Chapter 19 Riot
Riot
I stand on the sidewalk outside the guitar shop, smoking a cigarette and watching the street for any sign of Eloise and her sunset-colored bike.
I had a successful lesson with Jane today—though her relentless questioning about me and Eloise did nothing for my nerves.
Before, I was impatient to see her. Now, I’m practically buzzing with anticipation.
It's five past our lesson time, but I tell myself not to worry. It’s pretty typical for Eloise to be running slightly behind, and I can be patient.
When she’s ten minutes late, I think nothing of it.
Fifteen, and a prickle of anxiety works its way down my spine.
Twenty, and I want to crawl out of my own skin.
Still, I wait. I wait and I hope and I watch, searching for a flash of cherry-blossom hair.
After thirty minutes, I can no longer deny it. I’m well on the way to losing my mind. She hasn’t answered any of the texts I’ve sent, hasn’t even opened them, and I need to know why.
She said she would be here. She wouldn’t have lied to me.
“So where is she, then?” I wonder aloud. “Did she get hurt?”
An image of Eloise on her bike floods my mind, followed by that of a car plowing into the side of her and knocking her unconscious body into the bushes. Though I know how unlikely that would be, the possibility fills me with unending dread.
The only other reason I can think of is that she’s decided she does regret our kiss and doesn’t want to see me anymore. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s slightly more believable than the alternative.
Still, I have to make sure she’s okay.
I’m halfway out the back door when I realize I don’t know where I’m going.
From the weeks of watching her, I know Eloise turns left when she leaves—toward the shore—but I have no clue where she goes after.
Riding aimlessly on my motorcycle through the streets will be a waste of time, especially if she really is somewhere hurt and in need of help.
I need to know where I’m looking first.
An image of the small pink notebook Eloise left behind last week flashes in my mind, and I race back into the shop to retrieve it, a spark of hope lighting my chest. I thumb through the pages, finding nothing but notes from our lessons and random little doodles.
But there, right on the last page, is exactly what I’ve been looking for.
If lost, please return to 555 Coral Road in Saltbloom.
“Fuck yes.” I commit the address to memory and race to my motorcycle, not bothering to lock up the store in my hurry. If Eloise is out there in pain, I’m not wasting another moment getting to her.
Hold on, Eloise. I’m coming.
The address in the notebook takes me to the northernmost tip of Saltbloom, a small stretch of private beach surrounded by multimillion-dollar mansions.
The residences serve as vacation homes for the Neon Valley elite, though several wealthy families still prefer the peace and quiet of Saltbloom to the bustle of the city.
I park my motorcycle in front of one such mansion, squinting against the sun bouncing off the sheer white walls of the exterior. It’s absolutely massive, and I have an incredibly hard time believing Eloise lives here. Something this gaudy just doesn’t seem like her taste. It’s… wasteful.
Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the address on the notebook belongs to someone else.
Maybe I should walk up, knock on the door, and check.
I sigh, dismounting my bike. I ascend the curved marble steps and walk up to the door, raising my fist to knock. Before it makes contact, the door is yanked open, and I come face-to-face with a very surly-looking man.
He’s at least six-five, with cropped black hair and shoulders the size of watermelons.
His thick neck is covered with intricate, swirling black designs, with a blacked-out spider sitting at the center of his throat.
The most striking thing, though, is the iris of his left eye—so light blue it’s practically white.
It contrasts greatly with the dark green of the other, and though it moves like a normal eye should, I realize the pupil is lying dead in the center, unseeing.
The burly man looks me up and down, scowling. His good eye fixes on me, and in the next blink, his expression morphs into one of recognition.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice impossibly deep. “You’re Riot Arden.”
“Uh, yeah.” And you are… her boyfriend? Is that why she’s been staying away? Because she’s already taken? Now I’m the one scowling. “Is Eloise home?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked what time the Martians land. “She is…”
A wave of relief crashes over my shoulders, only to be replaced with irritation in the next second as the surly man starts sizing me up like I’m a threat. “Why are you looking for Eloise?”
Why the fuck does it matter so much to you? I want to ask. Instead, I hold up her pretty pink notebook. “She left this at Hightide last week, and I wanted to make sure to get it back to her.”
Because that sounds a whole lot less creepy than “I’m obsessed with her and need to look at her and make sure she’s okay.”
The man just stares at me. “Hightide? The guitar shop?”
“Yes.”
“Eloise was at Hightide last week?”
I grit my teeth, growing frustrated with the wall. “Yes, she was. Just like the eight weeks before that.”
His eyes widen at my statement. “Really? For what?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “For fucking salsa lessons—what do you think? Look, man, can I just give Eloise her notebook? I promise I'll get out of your hair after.” Right after I make sure she’s safe.
The man tilts his head, his brows raising in surprise as all the dots finally connect. “You’re giving Eloise guitar lessons?”
