Page 62 of The Kiss Of Death
“I have a little idea about that, but we’ll never know if you don’t start playing now.”
“Right. I think I can do this,” she muttered to herself. “I just need to feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Lucie didn’t teach me to read music but to feel it. Each color represents a part of Lucie’s psyche.” She paused. “I’m not as technically gifted as other musicians. That’s why I play better alone. I’ve never—it’s not important.”
A surprising part of me wanted to hear more, to know every single thought of hers. “So you’re a terrible musician, then.”
She frowned. “Maybe, if we judge by Mr. Delgado’s standards, but I think I’m decent enough to play in an orchestra one day.”
“You couldn’t play in an orchestra. That requires you to blend in and play like the others.”
Her music wasn’t soulless, clean, nor perfect. It was dirty, messy, and inhabited. She was a composition all to herself. A soloist. She would take all the spotlight.
“If my music is so atrocious, why did you ask me to play?” I struck a nerve, judging by the way her voice caught in her throat.
“Because I revel in it,” I responded. “Now,” I gestured toward the makeshift stage, “play for me.”
The fire in her eyes reignited as she rested her violin against her neck, staring at the opera house right behind me. “Alright, I’m ready.”
At the very instant that first note resonated, I couldn’t have been more sure that Dalia Mercier was a world builder, an artist. The cold air seeped through my pores, carrying the dying whispers of falling leaves.
The music invoked a haunting sense of déjà vu. It transported me back to my mother’s nightly ritual when she thought I was asleep. I’d descend the stairs to her music room and hear her pour her soul into the notes until she could play no more. She had never noticed me.
Dalia’s frown deepened as skeletal branches crackled like an impending storm. Goose bumps prickled across my entire core. I loomed closer, yearning to reach out and touch the melody she conjured.
Her bow danced gracefully across the strings, her knees drawing inward. The wind seemed to sync with her rhythm, causing the ribbons in her hair to flutter and take part in thisdanse macabre. The moonlight faded behind shifting clouds.
That dark horror melody was taking its toll on her. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lips trembled as she fought to maintain her composure, leaning forward as if on the verge of falling. She avoided all the missing notes of the music score, the silence even more chilling.
With the final, shrieking notes, she arched her back, craning her head back like possessed by a demon, her eyes drifting skyward. She let her violin dangle to her side, her fingers trembling, one of them bearing a fresh cut that oozed blood. Her hand bore the marks of a fierce battle, fingers bruised and battered from countless hours of playing.
She was muting the silence with pain.
“This music is horrible,” she muttered, struggling to catch her breath. “So much violence, so much pain, it’s like a descent to hell. It’s almost impossible to play. My fingers… it’s like she wanted to hurt herself to numb the pain.”
I firmly clasped her hand and removed the violin. My fingers ensnared hers. She met my eyes with a curious interrogation right before I brought her bruised fingers to my lips.
“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled as she glanced at her fingers. “They’re ugly, I know.”
I sucked on the finger she’d hurt. No, not ugly. Exquisite.
“It’s macabre, isn’t it?” I mused, tilting my head slightly.
A tear traced a treacherous path down her cheek. “Yes. It’s like a plea for help as if she’s stuck in a nightmare, and… maybe 0111 could be a date? In French, it means November first.”
“You’re right.”
Dalia swiftly brushed away her tears and clutched the sheet music, her quivering fingers tracing the inked lines and haunting notes.
“Oh, Lucie”—her voice quaked with emotion—“what horrors happened to her that day?”
“I could tell you,” I said, my face hardening.
My mother’s legacy to me consisted of two music scores. Her ultimate dying wish was for me to unravel its secrets.
“Tell me,” she pleaded.
