The Redpoint Crux by Morgan Shamy

Author:Morgan Shamy [Shamy, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Parliament House
Published: 2020-06-08T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Darkside

* * *

Perched in the high rafters of the theater, Bellamy watched as Megan wandered through the auditorium. She dragged her hand along the red velvet seats, peering up at the large tapestries that hung on the walls. She studied the enormous chandelier that filled the entire ceiling.

Moving through the dark, she let her body sway side to side, her arms lifting as if there were air underneath them. A dance of mourning. A childhood waltz. A dance of remembrance. Bellamy knew she still loved to dance, even though her actions said otherwise. He’d watched her the day she ran out of class three years ago, leaving the ballet world completely.

Bellamy believed he knew her. She had left the ballet world because she was afraid—afraid of not being the best—and she had run to something that came easier to her, even though she had a gift. She always ran when something was hard. She didn’t know how to face something head-on—including her own emotions.

Megan peered out at the audience, then down into the orchestra pit. She lifted her eyes upward, wrapping her father’s blue scarf tighter around her neck.

Bellamy leaned back on his heels, watching her with half-lidded eyes.

Finally, she sat down centerstage and stayed there for a long while. She kept her lashes lowered, her lips red and puffy from biting them.

The minute Megan stood, Bellamy was on his feet. Like a magnet, he followed her movement to a tee, as he had for the last seven years. She kept her head down as she headed into the wings. He followed along the rafters, staying right above her. Bellamy dodged ropes and wooden planks, leaping across one railing to the next to keep Megan in sight. He was completely soundless, having perfected his ability to stalk in absolute silence. Megan moved out of the wings, and he swung down a rope, sliding, stopping inches from the ground.

Megan tiptoed into the hallway, rubbed her arms, and peeked behind her. Bellamy stayed tucked behind the corner, his back flat against the wall. He waited until she took twenty steps before he emerged into the hall, following her.

She climbed the stairs, but instead of turning left toward her room in the attic, she turned right and followed along the battered red carpet. Dim lamps illuminated the walls, highlighting the portraits of owners and special patrons of the theater for the last few decades. Bellamy kept to the shadows, following a small distance behind. Her hand touched the peeling flocked wallpaper, and she glanced at the faces that stared back at her, their eyes unmoving.

Megan paused in front of her father’s portrait. Even though he hadn’t been an owner, he had been concertmaster. She kneeled on the rough velvet carpet, her chin lifted as she stared at her hero. Long nose, large warm eyes.

Bellamy held his breath. She looked unearthly with her pale skin and red hair tumbling down her back.

“Dad,” Megan whispered. “I’m so sorry I disappointed you. I… I should’ve taken care of Nathan.

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