The news that Alex had been arrested and sent to prison was talked about all through breakfast the next day. Mummy had seen him be dragged in by the policeman when she was at her desk; Daddy said it was a shame how wonderful people fall so quickly, and Gran claimed she had always known (Linda knew she hadn't had a clue). They badgered Linda about what they really did whenever they went out at night. She told them that she had been honest when she said they went to dinner or spent the night at his place.

Miranda, Judy and Georgina had questioned her at school, she said that she had had no idea how nasty Alex had been.

Thankfully, everyone bought it

No one really seemed to care how Linda was taking the arrest. Not once was the 'Are you okay?' or 'How are you feeling?' included in all the streams of questions people threw at her. They were so concerned or surprised about the news. Their shock was much more important than Linda's heartache. They did not bother to ask if she was either okay with Alex gone or if her heart was slowly tearing into pieces with each passing day. No. No one. It was all about them.

Linda wished that Alex would write to her while he was in prison. The notion would have been comforting. She checked the mailbox every day when she came home from school. She would expect to see his perfect penmanship scrawled across the page, giving her words of love or ease. There was nothing there but bills and magazines her mother or Gran had subscribed to. Eventually, she gave up on the idea. Maybe he really hadn't cared. Maybe he was not even thinking of her anymore. It made her cry at night in her bedroom.

After a week or so of Alex gone, Linda had discovered the only way to remove him from her thoughts was playing on her piano in the living room. The music would flow through her as she concentrated on the keys. Their heavenly tunes would bring a small smile to her face; they would take away every memory or thought she had ever had of Alex: such as her playing for a large audience of people. They would all watch her intently as she worked over the instrument; her eyes focused and in the moment, and then give a standing ovation at the end. She loved it. She did it every day.

Those nights in her bed, the feat of trying to forget Alex was impossible. The boy plagued her dreams. No matter what was going on or if anything was happening at all, she would always wake up and remember a gleam of blue or a glimpse of a smirk. He had done something to her. He had left an imprint on her that she could not shake. The feeling made her weak; she did not think she would ever be strong enough to move on without him.

"You should really get out of the house, darling," Daddy told her one night over dinner. "It's not right for a girl your age to be sitting at home on a piano at all hours of the day and night."

"I don't really want to go out anymore, Daddy," Linda told him as she stood up from the table to wash her plate.

"Linda," Mummy said in a reasonable tone, "It's been almost a month. You need to move on with your life, sweetheart."

"I said I don't want to go out."

They ceased their encouragement, but Gran spoke next. "I remember when your grandfather went away to war. I cried for months. The thought of him not next to me every minute of the day, never hearing his voice or seeing him walk through the door broke my heart. I didn't believe I would ever live or love again."

The way she had said those words stung Linda's eyes. She went on: "My parents told me I should get out of the house too. They said going out with a few friends would make me feel better-"

"-I'm going to play before I go to bed," She cut in.

Linda walked out of the dining room and into the next room across the hall. She knew none of them would try to reason with her anymore, since she had clearly shown dislike to their efforts. She did not want to leave the house; she did not want to travel on into the night (or day) and think of how she and Alex had spent them together. They simply did not understand. She did not think anyone would. No, this was not one of those typical adolescent "nobody-understands-me" things. This situation; this predicament was something she was sure not many people experienced.

Missing and loving a boy who did not return it nor of a boy who was so selfish. The concept sounded so sick. Sitting on the piano bench, she overturned the Chopin music sheet, placed her delicate fingers on the keys and began to play. Immediately, she sunk into her own world. There was nothing around her except the music. Linda imagined the great Chopin himself in her place, with a large orchestra behind him. People would watch him play, amazed by his supreme talent. They would clap and cheer at his brilliance; they would go home speaking of the wonderful masterpiece the man had created.

The music she was playing.

"Linda?" A small voice broke into her delightful world.

Reluctantly, Linda stopped playing and looked over her shoulder. Moyra stood in the doorway of the living room in her pink nightdress with her hair tied back. The image was filled with innocence. Her face expressed pure curiosity and caution. She came further towards her, and then stopped again.

"Mummy says it's time for bed."

"Alright," Linda replied, turning back to the piano, "In a moment."

"She says that a bath's already been drawn for you," She added, "And that you should go before the water gets cold."

"Alright, Moyra."

"You really should. I don't like taking cold baths. They make you sick."

"Okay, Moyra," Linda said, her irritation rising.

"Why are you playing now, Linda?"

"Can you please go to bed, Moyra?" She snapped. "Gran's waiting for you."

"Okay," Moyra said, a bit disconcerted, "Goodnight."

Linda immediately felt guilty. She should not take her anger out on her little sister. She swung her legs over the bench to apologize, but the child had already gone. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. What was wrong with her?

Everything.

She stood up from the bench and went to take that bath. Perhaps the rest would relax her mind; make her forget everything. She liked to think that she would wake up one day and all that had happened with Alex had been a dream…one big, twisted dream…Then she'd open her eyes; it was all real.

Linda bathed like her parents had wanted.

Linda got dressed in her room like they had wanted.

Linda slipped in between the sheets of her bed, sighing and holding the urge to cry like they had wanted.

Yet, looking up towards the ceiling above, his face was all she pictured.

The shadowy figure was sitting in the tree watching with a grin…

"Ladies and gentlemen" A portly man in a tuxedo addressed a large crowd in a dark music hall, "I present the magnificent musical styling's of Linda Elizabeth Van Patten…"

The red curtains opened. She was sitting underneath a hot spotlight; eyes focused on the piano keys. Only, these keys were not white and black like most. They were a clear, bright blue. They seemed to have a familiar sense about them. The black keys were shaped like eyes instead of short, slender notes. She darted her head to the crowd.

They were all the typical people she dreamed of at her piano; only there was something different. Their faces were blurred; they seemed contorted in some places with overly large grins, bug-like eyes or very long noses. They all sat there expectantly. Her eyes moved over them. They all had the same familiarity as the blue piano. She could make out faces of her friends and family; people she had seen in the street…

And him. Alex sat in the very middle. He was the only person whose face was not distorted. It was perfect with his smirk more devilish than ever. It scared her but fascinated her at the same time. She blinked. He was gone.

"Play for us," She looked to her side to find him beside her. "Play for me, Linnie-Lin."

His voice sounded different. It was not the taunting, arrogant tone she recalled, but soft and soothing. The look in his eyes was loving and wanting, not lust or seduction. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered again:

"Play for me," His hand caressed hers, and placed it over the piano keys.

Her fingers began moving on their own. She was unable to control them. Alex let go of her hand and watched with pleasure as she did as he said. Linda wanted to stop; her fingers were moving too fast; they began to ache and cramp, but she kept playing. She couldn't stop. She cried out as the pain became more unbearable.

"Alex," She turned to him, "Help me."

Alex said nothing, but faded away. The crowd began to fade with him; the only thing left in the room was the burning spotlight and her uncontrollable hands.

Linda jolted upright in her bed. Her body was flushed in a cold sweat and her heart was pounding on her chest. She was slightly dazed for a moment as she gazed around her room. She supposed the dreams had not stopped at all.