The days began to grow more awkward as time passed. Even though Andy refused to speak to me and I in return didn't acknowledge him, Mike still forced us to work together and find evidence on the case. We barely have anything useful though. And when I say we barely have anything I mean we have absolutely nothing. Through out the entire time we have been "working" together all we have managed to do is ignore each other and pretend to read the same piece of paper over and over and over again.
Today was exactly the same as all the other days that we were forced to spend together. Both of us were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. I was reading the same paper I have been reading over for the past few days. Andy was doing the same, with his own private paper. For awhile we just sat there in awkward silence, until Andy let out an exasperated sigh and stood from the couch. He shuffled his way around the piles of papers and files and climbed up the stairs. I wasn't quite sure why he left, but it's not like he would tell me so I could really care less. But I had a feeling he was as tired and bored as me. I would rather do anything else other than this. My eyes wondered around for something, anything, that would destroy my unbearable boredom. My eyes halted on the oddly shaped table that was covered in a white sheet and had a few boxes on the surface. I never really noticed it before but now that I look closely at it I can see it's not a table at all. I quickly stood up and walked over to the sheet covered object. I carefully lifted all the boxes from the top and set them down on the floor. I threw the sheet to the side to reveal a gorgeous shinning black grand piano. I grinned at the sight of the instrument. Why would Mike keep something so beautiful underneath a sheet like that. I sat down on the stool in front of the keyboard. My hands slowly traced along the black and white keys. It had been many years since I've played the piano. I didn't really remember many of the songs that I learned and for the ones I did remember, I don't recall a lot of the notes. There was one song that always stayed in my memory. My mother loved waltz of the flowers from the nutcracker. It was her favorite song, so I played it more often than any other one. I was still pretty rusty, and without sheet music it would be difficult to play it correctly. But I was still bored out of my mind and ready to do anything other than read that piece of paper again. I adjusted my feet on the pedals and placed my fingers over the keys. The first few notes were easy to remember and once I got the hang of using the keys, playing out the song became much more simple. My fingers stumbled a bit, not quite as graceful as they use to be, and hit a few wrong notes. I flinched a bit when the song screeched out of tune and my hands flew away from the keyboard causing the room to become dense with silence. Maybe if I practiced a bit more I would be able play the song as well as I could when I was younger. Just as my fingers were lingering above the keys, ready to play again, a voice cut through the thick silence like a knife.
"Where did you learn how to play?" Andy asked leaning against the wall on the other end of the room next to the staircase.
My eyes narrowed when they met those empty pits of hazel. His expression was completely and utterly unreadable. Which pissed me off to know end. How the hell could he talk to me so calmly after refusing to speak to me for days? Did he have some kind of ulterior motive. "Why are you so social-able all of a sudden?" I sneered, standing up from the stool and leaning forward in question.
Andy kept eye contact and shrugged. "Just curious."
I pursed my lips in annoyance. This guy has some nerve, acting like after all that time he spent ignoring me he can just start some small talk. Well if he thinks that if we share a few curt responses, everything will be fine and dandy he can forget-. My thoughts are cut off when I see something soften in his eyes. I can't see the dark eyes that belonged to the cold young man who addressed me as Ray. I can only see the eyes of a small boy with his knees held to his chest, crying and begging me not to leave him. A boy who was left alone in the world with no one to care for him. A boy who had his childhood and happiness ripped away from him. By my father. father. If I was in his position, I wouldn't trust the daughter of a killer either. But I don't want him not to trust me. I don't want him to be afraid of me. I don't want to leave him alone in this. It would be like ignoring Glen as he cried in the middle of the hospital room. Our fathers blood soaking into his jeans and his tears spilling from his eyes. I could never do that. I'm not going to do that. I swear to myself that I will never let my father hurt this boy or my brother or me ever again.
"My mother taught me," I whispered, looking at my hands. "She started teaching me when I was four up till I was 10."
He nods in what seems like interest. My eyes linger on the cut that I gave him, now covered in white bandages.
"Sorry about your hand." I apologized.
He glances down at the wound for a moment before offering another shrug. "I've had worse," he replies looking away for a second before his eyes once again meet mine. "Sorry for calling you a serial killer. I can tell you take offense to that."
I smile a little. "I've had worse."
I can see the corners of his lips curl up into a small smile.
My face turns serious and in turn as does his. "I don't want to kill you Barclay."
He raises an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth curls up into a smirk. "That's comforting."
I frowned at the comment. I'm trying to be serious damn it. "I mean that I'm not some psychopath looking for revenge for her father," I explained "I don't want to be like him."
He doesn't say anything. He just stays leaning on the wall.
I let out a large irritated sigh. "I understand why you don't trust me. I would feel the same if I was in your position," I stated. "But I am not like him. I've never killed anyone before and I don't plan to. Please believe me," I begged.
He stares at me for a few moments that seem like hours and for awhile I wonder if he is going to answer the way I think he will. But then he catches me off guard with his strange answer.
"The crazy thing is," he pauses. "That I do believe you. I feel pretty naive saying that, considering how often Chucky lied to me. But I honestly think your not a killer. I must be the most gullible idiot in the world." He laughed bitterly.
I frowned. "Is it really that hard to believe that I'm not a killer."
"Actually it's easy to believe that your not. Either you are very good at lying or you're telling the truth," he reasoned, smiling lightly.
I gave him a dead pan stare. "I don't know if that's an insult or a compliment."
"You should take it as a compliment," he smiled. "I'm not really a cold person you know. I just really didn't want to talk to you."
"I could tell," I replied. "What changed your mind?"
Andy began to walk towards the table at a leisurely pace. "I guess I realized how immature I was acting, and that acting bitter wouldn't help my situation in the slightest," he placed his elbows on the pianos surface and leaned forward on it. "And after seeing how you were around your brother. You seemed much kinder towards him. The way you acted kind of reminded me of-" his voice trailed off and his eyes went vacant for a moment as he stared off into space. Andy shook his head and the light smile reappeared on his face. "Anyway, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. We should probably start over." I rose a cynical eyebrow. Andy held out his hand and gave me a wide grin. "Hi I'm Andy, what's your name?"
I really don't think he knew how much that sentence effected me. The memory of the same boy but much younger, repeating that sentence with a slit throat and holding a doll, was less than pleasant. The thought of the nightmare is enough to make me shiver. But I shake off the undesired feeling and memories so that I may focus on Andy's intentions instead of his words.
I stare at his hand for a moment and then let out a breathy laugh.
"You're joking, right?" I asked cynically.
Andy let out a lighthearted laugh. "Of course not," he laughed. "If were going to want to solve this case with out killing each other, we should probably have a proper introduction."
I gave him a smirk and rolled my eyes. "That is a really stupid idea," I argue. "We already know each other, what's the point?"
Andy frowned at me and then took my hand in his. And shook it gently.
"Hello, my name is Andy Barclay," he repeated "What is your name?"
I sighed in defeat and shook his hand in return. "My name is Amy Valentine."
Andy gave me a warm smile. "That wasn't so hard now was it?" he mocked me slightly with a cocky look.
I gave him a pout and pulled on his sleeve gently.
"Come on," I urged. "We have work to do.
