WOOOOW it's been a long time since I updated that, but I promised myself that I would update by September, and here we are- the literal last day of September hahaha. BUT I hope you guys are still excited for this story, and where we go from here! About 3 or 4 more chapters after this one!
Thank you to everyone who has offered encouraging words and inspiration to keep writing over the past few months and for believing in me as a writer, it means so much to me 3
She was standing on a cliff.
On a cliff…with the breeze blowing salty against her face and the sea below her crashing against the rocks, each wave reaching its crescendo and then crawling back into the sea. The sky was hazy…was it blue or grey? Was it clouds that obstructed her vision or merely mist? The breeze swept past again as she inhaled, her hair gently being blown around by the wind.
"Christine?"
Her body turned but her heart felt as if it had stopped.
That voice…she hadn't heard it in…in years. Her lips smiled but her eyes filled with unshed tears.
A few yards back stood a stout man, hands rough from hard labor and calloused from steel-stringed instruments, yet…there was a lively pink tint beneath his blonde scruff and his eyes were pools of clear blue water with smile lines creasing the corners.
"Dad?" she breathed, taking a step closer to the man across from her, hand reaching out.
A warm smile was his only response as he approached her. He ignored the outstretched hand and continued walking until he was side by side with her shoulder, eyes cast out over the icy waters below.
"Seas are rough today…"
As if on cue, the waves crashed against the base of the cliff, consuming the pointed rocks that lay below. Her father was silent as he stood and watched, hands tucked behind his back. She swallowed, watching him over her shoulder until she turned to face the edge of the cliff with him. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. He smelled like sawdust and old cologne…he smelled like home.
Home.
She blinked back the tears that she couldn't understand why she was trying to shed, and felt his arm slip around her waist, tucking her close into his side. She nestled her head into the side of his flannel, inhaling his scent again.
"I miss you…" she whispered.
"Why?" He replied without a pause, rustling the top of her hair before pressing a kiss there on top of her head.
She shook her head. Why did she miss him? She was standing right beside him and he was as soft and warm as the last time she'd hugged him…how could she miss him when he was right here holding on to her?
"I…I don't know," she settled on, looking up at him.
They fell back into a comfortable silence then, the ebb and flow of the waves the only noise. She'd been here before…she knew this cliff but…how? Why? She knew this beach…she knew these waters, she knew the taste of the salty air by memory….
Flashes of small children running along the rocky shores and splashing each other in the water overtook her sight, gone just as soon as they'd come. She was one of the children, with her curls and red scarf and…and the boy was…was little Raoul who used to spend his summers with her at the beach…
She blinked again, refocusing on the waters below her. The water was as grey as the fog that rested around her…but there were trees in the distance that speckled the wall of grey with green. Pines perhaps?
"I still miss your mother."
The gentle confession brought her attention back to the man at her side, her eyes closing as she let his voice wash over her.
"Me too, Dad…" she trailed off, those familiar prickly tears threatening to break through again.
He nodded that solemn nod of his and brushed a hand under his eyes. "I wish you'd gotten to know her better…you're so much like her my little Lotte…" his smile was sadder now as he looked at her before pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "You make me so proud to be your Dad."
She smiled despite the tears that were now falling down her cheeks (Why were they falling? Why did she feel such sadness? Was it because of her mother? She'd barely known her…was there another reason?) and she brought her hand up to cradle his hand in hers in an attempt to keep it against her cheek.
"I try my best," she whispered, leaning into his touch.
They stood like that for what could have been an eternity, neither showing any sign that they wanted to let go. Her dad's lips tugged downward, his eyebrows creasing in concentration.
"Do you hear that?"
Christine lifted her head as she followed his line of sight, focusing over the open sea. His hand slid from her face but she kept one hand firmly snug around his, holding it like she used to as a little girl when they'd cross the street.
"I don't hear anything…?" She trailed off, two little lines wrinkling in frustration between her eyebrows.
His eyes twinkled as he gave her a look…he knew something she didn't? Or perhaps not…perhaps he was just listening again…why couldn't she hear it? What was he listening to?
He sighed and turned back to the sea. "The music…"
She shook her head and concentrated harder. Music? What kind of music? There was no one but them on this cliff…no one was out on the water, and the land across the stretch of sea was too far away to be able to hear any music from, yet—
She trusted him.
She strained to hear something, anything, but— nothing. She heard nothing.
Her father had noticed her frustrations and let out a chuckle. "Must be in my head then," he paused and took a shaky breath. "It's like a record player…always looping the same song, over and over…"
Christine blinked, confused at his words. She hadn't any of her own to say in return.
