It was on that evening that Alice was invited to a concert by an old acquaintance of his. Since they had studied music together at their University, he and Mamma had retained contact with eachother, through years of their lives and past the lives of others.

Mamma was the leader of a string septette which would be the performers at the night’s show; it was this shared interest in string music that had first drawn them together, and they had played several times before together. In many ways, Alice saw himself reflected in Mamma, despite the fact that the other man seldom spoke of his past, he always got the impression that their upbringings couldn’t have been very different. They were both from New England, both spoke Portuguese, and, of course, both played the violin.

Before the show, Mamma had invited him to a dinner with the rest of the septette. Alice had woken from a nap before throwing his dress clothes on, and by that time it was already dark outside.

“I suppose it’s getting to be about Winter,” he thought, reasoning as to why the sun had descended so quickly. He exited his cab and strolled down the rain-slicked streets to the restaurant, mulling over memories, not minding the fact that he was walking alone.

The light of the restaurant’s sign burned through the drizzle: “A TRAÇA.” a warm reception room welcomed him through its doors, yet he didn’t find himself any more at ease, despite coming straight from the elements. It was a smothering, almost suffocating warmth.

“Alice!”

Mamma leapt from a seat in the corner, throwing his arms up in a friendly gesture. Alice was caught off guard and nearly jumped out of his skin, but soon regained himself and embraced him in kind.

“Great to see you!” he said, pulling back and gripping Mamma’s arm.

“This way,” his friend directed him through a tall open doorway, past the silent host at the desk, and into the restaurant proper. “We’ve already got a table.”

A circular table awaited them, six of its eight seats filled by the musicians. Alice couldn’t help but notice that it was a slow night for business, as they were the only customers in the entire restaurant.

He took a seat next to Mamma and introduced himself to the table.

“Pleased to meet you,” a woman named Lucy extended her hand out to greet him, displaying ten rings worn around each of her fingers. He took it and then felt obligated to do the same to each of the others.

“Bill, nice to meet ya’,” a rotund man with a bad combover was the next at the table. After him was Satir, a stoney man with olive skin, who introduced himself with little more than his name. Levi, a thin, serpentine young man flashed a glance at an expensive watch around Alice’s wrist as they shook. A woman named Bel, who had failed to make sure each of her nails was painted before arriving, came next. Lastly, a petite young woman named Lily took his hand and flashed him a smile that lasted longer than he would have liked.

After the waiter had taken their orders for drinks, they gradually settled into conversation.

“So, Alice,” Lucy began. “You and Mamma met at University?”

“Yes, we were both violinists,” he informed her, flipping through the menu.

“He’s told us all about you,” she replied, tracing her finger on the table cloth.

An awkward silence fell upon them, a hole in the air which was finally filled when Bel spoke up.

“Alice is such a wonderful name, where is it from?”

“Alice?” he repeated, as if confused by the sound of his own name. “It’s nothing specific, really, it’s a family name.”

“But for a boy, it’s quite unusual,” Bill added.

“I agree,” Lucy spoke up. “It’s very fair, like a doll’s name.”

“You said it was a family name?” Mamma asked as the waiter arrived with their drinks.

“Yes, it was…” Alice hesitated for a moment, looking into his drink. “My mother’s name.”

“Your mother?” Levi asked in a hoarse, restrained voice. “What was your mother like?”

“She-” Again, Alice paused. Satir, from the other end of the table, saw fear flicker behind his eyes.

“I never knew her very well,” he explained after some deliberation. “I think she always wanted a girl; my older brother told me that when I was born, she tried to drown me.”

They were silent. Instinctively, he carried on.

“My father convinced her to name me after herself, so that she couldn’t bear to kill me.” Feeling awkwardness creep across the table, he quickly annexed his story.

“I love them, still, I really do. My parents died when I was very young.”

“Oh, dreadful!” Lucy brought a hand to her cheek.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Death runs in my family, you see.” Alice began to rub his thumbs together as he spoke, staring off to somewhere else. “My parents were both diagnosed with a disease after their death, they both died in their sleep.”

“Would you hate me if I asked what the disease was?” questioned Bel.

Alice took his eyes off of wherever he was staring into, and refocused on her.

“It’s no issue. It was an unknown condition the doctors said resulted in their hearts stopping during sleep. They never discovered any cause or symptoms beyond death, although it was later noted to be hereditary.”

