The Blood of Kings by John Michael Curlovich

Author:John Michael Curlovich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riverdale Avenue Books
Published: 2019-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The fall term began. Some of the other students I knew made a big deal about not being freshmen anymore. I had more substantial things on my mind.

In some ways the new school year was much like the first had been. Classes—I had to take Economics, which I hated—studying and practicing, working out in the pool. But of course, it was different, too: I had Danilo.

We had a practice meet against Villanova, and the three days I spent in Philadelphia, with no real contact with him, seemed endless. While I was gone there was another killing, another young man found dismembered, organs missing, an acting student this time. The killings were happening when I wasn’t around. I wasn’t at all certain whether to be grateful.

The administration and the police finally realized that the only way to deal with the rising wave of rumors and fear was to issue warnings to students and staff that “there may be a serial killer” on the loose. FBI experts were on the case, constructing a psychological profile of the killer. Needless to say, nothing in their reports came close to the truth. But the campus was tense.

Roland told me my pianism had slacked off during the summer, “You’re getting sloppy,” which was not something I expected to hear. Love is supposed to fire your art, not hinder it. But then I was still a boy in so many ways, still caught up in all the romantic patterns we’re taught to expect. I resolved to work harder.

“Are you still determined to do the Chopin second again?”

I told him I was.

“It’s such a bear. It might be better to shoot for next year.”

“I can do it, Roland. I know I can.”

“Why don’t you work on something else, too? Some Poulenc, maybe. So you’ll have something else prepared. Just in case, I mean.”

I knew what he meant.

He also suggested I stop using my keyboard. It was a discussion we had had before. The touch of an electronic piano is nothing like the touch of a real one; if you get too used to it, your playing suffers. But there were so many times I felt the urge to play, to express what I was feeling in a concrete way. In the middle of the night, in the early morning hours, whenever I needed to release what I was feeling. The music department, like everything else on campus, got locked down. But I also knew Roland was right, so I decided to spend as much time as I could practicing at the department.

When I told Danilo about it, he responded by giving me a set of keys to his house. “Play on the grand here whenever you like.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You couldn’t.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” I grinned.

“Just once, young Mister Dunn, couldn’t you rein in your penchant for being annoying?”

“How would you know it was me, then?”

But the offer was made, and I was only too happy to take him up on it. His instrument was so much better than the ones for student use at the department.

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