Bright city lights glare into the night as we drive through the city. They seem all too harsh now after what happened in the theater. I was almost too afraid to wear the earpieces again during the show's second half. But it's what I'm getting paid for, so I followed Ms. Endlewood's instructions. Fortunately, no more disturbing music pierced my ears.

Saige glances at me from the driver seat. She offered to drive me to Ms. Endlewood's apartment, and I didn't raise any fuss. After ten minutes of silence, she sighs.

"I'm not trying to be insensitive or anything, but was the music really that bad?"

My rolls against the head cushion so that I'm facing her. "It was worse than nails on a chalkboard."

Saige nods, though the slight furrow in her brow tells me she isn't convinced. "Are you going to quit?"

I gulp. My eyes drift down to the purse and my mink shawl lying in my lap. "I'm going to ask what's going on." As for quitting, well, given my financial situation, it'd probably wiser to not act rashly in that regard.

The car turns off of the small, downtown streets, onto the highway. The high-rise buildings that had towered over us disappear. We zoom down the road. I shift, leaning my head against the window. The highway and car engine create a constant background hush of sound that soothes my ears. Fatigue knocks at my brain's corners, waiting to snake its way through and send me into deep, dreamless sleep.

Except every time I close my eyes, that music haunts me on repeat. I settle to just allow the car door to take my weight as if a bed and crack my eyes so that just enough of the surrounding cars' headlights shine in my vision.

Soon, the car soars down a ramp onto a city street. Saige navigates a few twists and turns before we make a right by a sign that reads, "Villa Vista." A rectangular building forms in the darkness. Crisp lines detail the straight, angular sides and symmetrical box-windows and terraces. Light spews from the interior onto a chalk-colored pavement and fans out so that it hits the edges of lush, perfectly-manicured grass.

Saige eases the car to a halt inside a parking space. She twists the key, ending the calming hum that kept my nerves at bay. The silence that ensues is unnerving.

My mind flashes back to the auditorium. That was the last time I heard such a complete void of noise. A slight ringing begins in my ears. It's like my brain is trying to fill in the stillness with something — anything.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Saige asks.

I shake my head, fumbling for the door handle. It pops open, letting in the cool yet slightly sticky night air. "No. Ms. Endlewood said it's fine if I want to attend the opera with a friend, but she specifically instructed me to come alone."

Saige's lips press together. "I guess that is a little worrisome."

There are a lot of things that are worrisome, now that I think about it. I guess I was just so enamored with the job that I never considered just how strange it was. What kind of boss gives you an apartment, wardrobe, and car, and pays you to attend opera concerts?

And run errands afterward. I forgot about that part. I didn't think anything of it when I first got the job. It's what I'd expect as a personal assistant. But now, I'm questioning exactly what kind of errands she wants me to do.

Two glass doors slide open for me at the front entrance, and white light blinds my eyes. The brightness jars me, making my face screw up as I approach a man sitting behind the front desk. After verifying that Ms. Endlewood is expecting me, he sends me into the elevator. Soft piano music cascades overhead while I feel myself rising up a level. The floor slows to a stop, then the doors part to the second story.

I trek down the corridor. Jelly seeps into my limbs, making me feel both heavy and wobbly. Fatigue clouds my brain, and my body begs to just fall asleep, definitely not the ideal conditions for a confrontation. But I must get some answers from my boss tonight.

At last, I spot a door with the numbers "208" hanging outside. I lean against the wall for a second, allowing my eyes to close for a few seconds.

This is not the first impression you want to make on your new boss.

No matter how strange her assignment is for you.

I inhale a breath to summon the last vestiges of strength I have in me. I paint a smile on my lips, forcing my face into a relaxed, pleasant expression. Then, I ring the bell.

Seconds tick by. My heartbeat quickens in my chest. Despite my nerves, I can't help but feel a twinge of excitement. After all, I'm about to meet the person who gifted me a brand new wardrobe and house, my very own car, and provided me with the cushiest job I could've imagined. Perhaps there's an explanation for the weird opera concert.

The door cracks open. A surprised squeak escapes me. Fatigue must make me jumpy.

A woman stands in the doorway with pale wrinkled skin on her small, round face. She has choppy platinum hair in a pixie haircut and is enveloped in a wide, floral dress, with sleeves ballooning around her wrists and fabric pooling at her feet.

"Cleo Barroe?" she asks in a rich, alto voice.

"That's me." I jut out my hand. "Hi, I'm Cleo." My cheeks instantly redden, and I quickly add, "it's nice to meet you, Ms. Endlewood."