“Hereditary?”

“Yes it… It was only concluded after my older brother and sister died of the same condition.”

“Your-- how awful!” Lucy’s grip around her glass tightened.

The men had stayed oddly quiet for the explanation, but Satir found himself speaking up.

“Are you worried it will claim you as well?”

“Satir--!” Lily whispered forcefully, brushing his shoulder.

“I’m afraid it’s inevitable,” Alice stated quite calmly.”Both my aunt and uncle fell to it as well, so it seems that it did not begin with my parents, it was a condition that’s lingered in our family for a long time.”

“Are you ready to order?”

Alice’s soul nearly left his body in surprise, laughing off his nervousness when he realized it was just the waiter come by. For some reason he couldn’t shake, there was something unsettling about the restaurant, the way that the dim yellow lights painted the rouge walls with an eerie spirit.

After ordering, they all sat quietly and patiently in their chairs. Alice took note of the lack of conversation, because he realized that he was the only one made uncomfortable by it. Every other person seated there was content to remain quiet; there was no conversation, nothing between them. They were, it seemed, only interested in knowing about him.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Maybe they know everything about each other already,” he reasoned. Yet still, the silence prevented him from ever feeling truly at ease. Chaos was not to be feared, he thought, because silence was how one met his end. It was silence that swallowed one up like the sea, that was the death knell which called the reaper to you. When it was silent, you had no proof of your existence, your life.

It was for this reason that he took up music. His solo play was noted for being brisk and furious; a professor once noted that, “When given free reign to do as he pleases, Alice will attempt to fill the air with as many notes as he possibly can. Whether or not those are good notes is entirely up to chance, but he has committed so stubbornly to this style of playing that I cannot steer him in a different direction. No space can be wasted, there is not a moment of silence.”

These recollections flickered through his mind as he cut into his steak. The clinking of silverware and the chewing of meat did much to calm his heart.

“How wonderful,” he ruminated, staring into his food. “That this animal was killed so that I may prove that I am alive once more; and its children, and children’s children will die for me as well. I will live, however, and live as long as I can to escape the silence. Thank you, animal, your screams have broken the silence for me.”

When they were done eating, the eight of them leaned back in their chairs and reflected on the meal.

“Wonderful, wasn’t it?” Mamma said, clasping his hands together.

“I think I’ll have some dessert,” Bill announced, rubbing his stomach.

“Are you sure about that?” Lily asked, checking the time on her watch. “We’re almost due for the performance.”

“Really? Is that so?” he looked downward in disappointment. “Hm.”

“Well,” Mamma stood up first. “Let’s leave for the hall, then.”

“Agreed,” Satir broke his tacit stoicism and rose to join him. One by one, the musicians rose, Alice being the last. When he turned for the door, Mamma touched his shoulder.

“No, Alice, that’s not the way out.”

“P-pardon?”

Alice looked back to where the others were heading, for a set of double-doors which had not been there when he entered.

“See?” Mamma was still holding his shoulder, smiling at him.

“When did--?”

“It’s always been there, Alice,” his voice was oddly soothing. “Now, let’s go.”

Without arguing, Alice followed Mamma to the doors. As they parted, it was as if the air in the room was released. He took one step beyond the threshold and couldn’t believe his eyes.

Before him was a sprawling concert hall; hundreds of red seats lined rows and rows of aisles. Glowing lights dotted the steps, and illuminated the stage.

“Has this… always…?”

“Yes, Alice,” Mamma traced his finger along Alice’s back. “Just enjoy the performance.”

With that, he left him and walked behind the stage. Alice glanced around at the rest of the theater; it was nearly empty, only six other people were seated.

Taking a seat, he waited patiently for the show to begin. He could not shake the nerve-racking sensation of the auditorium; the immense, oppressive quiet quickened his pulse, he felt as if he would drown in it.

Finally, after his excruciating wait, the curtains opened to reveal the string septette. Relaxed, Alice was able to lean back, breathe deeply, and forget about his fear.

With no introduction, the show began. Three of the four struck their instruments, letting out a resounding chord to open the song.

The instant the noise reached him, Alice felt a strong sickness in his stomach. He gripped at it, tried to steady his breathing, shifted around uncomfortably, but it remained.

