“Can I help you?” I called out, squinting at him to get a better look.
He wasn’t one of the actors but he could have been a patron who fell asleep on the balcony or something of that nature. He was wiry and tall with a shock of red hair and a freckled face. He wore a huge grin, like he was enjoying himself as he watched me clean, like that was the greatest entertainment on the planet.
He didn’t answer but I wasn’t about to be intimidated by someone who looked at least a couple of years younger than me. Still, I clutched the broom hard in my hand as I walked over to the aisle and slowly made my way toward him.
I noticed then that he was holding an apple in his hands. Its shiny red color flashed as he quickly spun it around. He had on leather shoes, shortened pants and suspenders over a dirty white shirt. A newsboy cap sat on his head. It was not the style of our times. He looked like he had just come out of an orphanage with only used clothes from yesteryear on his back.
Still, he continued to grin at me. It began to unsettle me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He tossed the apple up in the air and caught it just as he jumped off the stage. I staggered a few steps back, not wanting him to get too close to me. Up close he wasn’t as tall as I thought, just long-legged, but I felt uneasy around the stranger and probably because he was a stranger.
“Jakob,” he said, holding out one hand for me. “Pleased to meet you.”
I eyed his hand, wondering if I should shake it or not. I then looked to his eyes. They were a strange grey color, as if they had no color at all and there was no discernible ring around his iris. The grey just sort of bled out into the white of the eye, creating a marble statue effect.
Somehow, as I was lost in those strange eyes, I found my hand in his. He pumped it twice, firmly, then dropped it to his side.
“I’m…” I said, then stopped myself. Was it safe to reveal my name?
“You’re Pippa,” he said. He smiled and took a huge bite of his apple.
“How did you know my name?” I asked, startled.
He shrugged and looked around him. “I know a lot of things. Not a very good gig, is it?”
I was still wondering about my name, so it took me a second to realize he was pitying me.
“It is what it is,” I said haughtily and the grip on my broom tightened.
He shrugged again, chomped on the apple and walked past me, sauntering up the aisle to where I was earlier.
“Well I won’t keep you,” he said over his shoulder.
I hurried on after him. “Where did you come from? How did you get in here?”
He raised his shoulder, about to shrug once more, but I took my broom and poked him square in the back. Hard.
“Ow,” he cried out and turned around. A piece of apple shot out of his mouth and landed at my feet. I hated knowing I’d clean it up later.
“Tell me how you got in here or I’ll report you to the police!” I kept the broom in front of him, wielding it like a sword.
“I’m always here Pippa. You’re not very observant, you know. Your head is in dreamland.”
What on earth did that mean?
He read the confused expression my face and put his hand out, lowering the broom. He had this way about him that was almost hypnotic, like he had some spell over me that went in and out of range.
“I’m here to help you. And calling the police would do no good.”
“Help me?” This was starting to feel as outlandish as one of the plays we put on.
“You’ll see. When you’re ready.”
And then he walked out into the foyer and through the front door. A gust of white snow blew in and danced in the air as the door closed behind him.
I stood there, leaning on that broom, for a very long time.