"Call me Tabitha," she says with a sweep of her hand. "Please, come in."

I step into a space that is somehow even more glamorous than my own. Warm-colored wood covers the floor, forming a concentric circular pattern that descends into a shallow sitting area, where there are two couches covered in gold and pearl upholstery. Two chandeliers glimmer from the ceiling: one over the depression in the floor, the other over the dining room table to the left. Her kitchen is on the right where charcoal-colored granite swirled with gold covers the countertops.

"This place is beautiful," I say. It's like my tired brain has short-circuited and doesn't know what else to say.

"Thank you. Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea, a little wine?"

"I'm underaged," I reply automatically.

"Of course, how silly of me." She stretches out her arm to the couches, black and pink floral fabric hanging like a flag. My heels click their way over. I sink onto the cushions, feeling as though I could curl up and fall asleep right there. The room tilts, my vision fuzzy with lightheadedness.

"Perhaps a glass of water would be nice," I say.

"Anything for you, darling." Tabitha disappears inside the kitchen and returns with two wine glasses. She hands me the one with clear liquid inside while she sips on the crimson in her own glass. She sprawls on the opposite couch, draping one arm over the silver backing. "How was the opera?"

"It was entertaining for the most part." I take a sip of icy water. "But something very strange happened."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You see, I did exactly what you said. I put both earpieces in my ears, one on, the other off, and waited to hear the part sung in English." I pause. Tabitha wears a curious smile on her lips, which are a dark, matte red, blending into the wine she sips. "The thing is, when I heard the part in English, it was this weird, dark, almost haunted melody."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well, it just freaked me out a little bit."

"Uh-huh."

"Was... was that supposed to happen?"

Tabitha's slightly-pointed chin tilts upward like she's thinking. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Anxiety sparks inside me again. I rub my glass' stem before drinking again. "It was so eerie. It totally clashed with the childish and comedic aspects of the opera."

"How else would you have heard the part you needed to hear?" Tabitha asks. "If it all sounded the same, you might've missed it."

"Okay, sure." My brow tenses. "But then, why is there a message in the first place? Why are you paying me to retrieve them for you?"

Tabitha chuckles. "Oh, don't worry yourself over that. Now, what message do you have for me?"

I hesitate. "I don't want to be out of line by saying this, but it kind of does matter."

"You didn't care before."

"Yes, but..." That's before the music scared me out of my wits. I guess it didn't occur to me how strange this job was. I was desperate for a job, any job, and her posting made the position seem harmless.

Now, I'm not so convinced.

"Cleo, I'm not paying you to ask questions." Tabitha's smile has dropped, and her voice has taken on an edge. "This should be the easiest $2,000 a week position you've ever had. Just attend the concerts I tell you to, deliver the messages, and run an errand or two afterward. Is that simple enough for you?"

I nod. What else am I supposed to do?

"And please recall the contract the next time you come," Tabitha says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The clause at the top."

Right. The one that promises me a job for six months minimum. A fresh wave of concern washes through me. When I signed on, it sounded like a boss' guarantee that she wouldn't fire me for at least half a year, a guarantee that I'd have a steady salary for at least that time period. At the moment, though, it feels more like a cage.

"Cleo?" I snap out of my thoughts. Tabitha all but scowls at me. "The message?"

"Sure." My hands tremble as I pull out my phone and read her the lyrics I heard. Tabitha scribbles them down on a pad of paper that was sitting on the coffee table between us. She leans back when I'm done.

"Thank you." Her smile has returned, but it's just a tad too wide, too akin to an animal about to pounce on its prey. Though her voice has returned to the sweetness she welcomed me with, it rings false in my ears. "I'll be getting back to you shortly. Expect your first errand to come tomorrow."

My eyes widen. "So soon?"

Tabitha's gray-blue eyes dance with amusement. "Work on the weekends, party on the weekdays."

"Yeah. Sure." I set my tumbler atop the coffee table's glass surface. I trudge up the stairs to the door. Tabitha seems to float behind me, dress trailing after her.

"Get plenty of rest tonight," she calls after me.

I turn around, offering a tight smile. "Thanks. Thank you for this job opportunity." I realize that I haven't thanked her for the apartment or clothes, so I do that before leaving.

"I look forward to working with you," Tabitha says as the door shuts behind her.

Not sure if I'll be saying the same. Perhaps in a few weeks time — maybe even days — my worries will be put to rest.

Unless, of course, things get worse.