Be All My Sins Forgotten

Prologue

There was a house on sixth street that no child or adult ever visited.

The alarm was blaring, its flashing lights painting

the discolored walls a violent shade of black.

It was the house of Ms. Moore; until one day when a little girl lost her favorite bear from the mean kids down the block, did a little boy with raven black hair grace the doorstep of the widowed wife. A middle aged woman answered the door her mousy brown hair tied into a bun, her eyes looking like they belonged to an old basset hound who'd long been condemned for death.

It smelled of smoke, electricity and death. The bodies broken and stained,

surrounding me like rag dolls.

She stared down at the little boy with who fidgeted slightly under her gaze but he never looked away, his chubby face in a pout.

Torn and disused.

"My sister lost her bear in your yard. Can we look for it?" The little boy asked. Ms. Moore would soon learn his name was Daniel, but he only answered to Danny. Looking up, the woman saw a little girl named Jasmine, but only went by Jazz who had firey red hair and was no more than eight, standing right outside her gate tears dripping from her eyes.

I felt a wave of nausea crash through me but nothing more than sobs escaped.

Ms. Moore huffed and stared down at Danny, whose little fists were trembling in fear she realized that it must have taken a lot of courage for him to come up here; after all, the rumors about her and her deceased husband were quite horrendous. Not to mention scandalous.

"Fine, I'll go make some lemonade." With this she went in the house ignoring the boy who smiled from ear to ear, she distantly heard him call to his sister. Ms. Moore never believed the children would stay for her sweetly sour drink, no one ever had.

I felt to alert, everything was too vivid, too real. It was dirty, loud, and unbearably hot from the fight.

But they did, and soon the two children were sitting on her couch with empty glasses admiring her house while she sewed a big brown button eye on Bear Burt. Jazz had squealed in delight while Danny thanked Ms. Moore profusely his big blue eyes holding nothing more than pure admiration.

The crimson blood splattered everywhere; slipping beneath my toes, and sticking to my skin which felt raw.

When Ms. Moore asked why Bear Burt was in her yard Danny and Jazz both launched into the story of the mean kids, acting out the roles to perfection both giggling and running around the room but as their tale reached the climax the little boy suddenly stopped mid sentence causing Jazz to crash into him leaving Ms. Moore very confused until he climbed up onto the piano bench gazing down at the beautiful arrangement of black and white keys.

I felt screams slip past me, my tattered hands trying to block the view of bodies, and red…so much red.

"Ms. Moore what's this thing?" He asked, while Jazz scrambled up to join him, stuffed animal firmly grasped between her arms, she left out an annoyed huff.

"Silly little brother, that's a piano. Right, Ms. Moore? It's a baby grand right?" Jazz asked looking to her for confirmation the woman nodded getting up to cross the room and join the kids. Danny merely looked confused.

I don't know how long I stood there, in this one hallway, the same one that'd been my prison for so long.

"Why's the piano a baby? It's huge!" He said, gesturing to its size his foot slipping on the bench sending him forward, his little fingers landing on the keys. It was a moment the three would never forget. Jazz jumping at the notes, while Danny stared down at his hands in pure shock until a laugh bubbled up from the little boy who began tugging at Jazz asking if she wanted to try.

Eventually someone came to get me, but by then it was too late, I shut down.

Jazz shook her head but asked Danny to try again because she liked the sound of the C minor cord. So Danny did, plucking out cords with both hands, it was erratic and uncoordinated but soon Ms. Moore watched as the little boy began to pick out a melody his sister singing along her soft voice encouraging Danny to keep playing. It was then the woman knew what her life would now be, and it centered around these two little kids.

In the end, the only thing I noticed was the man was in his twenties, with pale blue skin and a rapture running across one of his ruby red eyes.

Walking forward and sitting on the other side of Danny Ms. Moore gave him his first piano lesson, Jazz singing along supporting her baby brother every time he got discouraged. Ever since that day Ms. Moore would see the two children; sometimes they would be together, other times they weren't. She would teach Danny piano, and Jazz voice, while other times they would stop by just to talk. Jazz would discuss psychology with her and the two women would be engaged for hours on end, often times the young girl would just come over to study. Everyone thought she studied at the library but in all honesty Jazz never did.

He took me somewhere and changed my clothes, bandaged my wounds, it was strange, this gentleness.

And Danny loved to come over and talk about astronomy, at one point the two of them even wrote songs for all of the constellations Danny composing the melody while Ms. Moore wrote the bass. And though Ms. Moore knew the two children would one day enter their own professions, she without a doubt believed neither child would ever stop loving music.

After he finished we left through a white circle door, I knew I should feel something but numbness and the sharp stab of a headache drowned out all thought.

It saddened her at times, knowing that both children had such potential in music but Ms. Moore never pushed the subject, they had their own lives to lead and she never questioned why the children decided not to tell their parents where they went or that they even knew music.

It wasn't until Ms. Moore was pushing well into her fifties did Danny one day admit to her the reason why; because they saw her home as a sanctuary.

With one final pat on my abused shoulder and a small hug that left me in tears, Clockwork left.

Jazz and Danny even left some of their stuff here, to them it was a place they could escape from their lives and to Ms. Moore it was the greatest show of endearment she'd ever seen. So, her home was always open to the two children all hours, day and night. Sometimes, Ms. Moore would wake up in the middle of the night to find Danny playing softy on the piano with beauty. His fifteen year old face still holding the small childlike innocence.

His name was the last thing I ever remembered.

Or so I thought.

Other times she'd come downstairs in her robe and slippers to find Jazz sprawled out on the sofa sleeping, psychology books and music books scattered on the coffee table and floor, her sixteen year old face holding the elegance most women would die for. For Danny and Jazz, Ms. Moore's house was their second home.

That was just a wish.

And both children loved her. And Ms. Moore loved them. And the day Danny disappeared, Ms. Moore's house became the only place Jazz could cry.