“Oh God,” he thought. “This is unbearable, was it the food?” He struggled to concentrate as the putrid, sulfuric sensation polluted his body.

“I can’t stay here,” he thought. “I need to use the bathroom to vomit-- or something, maybe some medicine will help, but I can’t stay here for much longer!”

Alice gripped the arm of his seat.

“But I can’t leave, I’m the guest of the performers, after all. They treated me to dinner, it would be too rude to leave before they were even done with their first piece!”

Painfully, he resolved to stay for the remainder of the first song. Agonizingly, he held himself while listening to the aggressive, grand melodies of the septette. The screeching sounds of the strings resonated throughout the hall, enveloping him in its noise.

“Oh God… Oh God… What is this sickness? What happened? I don’t… I don’t understand…”

He writhed for much longer, waiting for the piece to conclude, but it kept going, and going, and going. Melodies and harmonies stacked one after the other, leitmotifs and rhythms introduced and iterated upon, it was a gargantuan work, and one that threatened to crush him.

“I can’t… I can’t do it anymore!” Alice felt the stress creep into his shoulders and head, encompassing his whole body in sulphuric gas and tight knots.

“It has to have been fifteen minutes at this point! I need to leave!”

The sound was torture, he just needed it to stop, stop at once, and then he could deal with this sickness. Alice rose from his seat and hurried out of the aisle. Without warning, he felt a hand at his shoulder.

“Sorry, I--”

“You must stay,” the audience member, a woman, commanded him.

“What? What are you--?”

“You cannot leave this place, not anymore.”

“Hey!” he tried to remove her hand from his shoulder. “Get off of me! Get off of me!” Her grip was vice-like; no matter how fervently he shook her, she would not let go of him.

“Get off! Get off!” he yelled over the music. “Why won’t you just--!” Anger piqued within him, and he finally threw her away with a strong shove.

“Now let me--” he couldn’t finish off his words of anger, because he had finally gazed upon the woman. Alice’s face was drained of color, he staggered backwards, nearly falling over the next row of seats.

“What--? You…?”

He stared into his mother’s face.

“No!” he cried. “Who are you?! Why do you have-- No! You… You are…!”

Alice whipped himself around wildly, looking at every other member of the audience, who now all rose and began to walk toward him.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled louder this time, trying to be heard over the music. “Who are you?!”

The other audience members now surrounded him, all of them, familiar. His brother, his sister, his father, his aunt, his uncle. Each of them stood as if flesh and blood before him.

“That’s not true!” he howled. “You aren’t alive! You aren’t alive!!!” His voice descended into sobbing, and still, the music played, becoming faster and faster, louder and louder. He shut his eyes and tried to block out their faces from appearing to him.

“Stop! Stop playing!” Alice screamed. “Stop it!!! I told you to stop, Goddammit!! God damn you!! Stop!! Stop!!!”

Madness, madness, mania, its curved blade reaped his mind. He watched his brains spill out onto the carpet until there was nothing at all, nothing at all in his mind.

And suddenly,

It stopped.

Slowly, shaking like a newborn animal, Alice opened his eyes.

“There’s… There’s no music at all…”

The auditorium was dead silent.

Looking around cautiously, he realized that there was no one on the stage. Each of the chairs were empty, though the instruments were set on them.

One by one, his brother, sister, father, uncle, and aunt left him and walked to the stage, ascending its staircase.

“What is…” the words died in his mouth. “What is happening?”

Only his mother was left by his side. Slowly, he forced his voice out once more.

“Mother…?”

Her hand was wrapped around his, a smile was etched across her face, warm and kind.

“I love you, Alice, I want you to join us.”

“Join… you?”

Her smile only deepened.

“Of course, you are the last member of the septette.”

He gazed into her eyes. There was no life in them, her hands were cold. Yet still, he found himself enraptured by her silence.

She took one step toward the stage, still clinging to his hand. He took a step after her, then another. Steadily, they returned to the stage, where he always was. His mother took her seat with the rest of the family. They looked to him, and then to the empty chair on which a violin rested.

Alice knew what he would always do.

Dreamily, he walked towards them, feeling every step move the world beneath his feet, until he came to the chair. His hand reached out and took the violin in one hand, the bow in the other. He turned around and sat down, taking one last look at his family.

The violin met his chin, the bow hovered just above the strings. The others readied their instruments, and on his cue, commenced the song.