Liron's Melody (3 page)

But….

The desire to play again was overwhelming, no matter how
irrational it was; no matter if he was a complete hallucination of her deluded
mind. She just wanted to see him again. She wanted to see him because, in their
shared sorrow, for one brief moment, she had not felt completely alone.

Exhaling slowly, she placed her shaking fingers back over the
keys.

The shrill shriek of the teakettle made her nearly jump out
of her skin, and she swore. She got off of the bench, shaking her head and
muttering to herself. It was probably a good thing the teakettle had whistled.
She was literally one note away from the loony bin.

She went into the kitchen and turned the stove off, trying to
put her mind to work on normal tasks. Hot water in the mug, tea bag in the hot
water. She should probably eat something…she hadn’t had dinner yet.

Play. Play.

Her subconscious was insistent tonight, probably because it
wanted her to go crazy. She started to clean her kitchen counter while she
waited for the tea to steep.
Scrub the counter, scrub the counter,
she
chanted to herself.
Wipe it down, that’s it. Nice and normal. Everyday
tasks. Maybe I should clean the toilet next. I haven’t cleaned the bathroom in
over a week. It probably needs it.

Play….

She left the sponge on the counter and turned to the fridge.
She opened it up and perused the contents. It was pretty sad in there. She
needed to go to the grocery store. Maybe she would do that next, after she had
her tea.

Tea. She turned back to her teacup and bobbed the bag in it a
few times. As she did, the image of that man flashed in her mind again. With
the vision came the sorrow. His sorrow. His pain. It swamped her like a tidal
wave until her chest ached.

She turned and leaned back against her counter. Was it
possible for a figment of a person’s imagination to be lonely? She had no idea.
But, if he’d come from her imagination, she could understand why he would be.
She couldn’t remember what it was like not to be lonely.

Drumming her fingers anxiously across the tile of her
counter, she sucked in a decided breath and strode purposefully back into the
living room. She sat down at the piano and began to play again. Her curiosity
was getting the better of her. She didn’t care if she was losing it. She just
wanted to see if he would come back.

The first few measures of the score tingled through her, and
she felt the sadness in them in her body and soul. They took root in her heart,
and she poured herself into playing the song. It was like someone had
unknowingly written the theme of her life. The song sounded the way she felt…achingly
alone, painfully isolated. And regardless of the beauty that still existed in
the world, it was impossible to see any kind of sunrise within the all-encompassing
darkness.

Tears burned her eyes, tears that wouldn’t fall, and a chill
went through her once again. She saw the man in her mind, but it was more
difficult to concentrate on him when she was experiencing such turmoil within
her own heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, dimly aware that she was still
playing the song, and she focused all of her attention on the man at the piano.
She didn’t want to think about her pain, her loss. She desperately wanted to
concentrate on anything else.

He became clearer to her, and felt closer the harder she
thought. She heard the echo of the music as he played in his dismal room. The
candlelight reflected off of his dark hair, making it shine and seem bronzed.
Dampness touched her skin, and she smelled saltwater in the air.

She wanted to be closer. She wanted to see his face. She
wanted to see if his eyes held the same hollowness she saw in her own when she
looked in the mirror.

A loud knock on her door made her jump—again—and the vision
vanished. She expelled a forceful breath, trying to get her heart to calm down
since it felt like it was going to beat straight out of her chest, and went to
the door. She yanked it open impatiently to see Rob standing there with his car
salesman grin and a bottle of wine. Immediately, she wanted to sock him in the
eye.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow and his smile faltered, but only for a
second. He held up the bottle of wine. “I know you said you didn’t want to have
dinner, and I got the distinct feeling that you were kind of aggravated at me
earlier for leaving you to eat my dust on the hike.”

He chuckled, and she found it to be the most annoying sound
in the world. She folded her arms and leaned against her doorframe, blocking
him so he couldn’t try to push his way in, and she gave him a measured stare.

“I thought the wine could be a peace offering.” He tried to
peer over her shoulder into the room. “Hey, were you playing the piano?”