The hand that wasn't in hers twitched at his side, snagging a loose thread on his pants until he picked it off.
"It's violin music," he whispered, still looking down.
Christine squeezed his hand. "Oh? Like yours?"
The wind blew past again, pushing her hair in front of her eyes as she stood looking at him. Through her curls she could see him give a small smile then scratch at his beard and shake his head.
"I've never played this kind…it's…ethereal…" he breathed, letting his hand fall from her grasp. His eyes were locked on her's but his mind was elsewhere…
Why was he being so confusing?
"I'm sure yours is just as good, Dad," she reassured him with a smile as he looked back to the ocean, doing her best to ignore the uneasiness that was settling within her.
The mist was growing thicker, perhaps mist wasn't the right word anymore. Fog. Yes, this was fog that now surrounded them. It covered her visibility and she could no longer make out the trees on the other side of the water. Even the water was obstructed, but she knew it was there, the sound of crashing waves against the cliff was hard to ignore.
"Have you seen my violin, little Lotte?"
She paused.
"What?"
He turned to face her again. "Have you seen my violin?"
She swallowed and shook her head, taking a step towards him. "I…I don't understand. Don't you have it?"
His eyes were distant now and he shook his head. "I've seemed to have misplaced it…"
The fog was coming closer. It looked more like thick silver swirls instead of the clouds moisture she knew them to be. She felt him grab her arm, bringing her towards him as she jerked forward from surprise.
"You know where my violin is, don't you?" He sounded desperate but his eyes were not as crazed as his voice. His eyes looked the same as they did earlier: as if they knew something she did not. She barely noticed that the hand that grabbed her was suddenly gloved in black leather and that the grip was much tighter than before.
"I don't, I don't have it," she repeated over and over as the fog grew thicker around her. The cliff now seemed taller than before and the sound of the ocean was overwhelming; loud and boisterous as each wave hit the side of the rocks, splashing her face—
"You know where my violin is, don't you?"
She knew that voice.
The voice.
"You've seen my violin…"
She struggled against the hand around her forearm, gaping as she tried to break free. Where had her father gone? Why wasn't he here? How did he get away so fast—
She looked up.
It was her dad's clothes, but instead of his face a black mask sneered back at her, eyes golden like a cat in the middle of the night.
"You have, haven't you, Christine?" The voice repeated, laughing at her confusion and efforts to get away.
"No, no, no…I haven't…" she trailed off, jerking against his hold until the force of her tug shoved her closer to the edge of the cliff. The fog was thickest here, she couldn't see anything but those eyes in front of her…could only hear the repeated question in her ears…where was the edge? Was there an edge?
"I don't have it!" She shouted again before she tugged once more, falling down….
Down…
Down….
Her breath hitched as she opened her eyes.
The ceiling was dark in front of her, the off-white looking grey in the lack of light. She took a steadying breath, sinking further under the covers.
It was dream.
A dream…
It hadn't felt like a dream though. She could feel the breeze, she could smell the saltwater, she could hear her father, her dad. She hadn't dreamed of her dad in…in months. And when she did, the dreams were never quite so vivid, quite so tangible.
If she wasn't in a bed in a hotel in a state she'd never been to before, she might've believed that she was actually in Washington with him on that beach.
Washington…now that was a place she hadn't been to in years. There were too many memories there, too many reminders. She had spent most of her childhood summers there, living in her late grandfather's house by the rocky shores with her dad. Why had her dream took her there?
Why?
She could understand why she had dreamed of her father. She'd had a rough day— a crazy day — and she hadn't spoken so openly about him to anyone for a long time. Not to mention how her emotions were all over the place with the unwanted reopening of the wound her dad's passing had left. She hadn't cried about him in so long and to actually have someone else in the same room while she cried? Yeah, that never happened.
It was easy to conclude why she had dreamt about her dad, but then where had Erik come into all of this?
She turned her head to the side where he lay next to her. Her left arm had crossed the blanket barrier at some point while she slept, her hand resting easily against his back on the sheet next to where he laid with his back toward her. She held still as she watched his chest rise and fall under the covers, noting how he barely moved at all. Slowly, she retracted her hand and tucked it down her side, turning so that she was facing his back, counting his breaths as if they were sheep.
Why had she dreamt of him? Was her dream trying to tell her something or was her brain just trying to make sense of the mess of a day she'd had?
Then of course there was the part of the dream that stood out the most…so much so that it was all she could do to keep her brain from replaying it over and over again in her brain:
"You know where my violin is, don't you?"
