Chapter Six
The pentatonic scale consists of five notes.
A component of music, most common to jazz, blues and folk music. There is no wrong note in the pentatonic scale; no matter which key you hit, you know it's going to sound stellar.
Life doesn't come with a pentatonic scale.
One day, you will hit that wrong note.
It's not the wrong note.
It's the note you were going to hit all along.
It starts off on a deserted island. The skeletal structure – with the exception of the roof – of the luxury villa is complete, but it lacks the creature comforts that would turn a house into a home. The only complete structure – with a roof and all – right now is Sick Bay.
One such luxury is the electric blue grand piano.
The doorways to the villa are too narrow for the piano to fit through right side up, and they are too short for the piano if it's flipped on its side. It is this predicament that has led to the middle son strapping his baby to a crane and ordering his eldest brother to gently drop it through the open roof into what would be the lounge.
It seems eccentric, almost ridiculous to go to such lengths, but with money burning a hole in their pocket, I imagine they can justify why they bought a crane in the first place.
Everything good to go, Virg?
The chestnut haired one stands on the inside and flips the darker haired edition of himself a thumbs up.
The crane manoeuvres into the right spot and slowly inches the piano down, following the calls from the middle brother. The piano jerks wildly, a puppet on a string. The strings are weak. The ties that hold the piano in place begin to snap.
It happens in a flash.
A blur of blue, and the piano catapults towards the ground. The middle brother remains rooted to the spot, staring up in abject horror at his beloved piano hurtling towards him.
There is a sickening crunch, his neck collapsing in on his spine and the paper doll he is crumples to the ground. There is a laceration to his skull, bleeding profusely. There is pandemonium as everyone reacts to the catastrophe, flying in from all directions.
Virg, Virg, can you hear me?
It is the panicked voice of the eldest brother. Disbelief laces his tone, as if he could not understand how things have gone so wrong.
I'm sorry. I should have been able to get you out of the way.
He forgets the fact that he was inside the crane cab when it happened.
Spinal board and neck brace, Alan.
It is the father issuing out orders.
John, alert Brains down in Sick Bay and start sterilising equipment. Gordon, get on the phone to the doctor. Have him fly out here immediately, and then keep Scott away. He'll hover and fret, and that won't help Virgil.
Blood drips to the floor, a red carpet for me to walk on. I kneel down beside him and he sees me. There is a glimmer of recognition in his face; after all, this is not the first time I have come for him. His eyebrows knit together to form a monobrow and his caramel eyes harden. He dares me.
Challenge accepted.
He puts up a fight. Four years later, and he's still as strong as he ever was.
I concede defeat when I realise his will is more powerful than my cast iron one, not to mention the fact that he bites down – canines are extremely sharp – on my hand as I grab him. His will must be made out of stainless steel, or titanium.
I shirk my hand away from him and stare him down.
Next time, I tell him.
Next time.