“Yes, I was.” She snatched the wine from him.

“I didn’t think you played anymore. Not since
_—
”

“I didn’t. But I decided I wanted to. Was this all?” She
indicated the wine.

His smile disappeared. “Well, I was hoping that you would
have a glass
with
me.”

“I’m tired,” she stated. “You tried to kill me today. I’m not
in the mood to entertain guests. Thank you, though. The wine was thoughtful,
and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Good night, Rob.”

He tried to protest, but she was not having any of his
brashness tonight. She’d had enough of him earlier to last her for a month of
Sundays. She closed the door on him and locked it, then took the wine back into
the kitchen, where she set it on her counter.

Melody stared at her cup of tea, then poured it down the
drain. She suddenly didn’t want it. And she really didn’t want dinner either.
She felt exhausted.

Deciding she was done for the day, she headed toward her
bedroom. She cast a glance back at her piano as she passed, but for the moment,
the curiosity about what she saw when she played was gone. All she felt was the
stark emptiness of her lonely house and her hollow heart.

Chapter Three

“She’s gonna be a snob. I can assure you of that,” Nikki said
as they both got out of her sedan outside of one of the biggest houses Melody
had ever seen in her life. “When I saw her the other day, she looked like a
real Paris Hilton wannabe.”

“So long as she can tell me where that music came from, I
don’t care,” Melody said, pushing a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
“That’s all I want to know, and I won’t bother her any further after that.”

Nikki slid her a sidelong glance. “So, you really played it,
huh?”

Melody met her gaze and sighed. “Yes, Nikki, I played it.
Obviously.”

“And how did your date with Rob go?” she asked with a smirk.

Melody rolled her eyes. “Please, I don’t even want to go
there. I don’t know why I bother with that guy.”

Nikki giggled and started toward the house. “He’s probably
trying to impress you by acting all manly.”

Melody snorted. “Well he can take his ‘manly’ and stick it
where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Nikki laughed heartily. “You’re feisty today!” she teased.
“What got into you? You should play strange, Gothic piano music more often!”

Melody smiled in spite of herself. “It really was a beautiful
piece of music. It touched me.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be making me track down the lady
I bought it from so you can ask about who the composer was.” She fell silent
for a few seconds, but Melody knew she wouldn’t be able to hold her curiosity
in for long. “So…how was it?”

“Playing?” Melody smiled. “It was heaven.” She wasn’t going
to lie. Despite the pain of missing her family, playing the piano the night
before had been like coming home from a battle. Music had always been the only
thing to soothe her soul. It would always speak to her, regardless of whether
or not she tried to avoid it. She knew, sooner or later, its pull would bring
her back to it. It was unavoidable. And part of her felt at peace knowing that
she’d finally crossed that barrier.

Her parents would have wanted her to keep playing. She knew
that. They would have told her that music was therapy, and she should express
all of her emotions, even the negative ones, through song. Surprisingly, the
unbearable pain she had expected to feel while playing had never come. She had
actually felt closer to the memory of her parents, and she knew she would not
have trouble sitting down and playing again.

So long as she stayed away from
Adagio in G Minor
. She
wouldn’t go near that piece of music with a ten foot pole.

But she was interested in finding out more about the score
Nikki had bought her. She wanted to learn about the composer, find out where
the incredible music had come from. She was hopelessly intrigued, if a little
creeped out, by the visions she had seen the night before. Her curiosity had
always been more prevalent than her common sense. She had yet to figure out if
that was a good thing.

Nikki rang the doorbell and they waited a few seconds until a
very thin, blonde woman came to the door in an electric pink tracksuit chomping
gum like a cow in a field chewing its cud. She had enough gold and diamond
jewelry on to blind somebody, and Melody was shocked to see that she looked no
more than nineteen or twenty years old.

“Hi,” Nikki greeted. “You don’t know me, but I was at your
estate sale the other day. I bought this musical score. It was really old and
worn-looking. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

The woman stared at Nikki for a second, blew a bubble with
her gum, snapped it, and then sucked the gum back into her mouth in a
completely classless gesture. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about.
What about it? I’m not gonna give you a refund.”

