DISCLAIMER: Some of the characters in this original work of fiction have been created by and belong to the author Keiko Nagita.
IT IS PROHIBITED TO PUBLISH THIS STORY IN OTHER WEBPAGES - GROUPS -or to USE IN YOUTUBE, WITHOUT THE EXPLICIT AUTHORISATI...
Every one at some point in life will seek for a sign...a word, a glance, a song, an image...something which they will cross paths with, without expecting it, but will make sense immediately to the one who seeks an answer.
Six months had passed since the discovery of the harmonica, but the notes Terry played on that fateful morning were still alive in his head. From that time since, the music and his memories of Candy were feeding off each other. The more he thought of her, the brighter the music got, and the more the music was playing in his head, she was becoming more real to him.
The thought of writing Candy a letter had become a fixation. There was not a day that passed in those six months he did not mused about it. But to put the words on paper, he dare not. Where to start, how to finish...not to think of whatever would be filling the space in the middle. How to write it, what to say, should he be romantic, should he be just friendly, mention of the past, pretend it never happened? Sometimes, he would get frustrated and draw a line to the whole thing but the thought had become like a worm, burying itself deeper in his mind.
He may have spoken the words of great poets, inhabited the souls of characters who could not be forgotten, their stories being blessed by the Muses themselves...but to pour what his heart wanted to say ten years now, he found it crushingly impossible.
Until the day of Hamlet's dress rehearsal...
The day was chock-a-block with the final preparations for the premiere for very early in the morning. Although by now, he managed to function with just a few hours sleep, that particular day when he left his apartment, he wished he had a couple more hours sleep. Nevertheless, he had to buckle up and go through the day. Good thing was that adrenaline had kicked in so he felt spirited. Jumped on his Kissel Speedster and set off for the theatre.
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Not long after he was passing the theatre doors. They had the press junket in the morning so he had paid a little bit more attention to his appearance, looking quite the part of the matinee star in his charcoal stripped tweed three piece suit.
Most of the journalists of the big newspapers were already there. Politely he noded to some familiar faces on his way to backstage. It was known he didn't hold the press in high regard but after ten years in the limelight he could tolerate them better than before provided they did not delve into his private affairs. He had also instructed the troupe's secretary to keep an eye for any press fabrications. In the past, the moment anything of personal nature that involved him or Susanna was implied, his reaction was so immediate and downright frightening to hear his controlled rage on the other side of the phone demanding to pull down whichever was the offending article or else...he was known among the journos as the "hawk". Terry did not mind one bit and revelled in a sense to be regarded such a difficult person to be dealt with. It kept all those unwanted on a distance from him and gave him some freedom to choose with whom he would have dealings with, professional or otherwise.
"Ah! Terrence, you are here!", Robert said to him the moment he became aware he had arrived.
Terrence did not reply but opened the door to his dressing room and went in, with Robert following behind him.
