Chapter 5

When the morning's sun rose and shined through the sheer curtains in Christine's room, the sleeping girl awakened from her dreamless slumber, and groaned at the sun's blinding light. Every night, before the last bit of her consciousness was taken over by exhaustion, she secretly hoped that, when she fell asleep, she would not awaken in the morning. And, every morning, she was met with utter disappointment when she left her unconscious state to painful reality. She wanted to sleep and never wake up, only living in her dreams where there was no more pain and suffering. She simply wished to not exist. In this reality, Christine felt cold emptiness consume her, and felt little to nothing except the deep lurking sorrow that never seemed to fade away. Her life was always on auto-pilot.

But, this morning, she felt different. For once, she did not linger in her bed longer than necessary contemplating never leaving the warm cocoon of soft blankets. She felt mildly fulfilled to be alive; a feeling she had not felt in ages. She rolled onto her back, and felt this desire to bask in the sunlight never to leave its golden rays that fought off the darkness inside her hollowed self. She sat up and pushed the blankets off her nearly naked body causing tiny bumps to raise from her skin, and assessed the damage from last night.

She felt grungy and uncivilized with her hair in a tangle and the dirt and salt, from walking barefoot, still stuck to her feet after last night's turmoil. A hot shower could easily remedy her situation, so she headed to her bathroom and stripped off her undergarments. She had not even bothered to put on pajamas after removing Meg's dress, and she realized, with cold dread, that it was a possibility that she was being watched.

She needed to be more careful.

She should have stayed with Meg last night just in case he decided to return. Whether or not he was a manifestation of her grief, exhaustion, or a tangible being, he seemed to cease his visits when she was around others. He only revealed himself to her, which did not help Christine convince herself that she wasn't losing her mind.

She remembered her arm and glanced down at the small bruises where he gripped her too tightly. Just to make sure, she placed her hand over the bruises and confirmed that it was not her hand print and she was not unknowingly self-harming herself. The fingers were remarkably long and wide. Evidently, from the music he sent her and the interest in her voice, he was some sort of a musician and composer with very elegant piano hands. A very unearthly musician and composer, that is.

She half-jokingly thought of him as the angel her father promised her so long ago. No, more like a demon. Even if she did still hold onto her Christian beliefs, she would not have believed her father sent her this dark creature after her. That would just be plain rude of her dad. She turned the knob in the shower to a scalding hot temperature before stepping through the plastic curtains. She hissed in slight pain and began to furiously scrub off the grime, and dirt.

Especially where he touched her.

Her skin was tinged an angry red and felt sensitive after the rough exfoliation, but she ignored it. She wanted to erase everything that happened last night even if her skin cried out in hatred for her mis-treatment. She wrapped herself in an old worn towel, and set out to get dressed in her work uniform. She worked at a small locally owned restaurant in an old building that was once bustling and thriving. Now, it was quieter, and carried an old wood smell that never seemed to fade away. Her manager, Frank, was a sweet older gentlemen who accommodated his employees as much as possible, and his cheerfulness never seemed to run out. He had always been accepting of Christine's hectic school schedule, and let her take off during her finals when she needed.

Now that finals were over, she needed to get back to work and make up for all the lost hours. More than ever she needed to keep with her planned schedule, and take comfort in its familiarity. Later, she would have to push herself through exhaustion and make preparations for her audition on Monday regardless of how soft her bed looked.

But first, she needed to resolve her choice in music.

She dearly loved her old Swedish song, and held it close to her heart along with her childhood memories. She could almost feel the sunshine and smell the salty ocean every time she hummed the first measure. But, there was that untitled piece. That beautifully pure piece that could never have been spurred from this disgustingly hateful and cruel world. She could not forget the melody no matter how often she tried. It had lured her into a pretense of beauty and security, but did not hesitate to betray her trust and hook its grimly claws into her soul when she came too close.

She was addicted.

Christine knew that the music, no, his music was dangerous, and she was getting too close to the burning flame. But, time and time again she would find herself humming the composition when her mind wandered elsewhere.

Yes, last night he had let her go. However, Christine had this gut wrenching feeling that it was all an illusion and that she was a prisoner inside a glass cage.

Always being watched, being controlled.

Which is why she could not audition with his music. She had to refuse. If she should choose him, would she be signing away her life? Was this all a test?

Her mind was vigorously distracted all morning, and within the first hour of her shift, she was put under silverware wrapping duty.

"It's not a punishment, Christine." Frank insisted. "But, you've burned through two of my oven mitts."

