Page 55 of Drowning in Darkness

A thick blanket folded over the back of the sofa. Books covering subjects from psychology to astronomy. A cupboard full of board games and puzzles, still in their plastic wrapping.

A basket of dog toys that brings a smile to my face. I have to wonder if they are for Charlie, my brother’s lovebug spaniel who treats your space as his space.

My attention drifts beyond the sitting area until it settles on the grand piano tucked beside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Its polished black surface catches the afternoon light, throwing soft reflections across the room. Beautiful. Quiet. Waiting. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The wood is cool beneath my fingertips as I brush them across the closed lid.

“You can open it.” James’s voice carries through the lodge.

I glance over my shoulder to find him watching me with quiet interest. “You sure?”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I wasn’t worried about the piano.”

His mouth threatens the smallest twitch before disappearing again.

I lift the fallboard. The ivory keys gleam back at me, and for a moment, the smallest fraction of a second, my trembling fingers remember where they belong.

Middle C. The weight of an octave beneath my hand.

My fingertips tingle with awareness. No, strike that. With anticipation. The ache blooms, and I curl my fingers into my palm before they can touch a single note.

“You play?” he rumbles. The question is gentle, careful even. But asked without expectation.

I stare down at the keys as my mouth dries. “I used to.”

Silence settles between us.

“When?”

The answer sticks somewhere behind my ribs. “College.” He doesn’t push me further, and that gives me the confidence to offer more. “I haven’t played since.”

I let the fallboard drift closed with a soft click. “I think...” I force a smile that doesn’t quite reach the rest of me. “Some parts of your life become collateral damage. You don’t notice they’ve disappeared until years later when someone asks an innocent question.”

James falls quiet as I lose myself to the fantasy that one day I might find the urge to play once more. It won’t happen. The girl who sat at a piano disappeared years ago. Every version of me since has simply learned how to survive.

“It’s there if you ever decide you want to,” he offers. My eyes prickle as I finally look at him. He nods at the piano. “It’s here.”

No speeches. No encouragement. No insistence like many therapists use, declaring that music heals the soul. It does, but it also strips you bare.

Just two simple words. It’s here. The ridiculous thing is, those words feel bigger than any inspirational speech ever could.

Later, as I fall asleep, I realize something important. A critical question I didn’t ask. Does he play? And if the answer is no, why on earth does he have an expensive piano?

NINETEEN

JAMES

Safety isn’t a place. It’s the first person your subconscious searches for in the dark.

A sound drags me from sleep. Not loud enough to wake most, but I’m finely attuned due to years of living in heightened stress. Every muscle tightens. Every sense reaches to decipher what is causing the sound and where it’s coming from. Friend or foe?

Silence settles over the house again, and my brain races, pulling various nefarious reasons for the disturbance, but in all likelihood knowing it’s going to be my one and only guest, Stephanie.

I glance at the glowing clock. 2:17 a.m.

The monitors beside the bed glow steadily, every camera feed exactly as I left it. The perimeter lights remain undisturbed. Motion sensors show nothing outside.

Another creak from the hallway. What if it’s not Stephanie? I slide from the bed without switching on the light and retrieve the pistol strapped beneath the bedside table. My footsteps are silent against the wooden floor as I inch open the door.