The "surprise," as it turned out, was on the opposite side of town. That meant driving through the heart of the city, and through some of its more… undesirable neighborhoods.
As Raoul turned the corner, the streetlights dimmed and flickered over the cracked pavement. A wall of graffiti caught Christine's eye, muted splashes of color against the crumbling brick. Beside it, a shop sat shuttered and silent, its sign faded to near obscurity.
"Sorry about this," Raoul muttered beside her. "The place is already a bit of a detour, so I just picked the shortest route. Not exactly scenic."
Christine didn't say much to that. They had fallen into a comfortable enough silence, and she just shrugged, turning back to the window.
Because really, what was there to say?
That after they had parted ways as children, she had come to know these streets all too well?
No. Raoul didn't want to hear that.
"We can go in, if you want."
The voice, slow and calming, pulled Christine out of her daze. She looked up to see her father watching her, standing just a few steps back. Her gaze had latched onto the dusty window of a shop they used to visit. Inside, a long freezer still hummed, filled with a rainbow of half-melted ice cream tubs. A hand-painted sign was taped to the glass:Going Out of Business – Get it While You Can!
No, that's alright," Christine said, shaking her head. Money was tight. It always was.
She shifted the weight of her backpack and stepped carefully around a scattering of broken glass. Her father joined her wordlessly, his boots crunching behind her.
"You don't need to hold my hand," she muttered when he reached out. "I'm not a kid anymore."
Gus didn't argue. He just gave a faint nod and rested his hand briefly on her shoulder instead. Then, he let her walk ahead, keeping a careful distance as he lingered behind.
They passed a group of teenagers loitering outside the corner store, their laughter sharp and loud, posture lazy and confident in the way only boys with nothing and everything to prove could manage.
Christine kept her eyes down, gaze locked on the sidewalk. Until one of them noticed.
He leaned forward, grinning. "Hey, sweetheart! If you got rid of ol' pops there, I could show you a thing or two!"
Christine ignored them just as she ignored the twisting in her stomach. She glanced behind her and, without a word, reached for her father's hand. His fingers closed around hers instantly. Gus pulled her closer, shielding her with his body as they passed. He didn't look at the boy. Didn't need to.
"Don't listen to them, birdie." He whispered into her ear.
What she wouldn't give to be able to hold his hand again.
Raoul's low voice pulled her back to the present. "This place is awful."
She glanced over to find his jaw tight, his eyes flicking toward a liquor store with boarded-up windows. Its peeling sign sagged under the weak neon glow.
"It's like no one even tries anymore," he mumbled, shaking his head. "They just… let everything rot."
Christine frowned, finally turning to face him fully. "It's not always about trying," she said quietly. "Sometimes, people don't have much of a choice."
Her mind flashed to the old woman who had once been her neighbor.
Ms. Val.
She had been a kindly widow, her husband having passed of cancer years prior. The house they'd once shared was all she had left. Quiet, but warm, she used to slip Christine little pieces of chocolate when she thought her father wasn't looking.
Christine wondered, just for a moment, if she was still alive.
But the thought passed as quickly as it came.
Raoul's grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles paling against the dark leather. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, a softer but no less firm:
"I don't know. Just look at it. This place has been falling apart for decades. And it's only getting worse. No one can fix something like this. Not with the way the world's going. You can't fix something that nobody thinks is worth fixing."
Christine studied him, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in her chest.
He didn'tmeanto sound cruel. But he did. And she couldn't help the thought that formed in her mind.
Easy for you to say.
She was certain of that. But there was something to his tone, an edge that made her want to push back. To tell him he didn't understand. That not everyone had a safety net. That some people spent their whole lives simply treading water, hoping that the current wouldn't drag them under. It was easy to write off a place like this when you'd only ever seen it through a car window. When the streets were merely a detour, and not a dead end.
But the words caught in her throat. So instead, she swallowed them down, her fingers tightening slightly around her seatbelt. She looked out the window again, the distant shouts and faint flicker of police lights trying to pull her back into memories she'd long since buried.
"Hey," Raoul said, his voice softening as he glanced at her. He reached over, his fingers brushing hers with a small, reassuring squeeze. "You okay? We're almost there."
