The Resurrection of Lazarus

By Lauren Taylor

Sequel to The Angels Wept Tonight. Christine is back home in New York. And she is not alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257409808

Lauren Taylor

Lauren Taylor has worked in National Trust’s Filming and Locations Office since 2005, most recently as Filming and Locations Manager. Her first shoot was Pride and Prejudice at Basildon Park, still one of the most complex the Trust has ever hosted. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Weeping Over Me

"And she did not die! She remained alive, weeping over me, with me.

We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!"

And Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath:

Ah, I am not going to die yet…

I always thought that Lotte was lucky to hear the Angel of Music when she went to sleep.

Why is that?

Who wouldn’t want that? Shifting, The first time I saw him in Paris…I thought I had been dreaming...

This is when you say you went through the mirror?

Yeah, but...he was there before that. He would listen to my conversations, follow me in the shadows, watch me sleep…all of it. Running a hand over her face, God, it’s like I dreamed it all. Sleepwalked through it. It’s true, though – I am starting to forget Paris.

Starting?

I remember the lake. I remember being stupid and trying to get away from him that first time and how, when I turned from that gate that was my prison, a laugh, I saw him inching towards me in the water…and I had this weird excitement boiling in my veins. Like some sicko who gets pleasure out of being stalked. Swallowing, How healthy is that?

And you say it is fading now? Despite that, do you still think he was real?

Looking at her hands she laughed, I even thought he had given me a ring. Honestly, I swore I had it – wore it even here at home for the longest time. There’s a crease here as though I had…but I woke up weeks ago…and it was gone. Nodding, I guess part of me is just still begging for it to have been real. I had this man, this angel, in my grasp for months and now he’s slipping from me.

Don’t you think that means you can go back to leading a normal life, finally, Christine?

Normal? She asked, looking at the psychologist with solemn features.

I have plummeted from his heavens back to my Hell.

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The woman smiled, checking the last room off the list.

Finally, she murmured and made her way to the lumpy black velvet covered couch in the middle of the room. A huge wheel of dark rope beside it being used as a table. Against the western wall, stood a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang.

She wiped a hand over her face and then let out a sigh of relief.

Everything was finally complete.

She had settled into the room shrouded in velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue when there was a thump, like the sound of a door closing at the right side of the room. Footsteps. The clicking prominent.

Hello? Whispered just when the brazen lungs of the clock sounded.

Clear, loud, deep and exceedingly musical. The chimes of the clock rang, somehow draining her features with their echo. And, as the echoes finally ceased, a light laughter at once saturated the space then faded.

Is someone in here? She asked.

The footsteps grew closer as she waited in that crimson shade from the window high above her. And, suddenly there was someone at her left! The woman drew back, frightened.

Jesus Christ! She screamed towards the man, You scared the shit out of me!

My apologies, he stated with a small bow, hidden by shadows.

I didn’t hear you come in, she began, I just…needed to sit for a moment.

’Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly…

What? The woman questioned, wiping her face.

’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy, the man replied with a sly smile.

Oh, she nodded a little, looking around, Are you one of the performers for the party?

The man didn’t reply, just sat down on the couch next to the woman with an eerie coolness.

Probably a bit nervous, yeah? She asked and shifted on the cushion, shaking her head slightly, "I wouldn’t be – I hear one of the sopranos is performing ‘Der Freund ist dein’!"

The man raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. It was then she saw his face, his eyes drifting over her.

"From Goldmark’s Die Königin von Saba? Nervous, half-asked, You know, it’s the most challenging because it requires a female chorus to accompany and, uh, she is singing it on her own."

She will fail. His hand upon her knee, pressing slightly down.

I beg your pardon…

Perhaps we’ll find someone better to take the duty? He stated - voice deeper, closer - as he leaned against her.

The woman placed a hand on his chest, pressing against him, Who are you? I don’t even know you. Get off of me.

You don’t mean that, his voice soothed and she felt one of his hands smooth up her side then lightly touch her neck. You do know that vocal chords are not muscles. It is a common misconception, yet this is not true. The woman shivering under his touch, In actual fact, your vocal chords are soft tissue.

She moved slightly, hoping to get out from under this man’s touch, but his hand pushed her back again.

As the name ‘soft tissue’ implies, your vocal chords are quite fragile, he whispered, lips hovering about hers, I have so missed this.

She replied with anxious fright, Missed what?

In a swift move, he had grabbed the rope from that wheel beside them, looped it about her neck, pulling tight. She began to choke, grasping at him, grasping at his shoulders, grasping at the noose.

Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast!

He screamed, pulling the woman upright, lasso tight