Page 1 of The Pawn
1
ALLEGRA
The smell of red wine makes me sick. I have a visceral reaction to the scent and it’s something I’ve had to work to get under control. I’ve been able to do it for the most part. The sound of a piano playing, though? That will always trigger a memory in me. Always leave me with a feeling of dread, no matter how pretty the music.
Too much bitter for any sweet.
This feeling is worse. Because the worst is yet to come.
That dread is like a disease, a cancer spreading black in your insides, pushing everything else out. Leaving no room for anything but it.
Someone’s playing now. An old tune, one I know well, with a constant, repeating melody.
A dark tune.
It’s starts up again. Back at the beginning.
My heart hurts to hear it.
Fingers on a keyboard taking me back to where it began.
To where it all ended so horrifically.
My chest constricts. It’s hard to breathe. Consciousness creeps back in salt tears burning my face. How long have I been crying?
There’s a part of me straining to hear because before I open my eyes, before I return fully to consciousness, that part of me thinks she might still be here. Thinks I can have her back as ridiculous as the idea is. As impossible.
My lip trembles. My throat constricts when I swallow.
Hope for the hopeless. It’s absurd.
I can’t listen. It’s too much. I need to block out the sound. To plug my ears until it stops.
And it does stop. Suddenly and completely. It stops and, in the wake of its silence, I hold my breath, and I count my heartbeats. It’ll start again. I know it will. It’s been going on for a while. Is it a recording? No. It might be easier if it were, but whoever is playing has missed notes. Made mistakes she’d never have made.
When I inhale, I register something else. Dust. No, not dust. Ash. Ash from a fire. And the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.
The music starts again.
I lick my lips. The pianist makes another mistake. Mutters a curse. Corrects. Dread spreads like tar from my center outward, my belly full of it, my heartbeats turning to heavy, slow thuds.
I should open my eyes, but not yet. Not yet. I roll onto my side away from the sound. It’s useless. Like a child pulling the blankets up over her head to save herself from monsters.
Just because you can’t see the monsters, doesn’t mean they’re not there.
Who said that? My father? Or my mother? Cassian? I can’t remember.
The tips of my fingers scrape along a cold, dirty floor. Outside, rain is falling. I hear it. Smell it.
“Ah.” Someone says. A man.
I can’t put it off any longer. Time to face the music.
I open my eyes. It takes a minute before they adjust. It’s dark, but not so dark I can’t see. Not so dark I don’t know where I am. My brain won’t allow me to register the fact though. Not yet. Because that dread, it’s not just the piano. It’s this place. It’s this house of horrors.
The music stops abruptly. The piano bench scrapes what was once gleaming gold-veined marble. So pretty, like a palace. I remember thinking that. A palace for a princess.
Footsteps echo. I stare at the wall burnt black. The steps are coming toward me. I need to get up. To face him.