Christine forced a small smile, and hoped it was convincing. She squeezed back, light and brief, before pulling her hand away. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
Raoul watched her for a beat longer, and Christine braced herself for him to push further. But then the light turned green, and with a quiet sigh, he shifted his focus back to the road.
She could let it go. Focus on the present. It wasn't Raoul's fault. He didn't know. She hadn't told him.
He had known her as the daughter of an OSSAM scientist. What could she possibly know of hardship?
Eventually, the cracked, pitted roads gave way to smooth asphalt, and the scattered litter vanished from view. This part of the city was pristine, its sidewalks manicured and orderly. Flicking on the turn signal, the car guided itself into a sleek parking garage that spiraled several stories underground.
Christine glanced at him, taken aback by the sudden boyish expression on his face. The earlier tension lingered faintly at the edges, but Raoul, at least, had left it behind.
After they'd parked, the elevator ride was brief, but when the doors opened, Christine was taken aback by the view. They were at least thirty stories up, and the view of the city stretched out before her, almost intimidating in its breadth.
"This way," Raoul said, motioning her toward a set of double doors framed in frosted glass panels. A small, polished plaque to the side read:The Mirror.
As they neared the entrance, Christine shot him a look, lifting an eyebrow.
"Yeah, it's a bit pretentious, isn't it?" Raoul said, grinning as he pulled the door open.
Christine huffed a soft laugh, the sound surprising even herself. The joke slipped out before she could think better of it.
"I'm guessing thisisn'ta place for bad karaoke?"
"Depends on your definition of bad," Raoul replied. There was a shine in his eyes, a small flicker of relief. "But no, you won't hear any drunken renditions ofDancing Queenhere. Sorry to disappoint."
Raoul paused at the hostess' station, murmuring a few words before leading Christine into the main room.
The space beyond the doors was stunning. Warm, amber light spilled from crystal sconces, illuminating plush velvet chairs and low tables. The centerpiece of the room was a stage. Beside it, a grand piano gleamed under the soft glow of hanging Edison bulbs. A live band played, their music a smooth, jazzy undercurrent threading through the quiet murmur of conversation.
A curved bar stretched along one wall, its sleek, stainless steel surface polished to the point of reflection. Above it, shelves lined with bottles of every shape and color stretched up the wall, glowing faintly from hidden backlights. In the main area, servers moved effortlessly between tables, their steps as smooth as the music filling the air.
It should have been intimidating. The tailored suits, the glittering dresses, the soft flicker of candlelight over the curve of champagne glasses. But somehow, it wasn't. Maybe she was just too overwrought from the emotions of the day to feel it.
Either that, or it was the sake from earlier, having finally settled the edge of her anxieties.
There was a warmth here. Not just wealth. An easy hum of laughter, quiet conversation weaving through the layers of music.
Raoul, however, must have misread her silence as hesitation. He leaned in slightly. "Relax," he said. "You're perfect just as you are. And besides, it's not about them. Tonight, all I want is for you to be able to enjoy the performances."
Christine blinked, turning to him. "The performances?"
Raoul's grin widened, and he gestured toward the stage. "This place is invitation-only. The best singers in the city come here. And if you're up for it, I can pull a few strings. You could join them. That's the surprise."
At Christine's panicked stare, Raoul continued. "Or you can just sit back and enjoy. Totally up to you."
He paused, his expression softening as he took Christine's fingers in his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "But I'd love it if you did sing."
Christine's breath hitched as a memory surfaced. The little concerts she used to hold on the beach, her father strumming along on his guitar while she sang. Raoul had been there, three years her senior but somehow more captivated by her voice than by the other boys' games. She could still picture him sitting cross-legged in the sand, his blond hair catching the sunlight, watching her with quiet, wide-eyed wonder.
And now, here he was again. The grown-up version of that same boy. The years had refined him, added polish to his easy charm, but in this moment, with that familiar smile and that familiar warmth, she saw the Raoul she remembered.
But was she still that same little girl?
Once upon a time, singing had been as natural as breathing. Now, the idea was terrifying.
"I don't know, Raoul," she admitted softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I haven't sung anything meaningful in years. And definitely not in public."
"Then don't," he replied gently.
