The Voice of an Angel, The Heart of the Devil

    I knew him for a few weeks before all of these events occurred, but a lot can happen in that time span. When we met, I was working my part-time job at our local coffee shop and he' came in to play during the weekly open-mic night. I dreaded working those nights. Everyone swarmed in groups and crowded the small stage as talentless "artists" played their two-song sets. Every set sounded the same with their acoustic guitars and God awful heartbreak songs.

    He was different though. He was one of the only people to make use of the provided grand piano. He didn't spend the first few minutes talking about himself, rather he just got right into playing. The melody from the piano filled my ears and made decorating the foam in the customer's lattes bearable. He was one of those artists where you didn't need to watch them in order to feel the power of the music.

    Normally at the end of a set, I was relieved for it to be over, but after he left the stage a silence washed over me. Although I could see the crowd applauding and their mouths moving as they resumed their conversations, I couldn't hear them. Everything was muted as if I was suddenly placed in a soundproofed room.

    "One black coffee please." The request broke the silence and suddenly the noise of the room re-entered my ears. I nodded and poured the hot liquid into a mug. "How much do I owe?"

    I simply shook my head in response. "You're the only talent I've seen in this place since I started working here. It's on the house, under the condition you play again next week."

    His lips twisted into a smirk. "You have a deal," his eyes shifted down to my name tag, "Dina."

    He was true to his word. The next week he came back and played another two songs. As I washed coffee cups and cake plates I paid close attention to the way his voice harmonized with the piano keys he played. He hypnotized me with his voice and the trance only broke when he stopped singing. I guess that's what happens when you have the voice of an angel.

    He came back every week for a month and each time he got a free coffee. It was my way of making sure he would come back every week. "You know," he started, "I'm starting to feel bad for taking all this coffee." His tall body leaned across the counter and I could feel his eyes watch my every move as I refilled his cup.

    "Your music is payment enough." I slid the cup back over to him.

    "Well, I'm sorry to say that I won't be able to play here next week."

    My smile immediately dropped but I forced it back. "That'll be a dollar-fifty then," I joked.

    "Or I could get you into my gig for free, that is if you can take a day off work." A bargain, I liked it. Our eyes locked.

    "I'll be there." He wrote down the details on a piece of receipt paper before disappearing into the crowd.

    That Thursday was the first one I had off for in months, and to say I was relieved would be an understatement. The venue was a step up from the coffee shop, but still small. Probably couldn't hold more than seventy-five people. I made my way in, pushing the large wooden door open. My nose immediately filled with the scent of cigarette smoke and body odor. Typical.

    I walked to the young lady collecting tickets at the entrance to the stage area. "Ticket please," she said in a miserable, monotone voice.

"Actually my name's Dina Portman, one of the artists said he gave my name."

The pink-haired girl blew a bubble with her gum as she checked the piece of paper in front of her. "Let me see your right hand." She drew a black "X" on the top of my hand and gestured for me to go in.