festival. I've been to one of these at Davies. Don't 
get me wrong, I ADORE Beethoven, but my ass was numb by 
the time they finished the Sixth Symphony.

8. Vivaldi Concerto in D for Guitar

I don't know where I got this weird little tape, I think 
someone left it at my house or something. It's one of those 
99=A2 things you see for sale in a big bargain barrels at drug 
stores. It is a collection of Vivaldi Concertos transcribed for 
various instruments. Some of its kinda weird, and the 
labeling is all wrong, but right in the middle of the second 
side is this guitar piece that is so...sexy...I decided that this is 
what you hear during the softer love scenes in Cadenza, off 
in the corner playing on Joshua's stereo. It's also the piece 
Mulder pops in the stereo while Joshua's restringing the 
Strad. It's a passion theme for them, cautious, yet leaden 
with meaning. Try it while reading the Sonoma section--goes 
well with wine.

9. Mozart, Don Giovanni, Act II, Commendatore scene

This is right out of the Amadeus soundtrack. (The best film 
ever made IMO, but then I'm biased.) Those of you who have 
seen the film can relate to this powerful trio between Don 
Giovanni, the statue and his sniveling sidekick, Leporello just 
before the commendatore casts them down into hell. 
Mulder's rather confusing night at the opera watching over 
Joshua went well with the strong male voices in this aria. The 
whole opera is dark and angry and eerie. Don Giovanni is 
also theorized to embody Mozart's struggle to deal with his 
overbearing father's death. See a connection there?

Turn the volume up on this number while reading the section 
where Joshua follows the thin man through the musty 
backstage prop rooms of the War Memorial Opera House and 
tell me you don't get all creeped out.

10. Rachmaninov, Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini
    (Philippe Entremont, piano)
    
Easily my favorite piano piece ever, Sergei Rachmaninov 
almost made me cast Joshua as a pianist--just so I could 
listen to hours of Rach piano concertos. Well, I'm listening to 
them anyway! I think most true musicians can play a little 
piano. Joshua can play some of the easier variations in this 
piece. Rachmaninov took a theme by an Italian violinist and 
turned it into one of the greatest works of piano music ever 
written. I almost feel sorry for Paganini--even if he was long 
gone dead at the time this was composed in the 1930s. I also 
included this piece because it's so Russian and practically all 
the composers listed so far were German! Don't get me 
wrong, I adore Tchaikovsky, but his violin concerto just 
didn't say "Joshua" to me.

The Rhapsody is a music composition form known as "theme 
and variation." You take a simple theme and then rewrite it 
over and over in a series of musical variations. Listen to a 
first few minutes to get the basic tune and hear where Sergei 
takes it. You may recognize some of the variations just like a 
familiar line from Shakespeare you never knew was from 
Shakespeare--that's how well-known this piece is. Some of 
the chillier parts of this piece make me think of Joshua's 
Grandfather struggling to flee the Ukraine in the dead of 
winter with his infant daughter in his arms.

11. Prokofiev, Symphonic Suite, Op. 60, "Lieutenant Kije" 
    "Romance"--Second Movement

Joshua describes the "sound" of this piece best in these 
words of his grandfather: "It sounds like emptiness and 
wholeness--everything and nothing at all. I would listen to its 
grand pause--'tishena,' my grandfather called it. 'Listen, 
Sasha,' he would say to me when it was quiet. 'The sound of 
silence is the most beautiful chord of all.'"

Prokofiev's "Romance" is one of the most delicate, chilling 
and innocent pieces of music I've ever heard. Its theme is 
familiar, we've all heard it at some point, but can't quite 
place it. It begins with a sad, slow cello, straining through the 
notes along with the strum of the harp. I see Joshua waking 
before dawn and sneaking out the back of the barn with his 
dog to listen to the morning. Its child-like theme is so honest 
it will break your heart faster than any piece on this list. 
Tishena, is Russian for 'silence;' it also means 'peace.' As you 
read, you'll see how this theme carries through the story.

12. Schumann, Sonata for Violin and Piano, Op. 121
    (Christian Ferras, violin)

I'm not a huge Schumann fan, but this piece, which is part of 
the Christian Ferras Double CD along with his recordings of 
the Brahms, Beethoven and Sibelius concertos, is a stand-out 
piece for violin and piano. Joshua plays this piece at 
Zellerbach in Berkeley for Nana the first time she meets him 
(as recalled in chapter 11)with that "beautiful" young man 
who was to become is first lover later that night. The sonata 
has a technical accuracy and grace that I felt would be fitting 
of a young man coming into his stride as a virtuoso. The 
piano gets equal billing in this piece, symbolic of their final 
'coming together.'