He offered a reassuring smile as then steered them towards the bar. He ordered something sweet and bubbly for her, whiskey for himself, and handed her the glass with an easy, familiar gesture.
Then he led her to a booth near the stage. It was secluded but close, upholstered in dark velvet and labeled with a small brass5affixed to the corner.
"We can just listen. No pressure."
Christine sank into the plush seat, glancing around the room. Everything about the lounge was perfectly catered, from the soft amber glow of the lights to the crystal-clear acoustics that carried every note of the band's melody.
"Raoul," she said, her voice tinged with awe, "how did you even arrange all this?"
Raoul shrugged, leaning back casually. "Company perk. OSSAM's always using this place to wine and dine clients and donors. Turns out the O.G. —Papa O'Pierce—was a big live music fan. This booth's been his since the place opened."
Christine raised a brow. "So is that what this is? AmIbeing wined and dined?"
"I'd never be so presumptuous."
"Oh?" she asked, lips curving. She realized a moment too late that her voice had come out more teasing than she had intended, and so she retreated behind the rim of her glass, suddenly shy. "Then what is this?"
Raoul, however, had caught the slip. He leaned in, just enough for her to make out the brown flecks in his green eyes.
"Just a humble man enjoying the perks of working for a billion-dollar company. What else could it be?"
He said it with a smile, his gaze flicking downward for the briefest moment, and with such unwavering confidence that, for a moment, Christine almost believed him. Shaking her head with a soft laugh, she let it go, choosing instead to simply enjoy the music as she nursed her cocktail.
Across from her, Raoul took a large swig of his drink. Christine blinked in surprise when he grimaced, clearly forcing it down.
"Are youforcingyourself to like single malt whiskey?" She could help but ask.
"Yep. I actually hate this stuff," He admitted, setting the glass down with a slight thud.
"Then why did you order it?"
Raoul shrugged, looking sheepish. "Philippe always orders one for both of us. "I think it's supposed to be a badge of honor or something. Suffering through this. And it just felt right, you know? Fits the atmosphere."
Christine shook her head in disbelief, a real laugh escaping her.
"So you torture yourself, even when he's not around to see it? Did it ever occur to you that maybe he actually likes it?"
Raoul gave a dramatic sigh. "Unfortunately, yes."
"And you could just… not drink it," Christine pointed out.
"That would be too easy," Raoul said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "Welcome to the crossroads of corporate life, and having a brother on the board. Always on the job."
Christine snorted, taking another small sip of her own drink as she contemplated the absurdity of Raoul training himself to like his.
The next half hour passed in a pleasant blur of conversation and melody. Raoul ordered them another round of drinks. This time, he ordered a beer, which he enjoyed much more. They sipped as one performer after another took the stage. Each voice was unique, some seasoned and professional, others raw with emotion.
By the time they finished their second round of drinks, Raoul was already flagging down a server. Christine might've protested if the warmth spreading through her had already quieted the impulse. The cocktails and the sake from dinner had certainly done their work. The tight coil of self-consciousness that had nagged at her all evening began to unravel. She leaned back into the booth, letting the velvet swallow her, and for the first time in weeks, she felt herself breathe.
When the drinks arrived, Christine tried to let herself savor this one as she became spellbound by the music. The swell of voices, the rich harmonies of the band, the acoustics that made every note feel like it wrapped around her.
Something flickered. Not quite a memory, but a sensation. Wind off the shoreline. The soft strum of a guitar. A promise, spoken time and time again, that her voice was meant to be shared.
It caught her off guard.
And before she knew it, she was leaning closer to Raoul, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.
"I'll do it."
Raoul's eyes lit up.
"Really?"
Christine nodded, the soft buzz in her veins lending her courage. "But you have to pick the song. If I pick, then I'm just going to overthink it and panic and ruin everything."
Raoul leaned back slightly, a mischievous look coming over him. "I know just the one."
"You better," she said, pointing at him. "I'm holding you fully accountable if this goes wrong." She took the rest of her drink and slammed it in one go, grimacing as she set the glass back down.
So much for her earlier thoughts of moderation.
Raoul chuckled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Oh, don't you worry, Chrissie. It's perfect."
