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Euphoria

Chapter 12: Doubt

Author's note: Do you want the good news or the bad news? The bad news is, it's taken me FOUR YEARS to update this fanfic. That's a helluva long time and I'm sorry for letting you amazing readers down. I could make excuses about life and such, but I won't. I'm a bad person. But I'm in a good place now and that time has been (mostly) well spent. The good news? I'm a persistent mofo. I'm going to finish this thing no matter what it takes. And the REALLY good news? I've already finished the next two chapters and have mostly written the final two.

That means all I have to do is proofread 'em, double-check 'em and do any final edits. I'm planning on putting a new chapter live once very couple of weeks until we get to the end. Here's my promise to you: Euphoria will be completed before the end of 2016! You have four chapters left to go. Buckle up.

If you're still reading this, YOU'RE a persistent mofo. And I love you. Nahman forever.

Tuesday

10:03 am

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At first there was nothing to see, only sound.

A sound growing and flowing like honey, thickening into a melody big enough to fill a universe. When the world slowly began to emerge out of the darkness it started with shade on shade, black shadows glinting over black bars. Black piano keys. Then came the white keys, then the piano, then the pianist.

Melissa was stood in a large room with a tiled floor. It was full of darkness and dust. She did not notice any more than that. The piano, big as a mountain, stood in front of her, with Norman sat at its head like a king or a priest or a judge on a pedestal.

He moved his hands and music was made. He did not look down at her. He was busy with the keys, so deep in concentration it was almost like slumber. The sound came and wrapped itself around her. It was a lilting, dulcet melody, circular and eternal, forever looping back on itself, renewing its mellifluous cycle. The high notes of the piano were lucid and bright and fleeting, trembling up and down rainbow scales, so utterly sweet they became almost sad, and the subdued lower chords, as constant as the rolling ocean, anchored them to the harmony before they could fly away into the sun. On and on he played.

She stood paralysed by something celestial. As he continued to play, soaring across the piano with feathered fingers, the perfect sound made a shroud around her as deep as the darkness in the long room. It was like he had looked right into her soul and plucked the orb of her essence and made it sing, as though he had known her his whole life.

The music – it was speaking to her with a golden voice.

Melissa stood with her hands by her sides, feeling that her heart could be filled no more, thinking she was going to cry. Just as she sensed her centre being pierced so precisely that it was akin to a shaft of blazing sunlight carving through her chest, the seraphic piece came to a climax, trilling and reverberating, the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, before dwindling to a hushed end. His hands dwelled over the keys, reluctant to leave. The final radiant tones vanished into the air as if they had never even existed and all that was left in the room were the shadows.

She had to take several moments just to learn to breathe again. "You wrote that?"

He nodded. "It's called Melissa's theme."

Then he stood up at the head of the piano, towering above her, and its heavy hard surface reminded her of a chopping block. She could see the marks etched into it now. Norman raised his hand and in it was held a giant axe. He swung in an arc over the piano, on a collision course towards her, and the splintering of wood and the black and white keys flying everywhere was the last thing she saw before it hit her.

Melissa jolted herself awake.

The sunlight was the first thing she noticed. The sun was high and slanting through a break in the curtain. Shards of brightness fell gently over everything in the room, swimming into her vision like dust from the wings of an angel.

Everything was pleasantly warm. They were still positioned where they had laid down last night, Melissa on one side of the bed and Norman on the other. She glanced at him now. His back was turned to her, and the soft breathing coming from his still frame told her that he was asleep. They were both clothed. Norman's shirt was badly crumpled.

She got up slowly. The matted carpet underfoot was temperate on the soles of her feet. With the combined warmth of their slumber, their hot humid breaths, their body heat, the room had turned balmy overnight. It was hard to believe that outside it would still be winter.

The first thing Melissa did was head to the bathroom sink. Cupping her hand over the faucet, she raised the icy liquid to her lips. Dirty motel water had never tasted so sweet. Running cold hands across her face, she caught sight of her wrist watch. It was 10 o'clock already. I guess we're not getting to work on time today.

When she returned to the bedroom, Norman was sitting up and rubbing his forehead. She stood and waited for him to catch sight of her. He did, and smiling sheepishly, patted the bed next to him in an invitation for her to sit down. She took it.

"So," she said. The room was full of golden light.

"So," he replied, slower. He glanced sidelong at her, as she sat gazing at the wall. She was deep in thought. She looked disheveled from the night before: her hair was a mess and some of her mascara had rubbed off around her eyes. A halo of light was streaming in through the window and surrounding her. Norman thought she was beautiful, like a butterfly with her day in the sun.

"I think we should stay here today," he managed to say.

Melissa looked at him.

"I don't want to go back. I shouldn't have told you what I did. I shouldn't have shown you that video. They're looking for me, and now they'll be looking for you too. I've put you in danger, and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight, not that that's any excuse. God, I am sorry. This wasn't how I wanted any of this to happen, but... I'm glad you're here." He picked at the bed sheet, avoiding her eye. "I know you don't have much of a choice. Will you help me?"

"Yes," she said, almost without pause. He looked up to see her gazing at him intently, her eyes glowing bright like the sunlight. He had to look away from the intensity.

The bed shifted beside him as she stood up. He could tell from the pad of her footsteps on the dirty carpet that she was pacing the floor.

"If we really want to do this," she began, to the beat of the padding, "if we really want to take on the FBI - mad as that sounds - we need to start somewhere. Do we have any leads, apart from the video from your strange informant? How high up do we think this goes?"