13. Vivaldi, The Four Seasons
    Autumn--Adagio molto
    Summer--Allegro non molto
    Spring--Largo
    Winter--Allegro non molto, Largo & Allegro

Vivaldi's Four Seasons is probably *the* most well-known 
work for solo violin and chamber orchestra. It was also 
composed the year Joshua's Stradi was made, 1726. There is 
a performing group called Philharmonia Baroque that is 
formed from musicians playing on strictly historical 
instruments. I knew I wanted to tell a lot of flashback history 
for Joshua in chapter 12 and selections from the Four 
Seasons made for the perfect musical fit.

Autumn's adagio molto is filled with quiet tension, which I 
felt was perfect for the moments when the agents' car pulls 
up in front of Joshua's old home and he looks out the 
window at it, recalling how it looked when he was a teen.

Summer's Allegro non molto is the piece Joshua chooses to 
play for his grandfather to warm his heart in early November. 
It's vibrant and gleeful, and a wonderfully showy piece for 
the violin, flirtatious.

Spring's Largo has a lonely, isolated sound to it. I figured 
Joshua's little fingers would be healing by his first spring in 
Philadelphia with his grandfather. The sound of this 
movement was a perfect match to the struggle of a little boy 
trying to find his way back to his art with scarred hands. 

Winter's final three movements are some of the most 
stunning repertoire in baroque literature. The violin solo 
really breaks free in these chilling final pieces and so does 
Joshua's state of mind upon receiving heartbreaking news 
(chapter 12). Thank you, Vivaldi, for the inspiration.

14. ARIA: "Ebben? Ne andro lontano" from Catalani's opera 
'La Wally'
        (Eva Marton, soprano)

My Italian sucks, so I have no idea what this aria means word 
for word, but it does say "Sonoma" to me. I knew I wanted an 
aria to go with my vineyard romance in chapter 14 and this 
one fit the bill. I wanted a female voice that could carry over 
fine wines and rolling hills. "Ebben? Ne andro lontano" is 
filled with passion and freedom and beauty, yet within the 
course of the aria one hears an eerie undertone that 
eventually takes over the happier melody, culminating in 
disaster. A perfect fit for the course of this chapter-- you can 
all but hear those starlings taking flight right up into the first 
fall of rain.

15. J. S. Bach: Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin
    (various)

When Joshua hears the violin singing him to sleep, it comes 
to him as a solo work from Bach. Just about any of the 
hundreds of unaccompanied Bach violin recordings out there 
will do. If you visit the classical music section of most stores 
you'll find a wide variety of violin soloists of all ages 
performing alone, the very foundation of music theory, Bach 
sonatas and partitas.

16. Brahms: Ein Deutsches Requiem ("A German Requiem")

Probably the most famous of Brahms' work, his soulful and 
powerful requiem is the musical inspiration I drew from for 
the final mystical sections of Joshua's journey. The first 
movement "Blessed are They," is what I heard when Joshua 
finds himself on the country road and enters the woods, 
meeting the little girl at the back of her ruined home. The 
horror of the fire is the roar of flame I heard sung from the 
male chorus in the second movement of this piece "Denn 
alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras." I don't remember what that 
means in English [bad Sharon, no biscuit], but it's very 
creepy. I used those dark sections to color my thoughts 
during most of chapter 19 as well--"The caged anger in his 
eyes was terrible to see." Once again I found myself reaching 
to the Germans for themes to fit a Russian tragedy. Can I help 
it if Russian classical music is just too darn upbeat? Yeah, 
Stravinski would have probably worked, but I'm a sucker for 
the Romantics.

17. Jean Sibelius: Concerto for Violin in D minor (op. 47)
    (Christian Ferras, violin)

A post-Romantic Finnish composer, Sibelius' exceptional 20th 
century work is among the most challenging and sublime 
works composed for violin. It is my favorite concerto so I 
saved it for last. If Cadenza has a main theme, the Sibelius is 
it. The work is haunting, strange, powerful, delicate and filled 
with strife, longing and love. When I first heard it, I thought I 
was seeing 1930s Chutove as well as a secluded rustic room 
overlooking the Napa Valley vineyards. Of all the pieces I 
listened to while writing this novel, the Sibelius brought me 
the most inspiration and its haunting voice opened up the 
world of Cadenza to me. You'll find a part of its meaning in 
almost every scene--but the second movement goes 
especially well with the last few scenes of chapter 20.


I would strongly urge any of you to try and find a few of 
these pieces, especially the Mendelssohn, Bruch and Sibelius 
violin concertos. Half of what made Cadenza work for my 
beta readers (they tell me) was having some, if not all, of the 
music. Classical bargain CDs can be found for $2 to $9 at 
most large bookstores and Tower Records. All of these pieces 
mentioned in this novel are very popular and easy to find. 
Some people have written to tell me they found some of 
these pieces at their library or even in MPEG form online. 
Give it a shot, you may discover a whole new art as Mulder 
did!

--Terma99