Chapter 3, Post 3: The Man Who Does Not Exist

By way of distraction, she glanced at her watch. It read 5:51 a.m. Although she did not tolerate procrastination in herself, in this case, she would make an exception. Looking out the window could wait a moment.

Elizabeth’s fingers had begun to shake. To give them something to do, she dug around inside her purse until they clasped the plastic corners of a CD case. The title, Violin Music for Your Soul, made her skin crawl. The music, however, she loved.

Though it took intense concentration -- the shaking was getting worse -- she held down a small black button until a red digital six appeared on the radio display.

A pause gave way to the delicate pluck of harp strings so faint they faded in and out between the growing gusts of the storm. In her mind’s eye, Elizabeth saw the right arm of virtuoso Sarah Chang ease her bow across the violin strings, while the fingers of her left hand vibrated at the wrist to produce the airy first note.

Elizabeth’s love of classical music was a gift she inherited from her father. It always calmed him and normally it had a similar affect on her.