Page 20 of Stutter

But him? Lex?

The man who found me after I’d been assaulted, locked in a locker, and left for dead for sixty-five hours? The man whosheltered me with the jacket dangling from my arm from nosey paparazzi?

Suffice it to say I’ve been a coward. Because seeing him makes it all more real. He slips a key but continues as if he hadn’t, shoulders hunched, head tilting side to side, lost in the music flowing through him. It’s magic, to watch a musician play and get lost in their own world. I spot a violin in an open case, probably his. Setting the jacket on a chair, I slip quietly through and grab it, balancing it on my shoulder, tucking it beneath my chin, dragging the bow after placing my fingers on the proper strings, and play along.

It’s a little late for a jam session, I guess. But it’s better late than never. He eyes me and inhales sharply, never stopping, never faltering. Just plays with more emotion. Even when the song is over, he loops it one last time, chocolate eyes glassy behind his glasses, blinking rapidly. We play and play until we’re both in tears and our fingers hurt.

He's bald now.

He looks tired.

Older.

He finally stops, unmoving, and then sighs, like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and then looks up, searching the ceiling for… who knows what. If he’s looking for angels, he is one. If I never believed in them, he made me a believer.

Days in that fucking locker I thought my shadow would come for me. Save me. Help me. I mean it watched over me for years and when I actually needed my shadow to take me away, it failed me. Instead, it was-

“Raven.” My name is hoarse on Lex’s lips, full of emotion and gratitude, and if I could speak full sentences without over-exerting my vocal cords, his name on mine would sound the same.

I put the violin away, grab the jacket I left on the chair, and step slowly toward him but instead of reaching for his jacket, he pulls me in for a hug. It’s tight and fatherly and he still smellslike cloves and spice. There are no haunting memories for me when I look at him, only warmth and gratitude.

“I heard you were back on campus; I hoped you’d come to see me.”

I point to my throat.

He frowns. I don’t like it. “I see. You let them take away your voice.”

‘Let’ is a strong word. I want to say. But I don’t. I just blink back more tears.

He eyes me, up and down, and then frowns again when he catches the jacket in my hand. I can see the memories fluttering behind his eyes. How he saw me. Covered in my own blood and filth, tied up and gagged, throwing this goddamn jacket over me in a failed attempt to protect my modesty. He shakes his head. “I gave that to you.”

This jacket was a physical reminder of the worst day of my life. The day I was so wonderfully found only to die for a full minute and seventeen seconds once I reached the hospital - something that the tabloids were never told and who was I to tell anyone?

Who was I to say, “I died… and Ilovedit?”

I always felt my shadow, always felt that ticking time bomb over my head, telling me I’d be going soon and I had welcomed it. I had…acceptedI was going to die. But when I died, it wasn’t incredible. It wasn’t some otherworldly experience, and all I remember is feeling safe, feeling warm, comfortable… and not alone.

It's not something you can tell anyone, I was scared they were going to throw me in Lorne Wood Falls’ Mental Institution… but they did that anyway only a few days later when that nurse grabbed my wrist which hadn’t healed yet from being held tightly by zip-ties and they dubbed me an unfit patient, prone to violent, psychotic fits due to PTSD.

I wonder why.

I make a show of holding the jacket a little closer to my chest in a hug and a faint smile ghosts my lips. I reach out and place a hand on Lex’s shoulder and squeeze then let it drop. Iknew he had to speak with the police after he found me and was taken in as a suspect until the cameras showed the four masked figures entering the building.Thisbuilding.

“It took me a long time to come back here, too, you know?”

I did know. But I let him keep talking.

“I couldn’t face coming in here… I tried to keep you safe but they still got pictures of you. The one time I didn’t have my hearing aid turned on all the way up… you needed me.” He shakes his head as if shaking away his memories. “And now bodies are dropping…” He looks up at me, brown eyes dark and full of wisdom, putting it all together but there’s no judgement in his eyes, more like…pride, and he simply nods. “Never liked those Prescott boys. The Whitmore boy… his wife…” He grimaces, the crinkles around his eyes more prominent, then Lex shakes his head, still staring at me. “I’m old, sweet girl, but I remember a lot.”

It’s true. Lex was a prodigy and what makes him incredible is that he has an eidetic and echoic memory. He can hear or see something once and remember it immediately.

“You were meant to get out of here and fly, blackbird. Far away. Berklee… Julliard… away from your parents and your stepbrother…” He shakes his head again and sighs, taking my hand and squeezing it. “You do what you have to and then never come back here. Do you understand? The people here… they’ll be out for blood.”

I take a step back. I do know. They’re getting closer and I can feel it. But in the meantime… I lie the jacket back down on the nearest chair and swing my backpack around to my front, pulling out a binder. And take out the six sheets of music full of notes, front and back. The entire reason I had Jonas bring me to school with him while he went to practice this early. Lex only cleans the music hall before classes and after. Never throughout the day. It's why I hadn't bumped into him sooner. Why it was easier to avoid him.

“What’s this?”

I point to the piano and grab my cello case, popping the lid and hauling it out.

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