Chapter 9
After tracking down Chase’s home address on a new burner phone and finding it truckless, I take a chance and drive over to the university.
I can picture him there, standing in darkness, conducting an orchestra of shadows.
His hands fly through the air as the melody gains momentum, his body swaying to invisible music, cuing each section—urging them onward. Play softer. More feeling. More gusto.
Then I see in my mind’s eye the young man on the floor, kneeling, and bent in half—forehead pressed to the golden planks of the stage. Dust mites glittering in the single spotlight that shines on his defeated form.
The night air is cooler than usual from the rain.
The air carries that unique scent that lingers in the air after a storm.
I park my car off-campus and walk the short distance swallowed by darkness except for the occasional streetlight until I’m on campus.
I’ll need to come back for the car later.
I can’t leave cash anywhere. As it is, I’m going to have trouble finding another place to park the tiny, pay for gas, and buy food.
There’s nothing left to sell either. If my face is all over the news, I’ll have the Menellis, Ferros, and cops here by morning.
I make a beeline between two buildings, and head directly for the music hall. Chase has got to be there. If he’s not, I’m totally screwed.
Don’t think like that. He’s here. He has to be. I just need to follow through from earlier. He wants something real. Pretend to be real. It won’t kill me. He gets sex. I get a truck. It’s a trade. It’s not totally horrible.
But I know I’m lying to myself. I don’t want to do this, but I feel the panic lacing up my neck. I should have already left. Hauling a building is going to be slow going.
Fuck. Think sexy thoughts. Be everything he wants. Shove everything else away for now.
Live another day. It’s better to beg forgiveness than die. Yeah. That’s my new motto. Willing my veins to fill with ice, each step I take becomes more mechanical. More driven.
Music fills the halls, a soft bittersweet keening that pulls me towards Chase. He’s here. Something within me flares to life, uncertain as match flame in the West Texas wind.
I follow the music deeper into the building while avoiding the security cameras. Every time that feeling rises, I repeat my motto.
It’s better to beg forgiveness than die.
It’s better to beg forgiveness than die.
It’s better to beg forgiveness than die.
I can do this. I’ve done it before. Not for a truck, but for something else that mattered to someone else. This time it matters to me.
Seduce him.
Take his keys.
That’s the plan.
Besides, Chase doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who would refuse a one-nighter with a beautiful woman.
But the lies. I feel them gathering inside me like cobwebs, slowing my steps and gunking up the rancid thoughts that I can do this to this guy—and he won’t mind.
Of course, he’ll mind. Of course it’ll hurt him when I’m gone.
It’ll be embarrassing when he realizes I stole his truck.
But he’s a musician. He can write a song about it.
Get paid. Be famous. The reasons are shallow, but I hold them to my heart like a lifeline, because they are life, for me.
I’ve become so weak sitting down here. What did I think would happen?
That I could live in my little, tiny house and have starry dreams forever?
Stupidity takes many forms. Idealism and hope are the worst manifestations of idiocy, because they make you believe an alternate reality can happen. Even if it is impossible.
Melancholy notes float through the air as I pad onto the empty balcony and duck into a wooden chair. The coldness of the wood bites into my back as I lean further into the seat and slouch down, so Chase doesn’t see me in the shadows.
Chase is sitting off to the side of the stage nearest the lighting cage.
There’s no spot. Just the footlights giving a soft amber glow.
There’s no music stand in front of him. No sheet music.
He’s half sitting, half standing on the edge of a stool—one foot on the floor, the other hooked on the rung beneath him.
Chase’s eyes are closed as his fingers move up and down the neck of the viola, swaying, rocking away his burdens.
The more I watch, the more my plans dissolve.
Chase’s back hunches over his viola like he’s holding a dying child.
Dark hair falls over his brow, obscuring his face.
The sight chokes me. The sorrow of the song stops me.
The familiar melody of longing, of aching so divine that I feel my eyes prickling.
To think, I once called this type of music sentimental drivel.
I was so ignorant. So selfish. I failed to see what was before me.
I didn’t realize the pain, the devastating humanity that causes that type of sound.