Norman looked down at his fingers interlaced in his lap. "No other leads. Not any I can think of, anyway. Raine might know more, but if he does, he's not ready to share it with me yet. But I doubt it somehow. I get the feeling the guy's putting all his eggs in one basket."

He looked up to see Melissa watching him. Without really meaning to, Norman began to smile. She smiled back. They were a little shy, but excited too. It felt real, and right, to finally be doing this, to be speaking up about the black cloud that had been following them around for so long. For Norman it was like a break in the rain after a thunderstorm, and all he could do was hope it lasted long enough for him to dry out.

"Is it really that obvious I'm on Tripto?" he said suddenly.

She watched him without saying a word.

He sighed and got up. "Yesterday you asked if I was on drugs, before I'd even told you anything. It was like you'd been wanting to ask ever since we met. Is it that obvious?"

Melissa hadn't realised she'd been tensing. But she felt her muscles relax as he stared at her, so plaintive, so dejected in his creased shirt and last night's sweat. She had never seen him so small. It was almost painful. For some reason she felt an overwhelming urge to go and touch him.

"Well," she began, "there were symptoms. Signs. I know enough about addictive drugs to spot that something was wrong. Yes, I was suspicious."

He nodded, trying to accept the fact, but without really understanding what it meant. The room suddenly seemed a lot cooler. Moving over to the scratched and pockmarked table to pick up the jacket he'd thrown there the night before, Norman chanced a glance through the curtains out of the room's front window. The parking lot was devoid of life. Turning back to face his partner, Norman shrugged on his jacket and deliberated the empty, weightless feeling he was experiencing, almost like he was floating just above the ground. It seemed that, if he could just find something to anchor himself to, he might be able to claw his way back to earth.

"Should we call HQ to explain why we're not there?" said Melissa. She was leaning over the bed and rummaging in her bag.

"An excuse," Norman said. "Like skipping a day of school. I like it."

Melissa was dialling already. She finished and handed the phone to Norman. "Forrester," she explained.

Jayden shot her a glance.

"Hey, he's your boss."

He held the phone to his ear. After one ring it picked up.

"Forrester, FBI."

"Sir. It's Agent Jayden."

"Jayden! Where the hell are you and Donahue?"

"We're working on the case away from the office today, sir."

"Whatever the fuck you're doing, it better be good. While you've both been dawdling we've already lost the only lead of the damned case."

"Sir?"

"Abbot's dead. The guy you visited. They found his throat slit on the docklands this morning."

Norman felt his tongue like a dead weight in his mouth. He was rapidly plummeting to earth now.

"What I'm saying is, get the fuck on with it. You're both professionals but this case is making you look like a couple of idiot graduates. I want another lead by the end of the day."

The line went dead. Jayden threw the phone onto the bed.

"What did he say, Norman? Norman?"

Norman took a step back. The air was cold around him and the light at the window had gone dark.

"Chris Abbot is dead," he said.

"What?"

He cleared it throat. "Chris Abbot is dead and it's all my fault. It's all my fucking goddamn fault."

Melissa didn't know how to react. Norman was staring down at his hands, his eyes glassy, his breathing shallow. She took a step towards him. His head snapped up to meet her eyes, and their stares tussled briefly. Don't do this, Norman.

"I need to get out of here." He was shaking his head. Before she could grab hold of him he had swung for the door, yanked it open and dashed outside.

Melissa made it to the threshold and halted. It was pouring. The sky was split with ribbons of filthy grey clouds, only a hint of blue sky fading into the distance, and it had started to rain. How she hadn't noticed she didn't know, because it was drumming on everything in sight like an army regiment. Jayden was halfway down the stairs and soaked already. Melissa clenched her fists and ran out after him.

"Where are you going?" she yelled. She wasn't sure he'd hear over the sound of rain on metal, concrete, glass. Within seconds her skin was ice-cold to the bone, her hair slicked to her face.

He made it to her car in the middle of the parking lot and then seemed to falter. Leaning against the hood, he stared all around him, as if searching for a bright neon exit sign somewhere in the haze. He was digging in his pocket now, and she knew for what. Rain was bouncing off him in waves.

Melissa reached him and grabbed a hold of his soaked arm. Norman raised his eyes to her. The look in them almost made her want to let go.

"Don't do this, Norman."

He pulled himself free from her.

"Norman," she said, louder this time.

He raised his head to the sky. Rain was pouring down his face, burrowing under his shirt, dripping from his sleeves. He let the feeling overwhelm him, like his body was nothing more than a stream of running water that could just drain away. Dropping his head, he opened his palms until the glassy needles of rain removed all feeling from them. He felt the words bubbling from him before he could comprehend them.

"The people we're supposed to be protecting - we're supposed to be - and all I wanted to do - and this fucking bureau doesn't help, it makes everything worse. It fucks up every damn thing it touches."

A painful smile crossed his lips. He was blinking rapidly, and Melissa could see the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. She was suddenly aware of how cold she was.

They both looked like drowned rats. Her shoes were filled with water and his shirt collar was plastered to his skin. She took a hold of his arm again, and found her way to his hand. She held it tightly despite the wetness. Taking one step closer, she could feel the damp heat of his breath on her soaked skin. Before he could protest she pulled him towards her and wrapped her arms around him, taking in the feel of his trembling arms and his hard chest under the sodden clothes.

For a time they stood like that, in front of her car, with the rain still pattering down on their heads. Though he could not tell it, Melissa heard Norman's heartbeat loud in her ear. And although she could not see it, Norman had closed his eyes, and his face looked almost peaceful. In the sky a hint of blue remained.