He was gone for only a few minutes, speaking with one of the staff before making his way to the band. They nodded, seemingly in agreement, and when Raoul returned, his smile broke even wider than it had all evening.
"Alright, Little Lotte," he said, clearly delighted, "they're all ready for you."
Christine nearly balked at the old nickname, and in that instant, she knewexactlywhich song he'd chosen. Her stomach fluttered as realization set in.
"You didn't—"
"You told me to keep it a surprise," he said, shrugging innocently. "But I have a creeping suspicion you know exactly what it is."
Raoul probably thought that was reassuring.
It wasn't.
In fact, it made her want to bolt, and she cursed the wave of confidence that had buoyed her only moments earlier and was now crashing fast. Her eyes flicked toward the exit. She could still make a run for it.
But then she glanced back at Raoul. He was still smiling.
He was always smiling.
So instead of running, Christine drew a shaky breath, rose to her feet, and smoothed her palms over the fabric of her jeans. Raoul gave her an encouraging nudge towards the stage.
The band greeted her with warm smiles, one of the members gesturing to the microphone. The stage lights were softer than she'd expected, casting a golden glow over the polished wooden floor. Still, standing there, Christine felt exposed. Her fingers tightened around the mic stand.
Then the first few notes from the piano drifted through the air.
Christine closed her eyes, pressing back the tears that pricked at the corners. The memories stirred immediately, ones she had spent years trying to bury, lest they bury her. But she pushed those down and focused, careful not to miss her cue.
It was a simple tune, gentle and familiar. In her memories, it was always hummed rather than sung, but she knew the lyrics by heart. It never asked for brilliance or range, but it resonated in its quiet elegance.
Christine stole a glance in Raoul's direction and found him watching her. He'd moved to a small standing table near the stage, his earlier grin softened into something quieter and steadier. A silentI've got you.
She took a breath, shaky but deep, and tried to coax her heartbeat into something closer to steady.
Then she began.
Her voice wavered on the first line, thinner than she'd meant. A slight crack. A falter in pitch. She pushed forward, trying to find her footing, but each imperfection felt glaring to her, even as the band carried her along.
Gods, she couldn't do this. What had she been thinking?
The urge to step nearly overwhelmed her. But then, the chorus swelled, and she felt it. The faintest spark of the girl she used to be, burning just beneath the surface.
The same memory rose again: the sound of her father's guitar mixing with the swell of the sea, when singing had been a freedom and nothing could take that away from her. She saw her father's warm smile, always so proud.
Christine closed her eyes and leaned into the music, letting the lyrics guide her. Her voice wasn't what it used to be, her high note not quite as pure, the vibrato wobbling ever so slightly.
And they would notice. They would have to notice.
Let it breathe.
The thought suddenly entered her mind, not quite her own voice, but it was enough to strengthen her resolve before she could question where the voice had come from. And when Christine opened her eyes, no one looked critical. No one looked bored. The room was attentive, faces turned toward the stage, expressions soft with appreciation.
When Christine finished the last verse, her voice caught once more on a note she'd once delivered flawlessly, but she held it through to the end. It was imperfect, raw, and far from the performances she used to give.
Was she okay with that?
The applause that followed was polite and genuine, though not thunderous. A few people smiled her way, nodding in approval, while others returned to their conversations.
Christine stepped back from the mic. It was an odd feeling, one she didn't quite recognize, as she steered back towards Raoul. A strange melancholy, a bittersweet realization of how much she had lost, and an uncertainly if she was ever going to find it again.
She returned to Raoul, her cheeks warm.
"You were incredible," Raoul said, coming around the table as she approached. He gave her shoulders a light squeeze as she rejoined him.
Christine shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "I was rusty. It wasn't… great."
"No, it was beautiful. Truly." Raoul's voice was steady, leaving no room for doubt as he took her hand, guiding her gently back toward the booth.
As they turned, however, Christine stopped abruptly. Her breath caught in her throat. Their booth was no longer empty.
And with growing panic, she realized that every single one of them was staring directly at her.
I hope y'all are enjoying the story. I would love to hear any thoughts, if you are so inclined. They mean a lot! Next up, maybe another glimpse of our favorite skeleton man? Who knows.
