Erik paced distractedly around his two-bedroom apartment. The microphone had been delivered that morning. The delivery required a signature. The deliveryman had gawked openly at Erik as he signed the receipt and yanked the package from the man’s cigarette-stained hands. It was not every day that one delivered a package to a man wearing a leather mask covering the top two-thirds of his face. Longish, shaggy black hair hung forward in a thick fringe, further obscuring his features.

"Is that some kind of...kinky thing? My sister had a guy who was into that...kind...of" He stumbled over his words as long, thin, pale fingers grasped the collar of his tan workshirt. "Jesus, man. I ain’t into that shit."

"Leave." The one word was spoken in a tone so deep and threatening that there was no question of the speaker’s intent. Erik shoved the man backward into the hall of the apartment building and slammed the door. Ignorant Neanderthals like that were part of the reason he never left his apartment anymore. He wanted to punch him in his staring eyes until they swelled shut, but did not need another jail term for assault.

Erik opened the box and looked at the simple microphone set-up. According to his research, this microphone was the best available. For what he paid, it should have excellent sound reproduction. The advertising claimed it was able to filter extraneous noise. She would be able to hear the rich, dark tones of his precious violin. Someone who loved music, someone other than Nadir and his father, would finally hear him play.

But there’s something else you hope for, isn’t there, Erik? A quiet voice from the deep well of his subconscious rose to tease him. There’s more you want.

He’d spent the last twenty-four hours alternately resting and practicing. There would be only one first chance to impress her, to make her hear him. He wanted each note to burn her with beauty; he wanted each word to sink into her mind indelibly. For years, he’d considered himself a thing apart from - and above - the rest of humanity. It was his way of protecting himself from the brutal rejection he experienced each time he dared venture out. This girl had almost convinced him that he might consider rejoining the species, at least enough to talk to her.

Unlike Christine, who was feeling more and more anxious as the appointed time approached, Erik felt only a growing sense of self-confidence. All these months, he’d paid very careful attention to Christine. He’d invited her to talk effusively, drawn her out with little comments and questions that revealed nothing of himself. He’d come to know her hopes and dreams, her triumphs and failures. He’d quietly sympathized with her when she dumped her boyfriend, though he was secretly glad; the less time she spent with that non-musical oaf, the more time she’d have for him - not that he was interested in her that way.

Of course he was not interested in her that way. It would be weakness on his part. But those conversations when he drew her out had showed him a wonderful, deep complex person; a person he respected. Now, as he installed the mic and checked its function, he thought back on a snippet of those conversations when her emotions had been running high.

AngelofMusic: Cello and flute. Very different instruments. How did you come to choose them?

minorchord: Dark and light, dangerous and romantic, strings and wind, yang and yin. Not to get

too deep into it, but I like to be able to touch both sides.

AngelofMusic: I know what you mean. No instrument is limited to one dimension, but some

definitely appeal to some emotions better than others.

minorchord: Yeah. The cello has something dangerous about it, you know? It’s got power. But

it can still have a gentle wistful sound. And the flute seems all sweetness and light,

but if you play it right, it can haunt the listener for days.

He had chosen his piece based on that conversation. Haunting and sweet, powerful and light. Ralph Vaughan Williams’ "The Lark Ascending" was all that, and achingly beautiful as well. That piece of music and his voice were the tools he would use to draw her in. He would wrap her in sound so that she would forget about sight. What if she still wants to see me? The thought was unnerving. What if hearing me makes her want it even more? Now, there was nervousness under his confidence. She must never see him.

He logged in at a quarter until four to find that she was not online yet. Excellent. This gave him a moment to prepare. His violin lay in his lap as he rosined the bow. He knew it was in tune. He knew the sound would be perfect. The clock refused to allow time to move forward. Ten ‘til four. Eight ‘til four. Three minutes ‘til four.

Three minutes after four. Where was she? He tapped his foot impatiently and hummed a few scales. Ten minutes after four. He’d begun to think she was not going to appear. It’s not as important to her as it is to you, stupid. She has friends, a job, a life. He decided that he would give her five more minutes. Five more minutes, and then he’d give up on her. As cold as he tried to be, as much as he wanted to believe that he could do without other people, Erik desperately hoped she would not disappoint him.