Hallelujah. “Yes. And I’d really like to give her back her notebook sometime this year, if that’s okay with you.”
The man holds out his hand, and I grasp it firmly, giving him one hard shake.
“Name’s Forest,” he says. “Forest Night.” He drops my hand and steps to the side, allowing me passage to the inside of the house.
“Eloise is upstairs in her room practicing. Just follow the classical music, and you’ll find her. ”
I nod, thanking him silently. I pass through the foyer and down a long hallway toward the large staircase located at the back of the mansion. The music grows louder the closer I get.
I ascend quickly, sensing the eyes of the guard on my back the whole way up.
This place makes me uneasy—like something’s just not quite right—and though I’m desperate to see Eloise, I’ll be glad when I get to leave.
A stifling sadness hangs in the air, stale and heavy, and it causes the hairs on my forearms to creep to attention.
The louder the music grows, so does the nagging worry that I’m not supposed to be here—that my very presence is unwelcome and wrong in this environment.
I push the thought away, stopping in front of the room where the song is emanating.
Slowly, I wrap my palm around the handle and turn, expecting resistance and finding none.
As soon as the door opens, a wave of sound smacks into me, crashing over my skin and into my mind, a melody that makes my heart sing and has unexpected tears welling in my eyes.
I thought Eloise was beautiful on stage, but watching her here, in the comfort and privacy of her room, is something else entirely. All the emotions she normally keeps hidden away are fully on display, rolling off her shoulders in waves and filling the space with a charged stillness.
I watch her for some time—much longer than I should—unable to bring myself to interrupt her. I’d stand here forever if I could, listening to her magic and watching her move. But I’ve never gotten what I want before, and it’s not what happens.
Eloise’s fingers freeze on the last chord, her back snapping straight as she senses another presence in her bedroom. Slowly, she turns her head, and I watch her cycle through several different emotions in the span of a few seconds. There’s relief, shock, desire, and the last and more terrible—fear.
“Riot,” she says, my name a breathless whisper on her tongue. “What—what are you doing here?”
I step toward her, pulled to her like a moth to a raging wildfire. “You didn’t show up for your lesson. I was worried. I had to make sure you were okay.”
She shakes her head, turning on the bench to face me fully. “How did you get in here?”
I huff. “Your boyfriend let me in.”
“My what?”
“The dude who has to turn sideways to pass through a doorway? He’s kind of hard to miss.”
“Are you talking about Forest?” Her mouth turns down in disgust. “He is not my boyfriend. He’s my guard.”
Guard? Before I have time to ask why she needs someone guarding the inside of her house, Eloise lets out a loud gasp. She jumps to her feet, pressing her palms to my chest and attempting to push me toward her door. “Riot, you can’t be here. You have to leave—now!”
“Why?” I shake my head, stepping closer. “What’s going on, Eloise? Why didn’t you show up? Why haven’t you responded to my texts?”
She just shakes her head, dropping her gaze and stepping back, taking her hands with her.
Before she can get far, I reach up, grabbing both her wrists in one calloused palm while the other snakes around her waist, pulling her in tight.
“Don’t run from me, Eloise. Don’t shut me out.
” I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, pleading with her to look at me. She doesn’t.
“Is this about what happened last week?” I ask. I thought we smoothed things over, that things were going well. She said she wanted me, too… “Did you change your mind? Do you regret it? Regret me?”
Finally, she raises her gaze to mine, and there’s so much hurt there, it takes my breath away.
“I could never regret you, Riot. But you cannot be here. Not now, not ever.” She tries to pull out of my grip, letting out a deep sigh when it’s wholly unsuccessful.
“Riot, I’m serious. You need to go. Please. ”
“No, Eloise. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Eloise looks at the clock, her expression twisting in terror. “I can’t right now. Dave is going to be home soon, and you can’t be here when he is.”
“Your manager?” I ask, utterly perplexed. “Why would he care?” Why does she look so scared? What the hell is going on here?
Instead of answering, Eloise wiggles from my grip and scurries toward her piano. She rips a corner from her sheet music, grabs a pen, and scribbles something on the paper. When she presses it into my palm, I’m surprised to find she’s written down a pair of location coordinates.
“Meet me here at midnight tomorrow,” she says, folding my fingers around the paper. “I don’t have my phone, so I can’t contact you until then, but I promise I’ll be there.”
I don’t get the chance to ask any of my burning questions before she’s pushing me out the door and toward the stairs. “You have to go, Riot. We’ll talk later, and I’ll explain.”
“You pinky promise?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh but still wraps her pinky in mine. “I promise. Now please, please go.”
I do as she says, listening to the slam of her bedroom door and the swell of classical music as I hasten down the steps.
Forest gives me a nod as I pass through the foyer, but otherwise, he says nothing as I hurry outside toward my bike.
As I speed off, leaving the strange dwelling in the distance, I can’t shake the feeling that everything has changed.
Time will tell whether it’s for better or worse.