A new day dawned on Royal, but the oppressive gray sky still hung heavy, threatening more rain. Ethan rose early, the dream-like vision from the night before still vivid. He ran a hand over the imagined freshly painted walls, a phantom touch of smooth, clean plaster. His bedroom, however, was as derelict as ever. The peeling wallpaper hung in strips, and a fresh ring of dampness stained the ceiling. He felt a deep sense of loss, as if the life and vibrancy from his dream had been stolen.
He was caught in a tug-of-war between two realities: the one his eyes saw and the one his heart felt. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the melancholy grip that had held him for days loosened its hold. A small ember of hope sparked in his chest. It was the spirit’s voice that resonated with him the most. Her words, “Your imagination is our life,” echoed in his mind, and he felt a responsibility to the spirits. With a renewed purpose, he knew he had to leave the house, to break free from the self-imposed prison he had built.
As he walked the empty streets of Royal, he felt the town’s bleakness like a physical weight. The houses, once long ago vibrant with life, now seemed to frown with neglect. The shops were boarded up and Main street, once long ago bustling with activity, was now quiet and desolate. A cold wind blew through, carrying with it the smell of wet earth and decay. The town was suffocating, and Ethan knew that if he stayed, he would be buried in its despair.
Returning to the house, Ethan ran his hand over the wood siding, and a new feeling surged through him. It was a faint, yet undeniable, hum of energy. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine. The spirits had been right. A different kind of life awaited him. It was his imagination, his willingness to believe, that held the key. He had a profound realization: Royal wasn’t just a place. It was a reflection of himself. Its decay was his decay; its despair, his despair. The town’s sorrow had resonated with his own, and in a way, he had been fueling it. He knew he had to heal himself to heal the town.
Ethan walked through the front door and took a deep breath. He needed a place to start. A spark of inspiration ignited as he looked around the desolate living room. He would start there, with a broom and a pail of soapy water. He would fight back against the grime, the decay, and the despair. He would bring back the life that had been lost. As he began to sweep, he felt a strange sense of companionship. He wasn’t alone in this. The spirits were with him, watching and waiting. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he knew what he had to do. He had to bring Royal back to life.
The night had been a blur for Peggy. She woke up on the couch, her body stiff and cold. The memory of the waltz and the visions of Ethan were still fresh in her mind, and she felt a sense of relief. Ethan was okay. Ethan was alive. The tears that came were not of sadness, but of hope. The gray despair that had shrouded her for weeks began to lift. The apartment was still dark, but she felt a new sense of purpose. She had to find Ethan. She had to know more about the gazebo, the band and who the young woman was that had been singing.
Amy and Russel found Peggy at the kitchen table, a phone book, a notebook and an old, tattered state map spread out in front of her. Her eyes, once vacant and sad, now held a spark of determination. Amy and Russel were surprised, but they knew better than to question her. They had seen Peggy at her lowest, and they were happy to see her fighting back.
Peggy spent the rest of the day in a flurry of activity. She reached out to Ethan’s family and Ethan’s old friends asking them about Ethan’s grandfather. Asking about the band he was in and where the band performed. Anything about Ethan’s grandfather would be helpful. Peggy’s search was slow, but she refused to give up. Every dead-end only fueled her resolve. As the hours passed, she realized that she was not just looking for Ethan, she was rediscovering herself. The girl who had once been so full of life was coming back.
That night, Peggy closed her eyes, not to pray, but to remember. She remembered the melody, the vision, and the feeling of love that had surged through her. She was not just waiting anymore. She was moving. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was heading in the right direction.
In the morning, the image of Ethan’s grandfather’s accordion case flashed into her mind. She ran to her bedroom and opened the closet door. She pulled out the accordion case and sat on the floor, gently laying the case open. Inside, the accordion was nestled in its velvet lining, but a piece of sheet music sat on top of the instrument. Peggy picked up the sheet music, her hands shaking. On the cover page, a beautiful black and white sketch of a gazebo was drawn against a backdrop of trees, and she gasped – it was the same gazebo from her dream.
Peggy’s heart pounded in her chest as she carefully examined the sheet music. The title, boldly printed on the front, read, “In the Shadow of Yesterday.” Below it, in a smaller font, was the composer’s name: Tommy Melk. Then she saw the band’s name, “Tommy Melk and the Melk Duds” printed just below the title. Below the song was the name of the publisher, Royal Music Publishing. The bottom of the sheet music held a handwritten note in a shaky hand. “To my dearest, my one only Love, Tommy.”
Peggy smiled. It had to be a sign. It was the only thing that made sense to her. Peggy looked again at the sheet music. Royal Music Publishing? It was a long shot, but it was all she had.
