The Motif

Chapter 13

Jennifer and Tim stared at the pages of Kyrie's journal in shock and numb disbelief. There was only one entry left after that confessional narrative. It was on the date the website was first uploaded.

"It's been three months now. The police did initially come and question me about her disappearance. I told them she was a patient who had been coming to me to work out trust issues from a bad past relationship. It appears they believed me. But the pain is becoming too great. Every night as I sleep, I see her face. I hear her voice. I can't stand life without her any longer, so I think it is time to rejoin her at last.

"But first, I will prove to the world that I am not mad. I will prove that we all are fragile beings, capable of being pushed over the edge by the slightest provocation. I am not alone. When I am done, the whole world will know the pain I have endured. They who do not feel my pain shall perish, while they who do shall triumph. I am not alone, and soon the world will see who is with me and who isn't. This will be my legacy. That is why I have decided against destroying this journal. Should they be able to trace the trail back to me after I am gone, they will be able to know the story of the man who freed them from their shackles."

And that was all. Tim flipped through the rest of the journal, but all remaining pages were blank.

"This...is...crazy..." he said at last.

"Tim, please, I need you to explain this. Find some way to make this believable...please," Jennifer begged, the melody pounding in her mind louder than ever. "I haven't told you this, but ever since I listened to that damn song...it's been playing in my head, non-stop. It just keeps getting louder, and louder, and louder. It won't leave me alone. And when I sleep...I see things...I see...Kyrie...and Chrissie...and..."

But she couldn't bring herself to mention the sensual visions of Tim she'd been having, mixed in with the phantasmagoric images of Chrissie's murder.

"Please, Tim, I need to make it stop. Before...before I..."

"You're not going to end like up the others, okay? I won't let that happen."

"Then figure this out."

"Okay. Just gimme a second, here," Tim said, rubbing his temples. "Alright, I'm willing to accept that something beyond my realm of understanding is happening here, but I won't accept that this has anything to do with ghosts or spirits, or anything hokey pokey like that. If we are to believe his journal, Kyrie killed himself after writing this last entry. So he has no opportunity to be playing an active role in what has been happening."

"Okay...so where does that leave us?"

"Right. So, we know Kyrie was a musical therapist, right? Which means he specialized in the effects that music can play on psychology and physiology. I certainly won't attempt to deny that music has extremely strong psychological and emotional influences on people. Just look at film music – a good film composer is a master manipulator of people's heart strings, knowing when and where to play just the right chord to leave the audience either weeping in grief or cheering with joy.

"What if – and this is a big what if, mind you – but what if Kyrie somehow figured out some kind of mind control – or hypnosis, whatever – via music? What if that tune he wrote is somehow...I don't know, imbued with the emotions of his pain, and crafted specifically by Kyrie to ignite those emotions in other people.

"Kyrie's pain was caused by his unrequited infatuation – or 'love' as he called it – with Chrissie. So, assuming this absolutely ridiculous theory is correct, he crafted that tune to affect those who also suffer from loving someone who does not love them back. It enhances their pain to the point where they lash out – as Kyrie himself lashed out – at the object of their affections.