Chapter 5 #2
I wasn’t sure I’d see him tomorrow after he touched me so much tonight, but since I knew it didn’t hurt him, it was worth it.
Holding my hand to my head like I could press the seal of his kiss into my skin forever, I went into my room and got ready for bed.
I’d almost run the other direction seeing my brother waiting for me on the stairs like that, but now I was so thankful I hadn’t.
Our talk had settled something inside of me. Hearing how much he enjoyed his time, not only in the main house, but out at the pond, soothed that fear and guilt I’d been pushing down that he was still doing things on my behalf instead of his own.
Once I settled in with my laptop, I pulled up YouTube. I was past pretending that I didn’t know exactly where I was going and who I wanted to see. First, I checked in to see if Ego had posted anything new—you know, on Sky’s behalf—but he hadn’t.
It wasn’t like I cared about him, personally, but I was growing concerned because everyone else loved him so much.
Unlike Ego, Sky was a great guy, and he’d come to mean a lot to me, so I hated how sad he was getting over his missing cousin.
Ego was such a dick, worrying everyone this way.
Worrying me this way. The last thing I wanted was the egotistical, diva, hotshot taking up room in my headspace.
Pushing thoughts of Ego out of my mind, I went to my newest addiction.
Dead Air had continued to post nightly, his music wrapping around me and soothing my soul in ways that I’d never experienced. His dark melodies, the melancholy in his lyrics mixed with the richness of his raspy voice, were mesmerizing.
There was no doubt that I wasn’t the only one who thought so, because his subscribers jumped by thousands on a daily basis.
Pulling up his latest video—which was actually from last night, since he seemed to record in the wee hours of the morning—I closed my eyes and nestled back, letting the chords he strummed penetrate and wash away all of the stress from the day.
This had become my solace before sleep.
He had become my refuge from the storms in my mind.
I still had no idea who he was or what he even looked like, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t really about him. It was the music.
Laughing to myself, I admitted that maybe I had a little bit of a crush on this mysterious musician. How could I not when it felt like his words were all meant for me? When it felt like he knew exactly what I needed to hear?
As the song came to an end, I opened my eyes and started it over like I did every night. That seemed to be my newest ritual. Even though I knew when I woke up each morning a new video would be there, I waited until bedtime so that I could just savor his latest song.
This time, I peered at the screen. I’d gone so far as buying a magnifying glass, trying to see if it would enhance the quality of his image enough to get a look beyond the shape of his guitar and the slight outline of a man who moved me to a different dimension.
Surprised, I pulled my computer closer. There was a light from somewhere off in the shadows, and it gave a little clearer picture than I’d ever seen before. The man himself was still basically shrouded in darkness, but the room behind him had the slightest illumination.
I squinted, just wanting to know how he surrounded himself, where he was while he played his haunting melodies. What kind of things did he like? Was he in a bedroom or a living room or was he renting space? I wanted to know everything I could find.
I ended up replaying it again and again as something about the faint shapes in the background niggled at my memory. There was something about the column to his left that I felt like I’d seen before.
But how could that be?
My brother and I had never spent time anywhere so fancy that there were columns in the building. That type of architecture, in my experience, was reserved for movies or photographs. The nicest, grandest building I’d ever been in was here at the manor, but there was nothing quite like that here.
Curious, I left the music playing in the background as I clicked onto the website for Jetty’s handyman/construction company. It was the only website of its kind that I paid any attention to. Whenever Jetty finished a project, he posted before-and-after photos of the property.
Many of the small projects were on one page, but Willowhope Manor had its own, as did Ego’s mini-castle, but his didn’t list him as the owner. He’d be mobbed by fans if it was.
I scrolled and scrolled, seeing nothing that matched the pillar, and was about to close out and go back to my YouTube viewing when I decided I might as well go to the page with Ego’s monstrosity.
He’d be the type to have columns in the actual house. Plus, that place was old as hell, so they could’ve possibly already been there.
My heart stopped as I found what I’d been looking for. Moving back and forth between the screens, I realized I was right. Hadn’t Jetty said that Ego was letting a friend borrow his place? Was that why Dead Air was recording from Ego’s living room?
But no, this wasn’t a friend. The truth of that rose up in me quickly.
I’d heard something close to this sound from Ego before.
When he’d stayed at the manor, I’d heard him out fiddling with his guitar in the backyard countless times, crooning songs that were so unlike the pop star garbage he usually sang that I’d been surprised.
Impressed, even.
Closing my eyes, I thought back to those times, overlaying what I’d heard from Dead Air, my newest obsession, and it all came together like a jigsaw puzzle.
Internally, I fumed. Ego hadn’t ever been my favorite person, but now I actually had a reason to be pissed.
How dare he hide in Willowhope and not let Sky know!
How dare he let this family, he’d been lucky enough to have taken him in, fret and worry when he was right here.
And how dare he make me fall in love with his music—his presence—while operating under an assumed name!
That motherfucker was gonna pay.