Peter
Peter ushered Priscilla into the house. She was led into a room filled with trophies. He directed her to the bathroom to wash the blood off her body.
She took off her clothes and placed them in the washing machine at the corner of the bathroom before stepping under the shower. The water felt warm and soothing. She washed the blood off her body and watched it flow down the drain. She stayed under the shower for a few more minutes to enjoy the warmth.
“Change into this pajama when you are done bathing,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied.
She was already worried initially about changing into the bloodied clothes and kind of nervous to ask him for one of his.
She stepped out of the bathroom dripping wet. There was a neatly folded pajama on the bed. She quickly changed into it. It was quite big and comfy. The familiar smell of cinnamon and citrus enveloped her. She stepped out of the room and saw him sitting calmly in the living room. She also saw Lucy sleeping gracefully on the couch. Her heart sank even further. He traced her vision and saw what she was looking at.
“Hey. You good?”
“I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”
“I just want to sleep.”
“Fine. We will talk about it in the morning.”
“You can sleep in my room and I would sleep in another,” he said, pointing to another room.
“Feel free to knock if you need anything.”
She nodded, and watched h close the door behind him.
She kept the lights on and laid on the bed. She tried to shut her eyes, and every time she did, the picture of the scene flooded her head.
She tried to force herself to sleep on two occasions and had a bad dream on each occasion. She saw her mom murdered and covered like Max in one, and herself in the same position, murdered, in the other. It was really scary and blood-curdling. It increased her phobia even further.
She gave up. She would keep her eyes wide open till daybreak if she had to. She sat up, feeling thirsty. She noticed the framed picture on his dresser. It was the picture they took at the shelter. She traced Max with her fingers. He looked so cute and innocent. She wondered what sick psycho could have done it.
She was having a hard time believing it was or wasn’t David. He had always been volatile, and thinking back, it was always a known fact how much he hated pets. He said it quite often and also knew how much she loved pets and how she often became emotionally attached to them. She stepped out of the bed and walked out of the room. She tried to scan for where the refrigerator or kitchen was.
She heard a piano playing softly and quietly. She traced it to the room he said he would sleep in earlier. She knocked on the door softly once, then again, this time louder. She heard the piano stop and footsteps approaching the door.
He opened the door.
“Hey,” she said.
“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? I thought I was playing quiet enough,” he said with genuine concern written all over his face.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’ve been awake for quite a while trying to find the refrigerator. I’m thirsty.”
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“Oh.”
“Let’s get you something to drink then,” he said, stepping out of the room.
“Do you want juice or water?”
“Water is fine.”
He nodded and walked towards the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and brought out two bottles of water.
“Drink one now and the other later if you get thirsty again,” he said, handing her the two bottles of water.
“Thanks,” she said.
“No problem.”
She gulped the water thirstily while he watched on.
“Time to get you back to sleep,” he said.
She summoned the courage to ask.
“Can I come in and watch you play?”
“I keep having bad dreams and I’m scared to go back to sleep or be alone.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
She’d said this word to him awfully a lot since she met him. She was always in his favor. She sighed.
She sat on the bed while clinging on to the bottled water and watched him play.
He was so concentrated as he punched the keys harmoniously to bring out one of the most amazing tunes she had ever listened to. She watched as his muscles contracted and relaxed to create the beautiful melody. He finally relaxed after bringing the tune to an end.
He turned to her.
“How was that?” he said.
“The most beautiful tune I have ever heard.”
“A deliberate overstatement or not, I will take it as a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
He nodded.
“Which piece is that?” she asked.
“A Maid with Flaxen Hair by Richard Stoltzman,” he replied.
“A Maid with Flaxen Hair?”
“Yeah.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful piece of music.”
“It really is,” he said, nodding.
“So why are you up playing the piano at this hour? It’s past 3 AM. Why are you not asleep?”
“Not sleepy, I guess.”
“I have been having a hard time sleeping.”
“Why? Are you ill?”
“Not at all.”
“So, why?”
“Your mom?”
She waited for a muted response. He had always said he didn’t want to talk about it.
“How did you know?”
“But yeah, I guess so.”
“I’ve been there.”
“You know, it’s okay to talk about her when you miss her. A loved one dies twice when you refuse to talk about them. Talk about her and reminisce about your good times with her.”
“I barely made any moments to reminisce about with her. I was so focused on living out the coolest teenage life I didn’t realize how much I missed with her. I ignored her totally despite her many attempts to reach out. I was rather concerned with when the next football match was and the chance to be ogled at by hot chicks. I was completely oblivious to her solitary life and deteriorating health.”
“Is that why you stopped playing football?”
“I guess so.”
“And abandoned your social lifestyle for a complete loner’s life.”
“More or less.”
“You are allowing your guilt to eat you inside out.”
“I probably deserve it.”
“Your mom wouldn’t want the sad and lonely life you’ve subjected yourself to.”
“I don’t even know what to make of that.”
“Time robs us of good memories of our loved ones.”
“I am afraid I would lose the little I have of her quite faster if I don’t hold on to it hard enough.”
“You think you’d hold on harder to it by being alone and avoiding everyone?” she asked.
“I don’t avoid everyone though. I also like being in your company,” he said solemnly.
“I like being in yours too,” she replied.
“You know, having strong memories about someone isn’t what is in your head but your heart.”
“You will never forget her if you don’t want to, by resuming your normal life.”
“You are probably right.”
“But trust me, it’s better for me this way.”
“But I’m beginning to like it this way. Having a limited number of people as friends wasn’t as bad as I thought. Always being the center of attention often more than not makes one deluded and lose touch with what reality is about.”
“I can relate to that,” she said.
He nodded.
“What about your dad?” she asked.
“He barely stays around. He is mostly on his business trips.”
“Wow. You sleep and wake in this big house alone.”
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh.
“You know, it’s more reason not to stay alone and be gloomy.”
“You should try being socially active again and do the things you love.”
“Your mom would have loved to see you happy and not otherwise because of her.”
“Yeah, I would try to,” he replied.
He was silent for a moment and stared at her.
“You should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long, stressful day.”
She dreaded going back to sleep alone.
“Can I sleep here with you?” she asked. “I’m scared of going back to sleep alone.”
He looked astounded.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She climbed the big bed to sleep and rested her head on the soft pillow. She listened to him play the piano faintly while she slipped slowly to the land of sleep.
She woke up subconsciously to him covering her body with a piece of blanket. She pretended to be asleep not to ruin the moment .
She felt the bed creak softly as he laid on the edge, quietly trying his best not to wake her. She listened to his rhythmic inhalation and exhalation. She slowly lost consciousness of her surroundings till the world came to a standstill.