They were short a cook today, and Christine found herself helping out in the kitchen in between waiting tables. Helping may not have been the correct word since she was carelessly forgetting things on top of the very hot, industrial stove. Her mind was just not too concerned about oven mitts.

"Are you sure you want me around knives, then? I could very well end up stabbing myself in the eye."

"If you manage to seriously harm yourself with a butter knife, on accident, I would be very impressed."

Frank always jokingly bantered with his employees to lift the employer to employee strain. He wanted to make sure his staff would never be afraid to talk with him about issues whether they have to do with the restaurant or not. It made his employees respect him more and go out on a limb to help him out around the restaurant. Which is part of the reason why she agreed to do a double shift after a co-worker called in seriously ill. Nobody likes a sick waitress around their food, anyway. There are health codes for that.

Christine wasn't exactly in perfect shape after all that wine last night, but she couldn't say no to extra money when it was offered. Plus, she felt bad for Frank since he was always stuck here from open to close. Oh, the perks of owning a small business.

Besides, mornings between the early breakfast crowd and the tremendously busier lunch hoard, were typically dull, and Frank let his college employers do some homework during the wait. Once lunch time hit, it typically smoothed over into the dinner without any large gaps. It always went by quickly when she had something to do, but it was very physically and mentally exhausting by the end of the day.

When she got home later in the evening, she warmed up some food from the restaurant, that she was always welcomed to take home, and took it to her room. She nibbled on the end of her plastic fork as she looked over her audition piece.

The Swedish song, her original piece, that is. Most certainly not the mystery composer's.

Meg was not at home, as per usual, so she was not afraid to drag her old keyboard out from the back of her closet. She took a few piano lessons when she was younger to become quite familiar with the keys in order to strike out a few notes she was not sure about. Her father insisted that she learn to play another instrument, and quickly stuck her in piano classes after she failed many of his violin lessons. She could never draw the bow in a straight line, and get her other fingers moving at the same time. Christine would by no means consider herself a concert pianist, but it was nice to have an accompaniment while practicing scales. Most Vocal Performance majors can't even find middle C, and always relied on their tutors to wring out those particularly sharp or flat notes. She couldn't exactly afford a private tutor like her classmates, but she always preferred to rely on herself, anyway.

She warmed up with a few scales and began picking apart the piece she was working on, making sure to take notes when necessary. The other piece was securely hidden in one of her desk's drawers underneath a bunch of old school papers where she could not accidently stumble upon it. It was in a place where she could easily forget its entire existence. However, it seemed that the damnable thing was alive and calling out to her from across the room. She could feel its pulse, hear its heart beat, and it was yearning to be opened and caressed with her sweet voice.

It was begging her, pleading with her to open the drawer.

And, Christine had half the mind to throw the thing out the window! She had to do the Swedish piece, she had to! It was her choice, and her choice alone. She would not be frightened, or coerced into doing anything that wasn't her decision.

But, looking couldn't hurt, right?

She glanced around the room with paranoia associated with committing a crime rather than opening up a drawer to her own desk. It was a matter of her own pride. That ghost of a man, that shadow thing would not make the decisions for her. She was only going to look at it with a critical eye, this time.

Christine set her papers down, and innocently walked over to the desk taking a couple of glances over her shoulder. The feeling of always being watched never went away, and despite being on the top floor, it still didn't settle her uneasiness.

She opened the bottom drawer and moved around old algebra and music theory papers before her fingers brushed over the smooth leather. She pulled out the folder, and walked back to her keyboard, which was using the bed as a stand. She pulled out the sheet music and propped the pages up on the cheap, plastic music stand attached to the keyboard. She slowly studied each page with a trained eye, playing a few chords from the keyboard. She hummed to it, then rolled the lyrics out on her tongue to get a feel of the rhythm. She studied it, played out the melody, sang it, and she could not find a single thing wrong with it.

It was unmitigated perfection.

She sang it without the crutch of her keyboard this time. The melody was reaching inside her, pulling out things she had long ago repressed, and drawing it out into the song. It was making her feel things. Things she locked away because she could not bear the raw emotions to reside heavily on her shoulders any longer. Those feelings had broken her long ago, and put her in a dark place she promised herself to never go back to.

She could not face those demons right now.

"I'm not ready for this." She said, abruptly breaking from her song. She snatched the papers from the stand, hustled them back into the leather folder, and shoved the damned thing back in her desk's drawer with the intention of never looking at it again. For the rest of the night, she worked on perfecting her original audition piece, not once thinking about elephant locked in her drawer, so to speak. When she exhausted her voice, she made a cup of tea to soothe the mild soreness, and lulled off to sleep.