Synopsis

Two decades after his family suffers trauma, Max, the loving but remorsefully jealous older brother of a musical genius, chronicles the story of his dysfunctional family.

In mid-1970’s New York City, Max’s sister, Kayla, vaulted to fame as a piano prodigy, holding both audiences and her family in awe with her uncanny musical ability and warm smile. But deep within her lie the seeds of destruction: the paranoid fear of being stalked by a murderous fan. This mystery explores themes of family dysfunction, mental illness, and the long-term effects of family secrets going untold.

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Excerpt

Your Aunt Kayla was a piano prodigy of the highest degree. The term is thrown around way too much to describe any child who displays virtuosity on a musical instrument at an early age. Most of those deemed “prodigy” are talented, yes, but don’t really have the inner drive to propel them to greatness. Years pass, they may study their instrument with dedication, but almost inevitably their talent no longer seems extraordinary, and few can pursue music as a career. Kayla was one of the very few who deserved the term “prodigy.”

So. Town Hall. …

The publicity was phenomenal, with feature articles appearing in the main New York papers in the days leading up to the event. The family had been instructed by Herr Lindorf – Kayla’s teacher at Bellington – to refuse all requests for interviews of Kayla, because, he said in his heavy German accent, it would make the intrigue much greater when Kayla did perform. But Lindorf himself, if not the entire Bellington hierarchy, gave a lot of information to the media and passed out copies of the professional photographs Bellington had made. The shots selected for the campaign portrayed Kayla as a little girl, making her look perhaps only nine. She’d been posed in frilly costumes, which I knew Kayla hated. They’d stood her next to a grand piano, which looked large enough to engulf her. The articles stressed that Kayla Covo’s first full-length recital would be a miracle coming to fruition.

If the publicity bothered Kayla, she didn’t let on. It bothered everyone else in our family, though. Dad grumbled that he didn’t see why his little girl had to be plastered on posters at the entrance to the subway and likened the Bellington publicity to Nazi propaganda. Mom worried Kayla would be overwhelmed by all the attention. My own unhappiness stemmed from the realization that my influence in Kayla’s life was waning quickly, but my concern was more than outweighed by excitement and anticipation. I couldn’t wait for my sister to show the world what an outstanding pianist she was.

All Kayla would say is “I’ve got much more practice to do so everything is perfect.”

She spoke of perfection often, and, if there’s such a thing as perfection in music, then Kayla came as close to it as a human being can come. From the moment your Aunt Kayla walked on stage to warm applause, she held the audience in her hand and never let go. Her smile said it all. She loved being in front of the hundreds of people lucky enough to attend and exuded an air of extreme confidence, nothing feigned. She knew her power and her abilities. After a modest bow, she took her seat at the Steinway, placed her hands in her lap, and looked down, her gaze beneath the keyboard. All accomplished pianists pause to gather their thoughts before beginning, but Kayla had the habit of stretching the silence almost beyond endurance. While we waited at Town Hall, not a cough could be heard. Then Kayla started to play, and the wait had been well worth it.

We sat on the right side of the audience, to have the best view of Kayla’s face. From her look, we knew she’d transported herself well beyond the recital hall into a realm only she could occupy. I’d seen that look many times, a look I interpreted as complete oneness with the music. I’d often asked her to explain where she’d been in those moments, and she could never really say, but it was always clear she’d been in the music and part of the music at the same time.

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About the Author

Following a 40-year career as a trial attorney in Washington, DC., Bruce J. Berger turned full-time to writing, earned an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from American University, and now teaches there. His first novel, The Flight of the Veil, is a sequel to The Music Stalker and achieved critical success, winning a Bronze Award in General Fiction from Illumination Christian Book Awards. Kirkus Reviews called The Flight of the Veil “A well-crafted tale about trauma and miracles. Get it.” He has also published more than 50 stories and poems in a wide variety of literary journals.

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