It’s more than music. It’s the type of yearning that penetrates the heart.
Chase’s body becomes a conduit for the music to flow.
Shifting from the perch of that stool to his feet, then slowly…
taking one step. Then another. Before turning back towards the lighting cage, his back is toward me.
The wrinkled blue shirt clings to his broad shoulders, too many buttons undone, exposing the column of his neck and part of his chest.
The stage lights illuminate his profile.
The sharp lines of his chin and jaw mock the softness of the music.
As if strength and sorrow could never mix, never co-exist. But they do.
I know that all too well. Misery makes one eager to forget life and become lost in music.
Sorrow melts away as the vibrations of the bow across the strings ease the soul. Carries you somewhere else.
There’s so much grief in Chase’s song. The way he plays is so open, so vulnerable. I watch his shoulders curl forward as he kneels, playing from the floor. When he sits back on his heels, Chase doesn’t stop. He continues, shifting into another song, equally somber.
After watching for a long time, I recognize the emotion he’s playing. That sense of longing. The feeling that there is nowhere to go. No way to fix it. The slight peak when you think things might be better, but life cuts you off at the knees.
He’s lost.
In every way.
I can hear it. I can see it. My God. I can barely breathe listening to him play. This isn’t the same man I’ve spent my days next to, joking around with. It’s the man sitting in a snowstorm of sheet music, pulling at his dark hair. Letting no one in. Making sure no one sees his pain.
My spine straightens. I shouldn’t be here.
It’s late. Chase thinks he’s alone. Even the cleaning staff is long gone.
If he didn’t teach here, he wouldn’t have had access to the building.
I used my employee card to unlock the door.
I was going to waltz in. Throw on the plastic version of myself at him.
The one that’s indestructible. But after watching him like this, I can’t.
I won’t.
Not only have I intruded on something private, but I realize he’s not the guy to do this to. I can’t. No, I won’t hurt him. Not Chase.
Someone already ripped his soul to shreds.
I can hear it. Hell, I can see it. No wonder why he’s the way he is, because I mean damn.
My cheeks are wet, and I don’t recall crying.
There’s no hiding how he feels, not when he can play like that.
Lies will uproot him. Deceit will poison what’s left of the light in his eyes.
I’m slipping out of my seat before the last note emanates through the space, disappearing down the dark halls.
Another option comes to mind. One card I never wanted to play.
It’s suicide. But I’m already dead if I don’t get out of here.
I veer down the hallway towards my office, hoping I can access what I need from my boss’s computer.
If they find traces of Dark Web activity on his computer, they might trace it back to me anyway. But maybe they won’t.
Shit. I didn’t want things to go this way.
But it’s my only way out. I’ve had the unpleasantness of bumping into some people who make their living on this side of life.
It’s not like Dark Web PayPal, either. Once I go to this guy for help, I’m indebted.
And the guy holding the note will be Tony Menelli, a member of the crime family who filled the void after Vic Jr was killed.
The family that’s at odds with mine. The criminals that would do anything to have a Ferro in their palm.
And I’m going to just reach out and ask him to help me disappear?
And expect this will work out better than with my family?
No one even looked for you. Lizzie’s voice rings in my head, making me feel utterly hollow.
Stop. Just stop a second and fucking think. My fingers are on my temples as I fly down the abandoned hallway like a banshee in the night. I want to sit down and cry into my hands, and let things settle before deciding.
But there’s no time. I have to make a choice.
Now.
My cheeks are wet again, but for a different reason this time.
As I unlock the door, I’m in a trance. Regretting what I need to do before I even do it.
Padding across the room, I leave the lights off with the door cracked, and head to the computer by the window.
I pull out the plastic chair and slide in.
I glance over my shoulder every few seconds, because this computer has me seated so my back is to the door.
But no one is here. Just Chase, and I can still hear him playing in the auditorium, albeit the sound is a whisper.
Accessing the computer, I head to the untraceable site Tony gave me a long time ago. Want someone removed from the competition? He’s your guy. Need money? Tony’s got you covered. Need to skip town without a trace? Tony’s got your back. But you’ll owe him one. And he will collect.