The small binoculars were tucked in my purse. I had handled them several times, and even tried using them to view a television show, thinking that might activate whatever our client had seen. Nothing happened. That meant that either the opera glasses only did their thing for live theater, or perhaps our client had an overly active imagination.
Although technically our outing was work-related, I was excited. Maybe that said something about my social life, but the truth was, when I wasn’t working late at the store, I socialized with a small group of friends, or savored a quiet evening with a good book, a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and my little Maltese. Charleston offered one soiree after another, many for charitable causes, but the constant social swirl seemed more obligation than recreation. So I had to admit my excitement included looking forward to the play itself, not just figuring out what was going on with the opera glasses.
“Did you know this play was originally produced in 1939?” Teag asked as we headed to the theater. He became a theater-geek fountain of information, keeping me entertained until we reached our destination.
“I’ve got to admit, I’m as interested in the theater itself as the play,” I said, pausing on the other side of the street to take in the grand marquis that jutted out, retro-style, over the sidewalk and rose like a tower along the front of the building. We had to walk a few blocks since parking tonight was at a premium. “The theater’s a drama queen in its own way.”
Teag chuckled. “The Academy has been a Southern belle, a movie star, a spurned lover, a bag lady, and a dowager queen. This was the biggest vaudeville theater in the South back in the day. Even after movies came out and many of the old theaters were converted to show motion pictures, the Academy remained the place to see a live performance in Charleston.”
I felt a rush of excitement as we walked into the Academy. The theater lobby had been painstakingly refurbished to its glory days. From the big, retro lit-up marquis outside to the old-style concession stand, plush red carpets, and velvet-upholstered seats, the Academy Theater was quite a showplace. It had taken a major effort from the community and the city’s theater lovers to pull off the fundraising and renovation, but the results were stunning. Everything screamed Victorian abundance, from the lush burgundy velvet curtains and the plush carpet to the crystal chandeliers, gilded decorations, and huge mirrors.
“But the movies won out, didn’t they,” I said.
“For a while,” Teag replied. “It closed in the 1970s, and it was empty for a long time. The local arts community managed to keep it from being torn down. Some well-heeled investors finally put the Academy back in business.”
Those investors must have had pretty high heels and deep pockets, I thought, looking around at the opulent decor. Every detail had been lovingly restored, a nod to an era that believed too much was never enough.
“We’re in the Grand Tier,” Teag reminded me as we climbed the sweeping marble steps. Even the railing was an ornate masterpiece, and each step seemed to bring us closer to the huge, sparkling crystal chandelier that was the centerpiece of the lobby. “So we should have a great view of the stage as well as the theater itself.”
We found our seats. The view was amazing. Once we were settled, I pulled the opera glasses from my purse. The mother-of-pearl inlay glistened in the lights. The opera glasses consisted of a petite set of adjustable magnifying lenses on a single inlaid vertical handle. I could hold the lenses up to my eyes with the handle like a carnival mask, without having to take a two-handed grip like a crazed bird-watcher. It all felt very glamorous in an old-fashioned movie-star kind of way.
Yet as I touched the opera glasses, I felt something that had not been present in the store; I felt uneasy, as if something were about to happen.
“Are you getting any vibes from this place?” I asked.
Teag was trying to eavesdrop on the couple sitting in the row ahead of us. My comment startled him.
“Vibes? Just awe in the presence of this much bling,” he replied.
I had to agree, the Academy reminded me of a wealthy woman who had decided to wear her entire diamond collection – and perhaps all of Tiffany’s – at the same time. But I didn’t think the feeling I was getting from the opera glasses was a fashion statement.
I lifted the glasses to my eyes, and looked around the theater. No one was on stage yet, but with the lenses, I felt as if I were right in the footlights. Something moved off to the side, but when I turned my head, I saw no one. I continued to pan the theater, spying on the people in the box seats, admiring the outfits and jewelry of other theater-goers. From somewhere, I heard a child crying. I froze. It wasn’t the sound of a baby fussing or a testy toddler. The sound was faint, but it was a howl of fear and anguish that made my blood run cold.
“Cassidy, are you okay?” Teag looked at me anxiously.
“Did you hear that?” I struggled to keep my voice down.
“Hear what?” Teag’s expression was sincerely confused.
“I swear I just heard a child screaming for his life, and before that, I thought I saw a black shadow to the side of the stage.”
Teag shook his head. “I’ve been staring at the stage for the last several minutes, and I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anyone screaming, either.” I must have looked unconvinced. “Look around, Cassidy. If a child were screaming bloody murder, don’t you think people would be restless, trying to figure out what was going on?”
The other patrons were engrossed in conversation or studying their programs. I eyed the opera glasses with suspicion and a little trepidation. “I’m beginning to get an idea of what Trinket saw,” I murmured.
The orchestra was just warming up. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts float free. Now, as I sat in my comfortable velvet seat, I began to get snippets of images that seemed utterly out of place.
A pirate. Dancing girls. The old woman who lived in a shoe. I shook my head, wondering where the images were coming from, but more flickered in my mind. I saw a building that looked like a Greek temple on the outside, and a lavish Victorian palace on the inside. On a busy street, snow lay banked along the sidewalk, and I shivered as if a gust of winter wind had suddenly swept past me.
“It’s starting,” Teag murmured, jostling me out of my vision. Shaken by what I had seen, I was glad to be brought back to the present. I opened my eyes, and for an instant, the Academy Theater I had entered was gone. I saw a stage set with scenery like a castle, and heard the faint strains of a waltz played by an orchestra. In front of me were a row of women in fancy velvet and silk shawls and men in dark coats with stiff white collars. I glanced down at my lap and saw the opera glasses as well as the long satin sleeves and full skirt of my dress, my high-button shoes just peaking their toes from beneath the hem.
I blinked my eyes and everything was as it should be. Gone were the castle sets, the old-fashioned clothing and winter wraps, and the waltz. My pastel cotton sundress was as cheery as ever, my arms were bare and my hem ended above my knees. I resisted the urge to bolt from my seat, and tried to stop shaking by taking several deep breaths.
“Cassidy?” Teag’s voice was a low stage whisper. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know yet, but I have the feeling I’m going to find out.”
I tried to regain my composure. The opera glasses remained on top of my evening purse, not touching my skin. On stage, the classic play unfolded just as I remembered from high school. The audience loved it, but I couldn’t shake a growing sense of doom.
The brightly lit exit signs caught my attention. They suddenly seemed far away. Panic tightened in my chest. How long would it take to reach the doors? I wondered. Could I climb over the seats if I had to?