Nikki frowned. “Um…I don’t want a refund. I was just
wondering if you could tell me a little bit more about it.”

“Like?” She sounded annoyed and glanced at her watch full of
bling.

“Like who the composer was,” Melody interjected.

The girl glanced up at her. “All those old music sheets
belonged to my great-grandma. There was a bunch of crap up in the attic from,
like, a hundred years ago. Took me freaking forever to go through it. My
grandma kept everything. It was ridiculous. Took me
ages
to get this
place looking like a normal house and not some kind of relic.”

“Oh, this was your grandma’s house?” Nikki asked, no doubt
trying to be friendly and make conversation.

The girl snapped her gum again. “Originally, it was my
great-grandma’s. That’s why all of her crap was in the attic. My grandma just
died and left the house to me.” She rolled her eyes. “Piece of junk. It’s more
trouble than it’s worth, really. I’m thinking of just selling it once I get
everything modernized.”

Melody’s stomach turned at the woman’s cavalier, insensitive
attitude. “Well, do you happen to know of any of the composers your
great-grandma liked?”

She made a face. “How would I know? I don’t listen to that
crap. I listen to The Black Eyed Peas and Usher. You know,
real
music?”

Melody felt her eye twitch. Further proof that she was
probably going crazy.

The girl waved her hand. “But all that crap in that trunk was
stuff my great-grandma wrote. She was, like, this world famous classical
musician. So that thing was probably her music.”

Melody blinked.
Her
music. Somehow, that didn’t seem
right to her. She didn’t know why. It made absolutely no sense, but that piece
of music did not feel like it had been written by a woman.
No, of course
not. It feels like it was written by some isolated man in a tower. What is
wrong with you, Melody? You need a shrink, and pronto.

Melody sighed and banished her wandering thoughts. “What was
your great-grandmother’s name, if I can ask?”

“Elizabeth Channing.” The girl glanced at her watch again.
“Is that all? I have a tennis lesson in ten minutes.”

“Yeah…that’s all. Thank you.” Melody barely had a chance to
get the words out before the girl shut the door on them.

Nikki snorted. “Nice.” She turned and met Melody’s gaze. “I
hope you weren’t looking for anything other than that.”

Melody waved her hand and turned away from the door. “Nah. I
know her name. I can look up the other information on the Internet.”

Nikki gave her a curious expression. “You really want to know
about the composer. That music must have been special to make you obsess that
way when you haven’t even wanted to look at music in over a year.”

The image of the lonely, dark-haired man flashed through her
mind, and her heart skipped a beat.
You have no idea.
She gave Nikki a
smile she hoped was convincing. She had no intention of telling her friend that
the reason she wanted to know about the composer was so she could see if she
could find some reason for the strange vision she’d had. Some reason that
didn’t involve her checking herself into a mental hospital.

* * * *

Elizabeth Channing had been a gorgeous woman with pale skin,
jet black hair, and smoldering dark eyes that looked like they could burn a
hole through a person. And while her great-granddaughter had been right about
her being a classical musician, she had failed to mention that she had only
ever written the one piece of music; the nameless one that Melody held in her
possession, which was probably worth a small fortune considering it looked like
she had the original.

According to the trusty old Wikipedia, Elizabeth Channing,
formerly Elizabeth Tabor, had actually been a classical singer and lyricist.
Her husband, Aaron Channing, had been a composer, and had collaborated with her
on a number of pieces that were still widely recognized and renowned,
especially abroad.

Melody was baffled that, after all of her training, and with
all the knowledge both of her parents had had, she had no clue who either one
of them were. And there was absolutely nothing she could find online that
linked Elizabeth to any man other than her husband. And he was definitely not
the man Melody had seen in her mind. Not that she really would have felt better
if he had been. She didn’t know which discovery would be worse. Finding out
that she was going crazy, or finding out that she suddenly had some sort of
psychic ability.