Terry Riley's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Terry Riley locked his office door behind him and stepped into the fogged street. Fourteen musicians gone, and not one voice raised. He meant to find the one person willing to talk. The wrong notes from that club still rang in his head, and he would not let them rest. He felt it again before he saw it. A weight at his back. A presence too still for the wind. He had clocked the tail two nights ago and let it ride. Tonight it pressed closer, like breath on his collar. He ducked through an alley and waited. Nothing came around the corner. When he returned to his office to think, the door was open an inch. He had locked it. On the seat of his old swivel chair sat a single feather, pale and barred, longer than his hand. Beside it, a small painting had been moved from the wall and propped against the desk — a unicorn striding through a swamp, framed in black. Whoever followed him had been inside. Whoever followed him wanted him to know. Terry sat down slowly. The chair creaked under him. He turned it once, full circle, scanning the room. Through the window, across the dark street, a shape watched from the limbs of a strange tree with bright bark and heavy fruit. Two round eyes burned yellow. A great horned owl, too still to be only a bird. He did not flinch. He met its gaze. "Tyto Albo," he said quietly, testing the name the way a man tests a loose floorboard. The owl blinked once, slow, and did not look away. Terry understood then. He would not be finding a willing witness. The witness had found him.