36. The Pianist
The Pianist
“Have you seen Reece?” Nathan asks me during lunch.
“No, I’ve been with Henri.” I’d assumed Reece was avoiding me all morning. He left breakfast the moment I arrived, barely even looking at me.
Nathan raises a brow. “Weird. I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He never misses lunch,” one of the other guys says.
“I just figured, since he seems to like you, maybe you’d know.” Nathan shrugs. “Probably talking to Maxim or something.”
But I’m standing up from my seat so fast the chair screeches against the ground. I ignore their questions as I flee the room.
After last night—
The staff wing is empty, Reece nowhere to be found. I pass Julia, who is on her way to the kitchen, but she says she hasn’t seen him either.
The house, the entire estate, is so big, I can’t possibly check everywhere.
“Baz!” I shout, not caring if anyone can hear me call out to a dead man with desperation seizing my lungs. I run through the house, lucky that most of the staff is on break. Every hall is empty, my steps echoing off the walls, my heart pounding in my ears.
Reece is missing. Bastien hurt him last time. I should’ve tried harder to find Reece last night. Should’ve told Bastien to stay away. Because I know he has something to do with this.
All the common areas are clear. My feet carry me to the east wing, around a corner and—
Baz has Reece against the wall.
Right across from my open bedroom door.
Fingers wrapped around his throat, Reece’s face is already a shade of red too close to purple.
He claws at Bastien’s hand, his eyes flicking over to me and widening in relief, but he hardly moves a muscle, doesn’t speak a word, because Bastien has lifted him from the floor, his toes barely scraping the rug. The veins bulge in Bastien’s hands.
All the breath leaves me in the sound of the Ghost’s name.
But he doesn’t turn to me. It’s as if I’m not here.
“Baz—what are you doing?”
Reece truly has no chance, his one hand still wrapped, the other helplessly gripping onto Bastien’s wrist.
“One move from him and I’ll snap his neck.”
“Why?”
Baz laughs. “Oh, you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? Let him go.”
“Are you sure?” Baz turns to look at me over his shoulder then. I understand why the inhabitants of the house are afraid. The cold rage in his eyes betrays his lust for blood, a manic, gleeful shine that wasn’t there before.
He’s going to kill Reece.
There’s a reason he’s been locked away in this house. Shunned. Turned into a ghost.
I say his name again, knowing it’s futile.
“Why don’t you tell her what you’ve been doing these last few weeks, Reece?” Baz releases the man, who immediately falls to his knees. He lands on his bad hand and cries out, but it’s a strangled sound, a wheeze coming from his throat. His face is red, his throat not faring much better.
I’m frozen in place, afraid if I come any closer, it’ll push Baz to finish the job.
Reece coughs, clutching at his throat, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He looks up at me from his knees, glancing at Baz looming over him, poised to snatch him back up.
“I—I found you,” he coughs out.
It could mean anything.
“Be honest,” Baz demands. “Tell her.”
A high pitched ringing starts up in my ears.
Reece hates me. I know he hates me now. “While I was gone, I searched you up. Found your home. Found—”
But I don’t look at Reece, I’m looking at Baz the whole time, staring back at the dark eyes watching me, waiting for my reaction.
He’s defending me. This is his version of protection. Of affection.
I don’t hear the rest of what Reece says. “You can’t kill him,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound like my own. There’s no power behind it.
“Can’t I?”
I run. Like a coward, I turn and run. My legs take me to the practice room, where I wait in total silence for Henri.
And when he arrives, I continue our lessons with a smile.
Pretend that I know nothing about the missing and injured maintenance worker.
That I know nothing about Bastien or Arnie or any of it.
A better person would alert Ms. Byrne or Maxim or the Beauchenes. I know that.
It’s late in the evening when I finally muster up the courage to go to my room.
The hallway looks exactly as it should: no blood stains, the curtains and rugs perfectly straight. No signs of a struggle.
Maybe I am losing my mind.
I curl up on my side atop the sheets on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest and burying my face in the blankets.
For a while I’m alone, and then there’s the sound of heavy footsteps across my room.
He stands before me. His clothes and hands are clean. But there’s a single spot of blood on his mask.
“You’re fucking crazy.” The whisper shudders out of me.
He laughs under his breath. “So are you.”
And then his fingers are in my hair. Possessive and calming all at once. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“They’re going to fire me.”
“No they won’t.”
“They’re going to kick me out. I need this job, I can’t—”
“You’re staying here,” he says, gripping my hair tighter to angle my face up towards his. “What have I told you?”
“You’re insane.”
Something dark settles into his voice. “And I haven’t pretended to be anything else.”