Dark Museum

Josh | Earlier that evening

With a bang of the dressing room door, she entered. Erica loved entering with a bang.

Like the other musicians warming up in the tiny backstage room, Erica wore black. Half of her auburn hair piled on her head, half spiraled around her shoulders. Blood dribbled from her lips to her chin.

She stumbled, dropped to her knees and gurgled.

The scales and conversations stopped in momentary shock, but for all her bravado, Erica wasn't a good actress. She milked it a moment, clutching her throat, but caught the giggles and spat red on the tile floor.

"You should see your faces," she said, pulling a napkin from her cleavage.

Everyone rolled their collective eyes and went back to business. One of them asked where she found the blood pack, others tittered about what a little fright they got.

Joshua Rossi, in the far corner of the room, fumbled his violin.

He'd avoided Erica all day, catching only glimpses of her at the theater. After embarrassing himself in front of her the other night, naturally, she finished like this.

As he steadied himself on the nearest table, he bumped a young singer. At thirteen, she was the baby on the bill, and still giggling at Erica.

"Hey Josh, you got this?" the girl asked. She bent to retrieve the rolling tube of lip balm he'd knocked from her hand and hooked his drooping bow. "Why don't you put that down?"

"Rossi, you're on in five," the stage manager bellowed into the room. "Good God, what happened in here?"

Erica continued wiping her mouth. "Sorry."

The manager took a second to digest the scene and said, "You're grown-ass adults. Rossi!"

Josh opened his eyes and unstuck his forehead from his fist.

Someone gave him a cursory back rub. "Relax. It's fake."

Josh swiped his bow from the thirteen-year-old and shouldered through the room.

Erica stifled a laugh and said, "Break a leg."

Josh glared at her as the stage manager pulled him into the beige, cement brick hallway.

"Why are you pale? You sick?"

"I'm fine."

The manager checked his watch. "Four minutes."

"Yup."

The bricks shifted from beige to black as Josh progressed toward the stage, avoiding eye contact with those scrambling to maintain the show in progress. Along with the black walls, darkness took over. Backdrop panels and lighting trees from previous shows created an obstacle course Josh hadn't memorized. He followed the music and ambient light from the stage.

"Josh, you next?" Anthony, Josh's roommate until two weeks ago, approached, carrying the cello that made him famous. "Whoa! What's up?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He passed a hand over his mouth. "Is it so noticeable?"

"Like a sheet. Can you go on? I mean, are you—"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"What happened?"

"Erica. Just ... Erica."

Anthony grimaced. "Ah, you found out."

The audience applauded, and the singer on stage bowed.

"Found out what?" Josh asked while Anthony said, "I'm sure it's not even true."

The singer walked off stage past Josh. "Go!" she hissed.