She swallowed. She still hadn't been able to get a good look at that violin…if she could just find a way to open the case without him knowing then she could look for herself. If it was really her father's violin, then surely the carved out letters would still be there, right?
Without those initials, she could never be sure and without being sure…the thought of someone else with her father's violin—
She hadn't been back to her grandfather's cabin since her dad had died, didn't have the energy to clean it out, didn't want to have to face what was in there. She had always assumed that his violin was there with the rest of his things…
Erik bristled.
Was he waking up?
Quickly she shut her eyes, feigning sleep as the blankets around her shifted, listening to the sheets being drawn away and then a faint sound of something being set down.
What was he doing?
She wanted to look at him. Why was he getting up? It was early still, probably not even daylight outside. If she could just sneak a look at him and see what he was doing…yes, if she didn't make any sudden movements and only opened her eyes a little bit—yes! That was it! Carefully, she raised her eyelids until she could see his silhouette, curtained by her eyelashes. He was sitting upright, legs swung over his side of the bed and head in his hands.
Maybe he'd had a bad dream too?
She dared to open her eyes a little more as his back was toward her and he couldn't see her. However, she held as still as she could manage. If she moved he might look back at her and then if he looked back at her he'd know she was awake and if he knew she awake she'd be embarrassed all over again trying to explain why she was watching him—
Why was she watching him?
He hadn't proved to be completely untrustworthy and he had the decency to be at least civil to her while they'd been at the hotel. Okay, well…perhaps more than civil. They had kissed after all—
Was that why she watched him?
He obviously hadn't felt anything like she had. They had kissed and then he bid her goodnight. That was it. It. It had been a strange ending to a strange night and honestly, they had both been caught up in a feeling of mutual curiosity, right? Yeah…yeah…that was all. A mistake to be ignored.
Maybe she shouldn't have kissed him, she couldn't even imagine how awkward this car ride would be the rest of the way to the airport. Would they even talk about it? Probably shouldn't. Just let it fade into the rest of the day's already hazy memory…
The bathroom door shut.
She blinked.
When had he gotten up?
Had she been that lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even seen him move—
Her eyes lit up with realization.
He wasn't in the room and she was. The violin cases were a few yards away from her, just teasing her with the information that might lay inside.
She sat up, the comforter around her shoulder falling into her lap, and quietly got to her feet. The cases were on the other side of the room, so she walked carefully around to Erik's side of the bed, failing to notice the mask that rested alone on the nightstand.
The cases were still stacked neatly against the chair, one on top of the other. She quickly knelt down beside of them, holding her breath as her hands shook in front of her.
She would have to be fast, there was no telling when he would be out of the bathroom.
The latches opened easily, clicking as she released each one. This was it, all she had to do was open the case and look at the back of the violin. Her trembling now stilled, she opened the case, staring at the neatly polished violin that lay inside. She had never seen her father's violin look this shiny, she was being ridiculous…but she wanted to be sure. Needed to know that she was being ridiculous so she could go to bed and get some peace. Once she'd confirmed that it wasn't her dad's…well, maybe she'd go back home to Washington after Christmas and check the house out for herself. It would still be there, in the closet he always kept it in…
But she had to be sure.
Had to be.
Gingerly, she picked it up out the case, wood smooth on her palms. Her fingers traced the strings, careful to not accidentally pluck one and alert Erik that she wasn't in bed.
She took a breath and turned it over.
No…
No, it couldn't…
But it was. Plain as the day she'd sat on her father's lap and carved it there:
Daaé
Her gasp came out as a strangled cry, one hand flying to cover her mouth and the other holding on for dear life to the neck of the instrument.
This was her father's violin.
This was her violin.
What was he doing with it? How had he gotten it? Had he stolen it? Had someone else stolen it and then he bought it? Or…or…
Her mind swam with questions, each one coming faster than the last one. Was the room spinning or just her thoughts? Why was her father's violin in this man's possession?
The bathroom door lock clicked, and the light from the bathroom shined a streak of light into the room, illuminating a path right where she sat.
Erik was going to discover that she was snooping around his things, but that fact seemed so unimportant at the moment. Let him see her, let him look her in the eye and tell her how he got her violin! The room was shaking before her, her fury building with each second that went by. Without standing, she clutched the violin to her chest, words already fuming out of her mouth.
"Where did you get this violin?"
His reply didn't come fast enough for her, so she instead whirled around to face him, still seated on the floor.
"Christine, no—"
"Tell me now or—"
But she didn't finish her sentence. The light of the bathroom gave the perfect silhouette of him in the doorway, but it was enough light for her to see.
See him.
She couldn't even find a voice in her scream.
To be continued...