By Hannah Carter
Rain pattered against the roof of the double-decker theatre. Inside, fairy lights twinkled like fireflies, woven between artificial leaves of the trees that made Toronto’s Winter Garden Theatre unique. It resembled a fairy tale—but only if the man in front of me was the villain.
“You’re a little harlot, Cornelia.” Garth squeezed my arm so tightly that I cried out. I’d surely have finger-shaped bruises. His knife pressed against my throat, and I tried to meter my breathing so the cold steel didn’t cut me.
“Garth, please.” My heart pounded so hard it made me ill. Strands of my blonde hair, which had been so elegantly coiffed into a bun before my trip to the theatre, had fallen into disarray as I fought off his advances. “I told you I had no interest in courtship. Not yours—not anyone’s.” I merely wanted to pursue my playwright profession and be left alone from groping “gentlemen.”
“You’re lying, Cornelia.” His long, dark ringlets shadowed his eyes, adding to his villainous presence. “You wench. Who are you here with? What man did you reject my advances for?”
I cried out, but there was no one in the fifth-floor women’s washroom to help me. Outside the heavy door, the crowd roared with laughter while the actors entertained them, oblivious to the dark tragedy on this private stage.
“Please—no one. I’m here with—with my maid. That’s all.” I choked on my tears. With trembling fingers, I tried to ease his knife away from my throat without upsetting him more. If only I could escape and call for the elevator. The attendant would help me, would witness Garth’s crimes.
“Perhaps…” I was a playwright, not an actress, but my life depended on this performance. I licked my lips and whispered, “Perhaps I was too hasty to reject your courtship. If we could talk…”
“I won’t listen to your lies,” Garth hissed.
In the theatre, the orchestra swelled to a climax, spurring me to action. I could not stand here and die.
I would take action.
I would survive.
In one wild movement, I shoved Garth away. His knife sliced into my throat, and searing blood bubbled to the surface, but I could breathe once more. I was not dead. I’d merely acquired a war wound.
“Help!” I screamed, throwing open the washroom door and crying for my maid. “Georgina! Someone—anyone—help!”
Garth’s footsteps pounded behind mine as I dashed for the elevator. If God smiled upon me, it would arrive before death did.
As I smashed the call button, a shrill ding greeted me, but the doors did not slide open. Garth grabbed my lavender collar and yanked me back, the brutality stealing my breath.
“Help!” I wheezed. Tears dampened my eyelashes. “Please!”
Garth wrenched me to the ground, his knife poised above me, his humanity lost in his frenzy.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open, and a woman barreled out and tackled Garth. His knife skittered across the floor, clattering against a wall. A shabby man in a brown trench coat stumbled after her, a cigarette clutched between two fingers. “Careful, Eliza!”
This Eliza landed another solid punch on Garth’s jaw. He swore at her, but she remained on top of him, her knee pressed into his stomach. He reached up with a grasping hand, presumably for her neck, but she bit his finger before delivering one more blow to his temple. Garth’s arm thudded to the floor, his head limp on the theatre carpet. My heart pounded furiously, my hand pressed on my bleeding throat.
Eliza swiped her arm under her nose and stood. While the unkempt man knelt beside Garth, she drifted closer to me.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes softened, and she extended her hand.
I blinked back tears. “I will be. But that man—” I gasped. I had intended to point her to Garth, but he had vanished. Only a circle of embers lay where he had been. I recognized the smell of lavender, along with hints of sage. “Did he get away?” My heart rate spiked again, and I scooted backward. “We have to find him, please! Who knows what he might do. He could hurt my maid!”
Eliza shook her head. “No. We exorcised him.” She glanced over her shoulder at the trench coat-clad man. “We’re paranormal investigators. Your ghost has been reliving your dying moments at this theatre for a century. We’ve been trying to stop the loop for three nights, but every other time, the elevator arrived too late to help.”
“Ghost?” I bleated. “I don’t remember any previous attempts. And what do you mean, a century? What about my family—my friends—Georgina—are they…?”
“They must’ve all passed on now, if that’s what you’re asking.” Eliza knelt beside me, reaching for one of my trembling hands. She squeezed my fingers, and I let out a muffled sob. “But your murderer’s been caught now. Your spirit can move on to the other side peacefully, if you so desire. Join your family there, get your eternal reward. Or…” Eliza adjusted her form-fitting hat.
“Or?” Sniffing, I raised an eyebrow.
“Or live the life you were robbed of. There’s no way to go back to the past, but you can live in the present.” Eliza tapped her finger against me. “Like I am.”
I stared at her hand, and, as if some theatre trick had been revealed, I realized—she had no color.
Neither of us did.
“Live? As a ghost?” I whispered.
Eliza nodded. “A chance to be more than just a faceless victim of a violent crime, but to be known for being you.”
Garth had robbed me of my life, of my past, of my voice. But what if I took it back and rewrote my story the way I wanted it to end?
Truly, my magnum opus.
I gave Eliza’s hand a firm shake. “Miss Eliza, I do believe the elevator arrived right on time.”
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