He Loved Me Before the Blackout

How it begins

Every light in the theater came on except the one above Elias Bell.

On the stage, a solitary rehearsal chair waited beneath the lights, facing rows of people who had not arrived.

Vera Murray stared from the control desk at the dark patch in the stalls. Even the building appeared to have an opinion about his return.

"You're early," she called.

"I wasn't sure you'd let me in if I arrived with everyone else."

"A reasonable concern."

He stood beside a row of seats wrapped in dust sheets, holding a toolbox she recognized. The handle had been repaired with green tape. Years ago, she'd bought the tape because he kept borrowing hers and returning it in pieces.

The memory arrived complete with an ordinary tenderness she had not authorized.

"The contractor said you knew the old security wiring," she said.

"I do."

"You could have mentioned the rest of your qualifications. Disappearing during emergencies, for instance."

Elias did not move. Above him, the unlit lamp gave a faint metallic click.

Vera looked at the board. That circuit was isolated. It should not have made a sound.

She shut down the test and waited until the house lights settled into their safe working level. The theater smelled of damp velvet and new timber, two periods of its life refusing to mix.

"Don't touch anything," she said.

"I wasn't going to."

"You said that last time."

For a moment, neither of them seemed to be in the restored building. Vera could hear the crowd from the blackout night, the first nervous laughter, the voice in her headset telling her everything was under control.

Elias set his toolbox on the floor and stepped away from it.

"There's something about that night you need to know."

She came down from the desk slowly.

"Then this time," she said, "you can tell me before the lights go out."