‘Will you be careful?’ Max frowned. ‘There’s something up with the weather right now and there’s a storm on the way. The cats are behaving erratically too.’
Tabitha nodded. ‘I’ll be careful. Please let me out.’
Max stepped back and she slipped out of the room before he could say more. Pulling her scarf up over her head she hunched her shoulders and bent into the cold wind. There was a strange scent on the air, but she couldn’t quite place it. Hurrying past the Playbarn, she refused to turn, but felt Dylan’s gaze on her at every step. The white tiger fought to get out, but she kept her caged, hoping that the message she was ignoring wasn’t going to bring disaster.
38
Dylan
Dylan watched Tabitha go. She stared ahead, refusing to look at the Playbarn. His chest felt tight as her back retreated into the returning mist. How did he end up here? For a moment, he had seen the potential for a different future. Had he really blown it in one, stupid moment?
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Her face stared back at him in his mind. He wanted to run after her, but last time that hadn’t paid off. Besides, there were hours left to get through before home time.
The day dragged, but eventually the light failed. There was nobody in the Playbarn now. Dylan checked his watch. He walked around, picking up old, used cups, tiny socks and the odd jacket. He added the clothes to the lost property box behind the desk and put the cups in the bin. The cleaners would be in later, so that would do for now. He checked his watch again. One minute to go. He went to the coat hooks and pulled on his jacket, standing the collar up and zipping it all the way. He looked around. ‘Are you guys ready to go?’
There were only two members of staff left and they filed past him, coats and hats already in place. He locked the door behind him, pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled.
‘Is everything alright?’ his mum asked, without saying hello.
‘I’ve messed up. Are you home?’
Twenty minutes later, he was at his mum’s kitchen table nursing a hot cup of tea.
‘So what happened?’ Rachel wheeled up to the table, her own cup in one hand. ‘I thought things were going well with Tabitha?’
‘I blew it. She told me something intimate and I freaked out. I walked out and left her alone. She hasn’t spoken to me since. She’s barely looked at me.’
‘What did she tell you? No, I’m sorry. Pretend I didn’t ask that. Whatever she told you, is it bad enough to make you want to walk away?’
‘Not at all.’ Dylan dropped his head into his hands. ‘It freaked me out a bit, but I get it now.’
‘Have you told her?’
‘She hasn’t given me a chance.’
‘Of course she hasn’t.’ Rachel leaned forwards. ‘You rejected her and that hurts. Tabitha is different to most people. She’s used to being treated with suspicion. She expects to be shown the door and you obliged. She will avoid you now to escape being hurt again. She’s probably wondering why she relaxed her guard and let you in.’
‘How do you know all of this?’ Dylan shook his head.
‘Some of it she told me. Some of it is just human nature. You’ve got to win her trust again. Show her how you really feel.’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Of course you do. You’ve had plenty of girlfriends before.’
‘None of them were Tabitha. None of them meant anything compared to her.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Tell her that. Show her you’re worth taking a risk for.’
Dylan looked at his mum for a few moments, and then grinned. ‘You’re a genius. I know exactly what to do. Thank you, Mum.’
Dylan hummed as he walked back to the old flat, a tune starting to build in his mind. He took the stairs up to the front door two at a time and threw it open.
39
Dylan
The flat was silent. Dylan wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that he would have to wait to tell the guys he was moving out. He wondered what they were doing. There had been a time when he would have known, when he would have been going to join them the moment he got back from work. It had been a long time since they had been that close, but Dylan still felt sad to be letting it go.
He thought back to what Tabitha had said. They were a part of who he was. Was that still true? He had spent years convincing himself that he had moved beyond them. He had stopped identifying with anything in this village except Tabitha, the tigers and his mum. But where did he exist now in this strange world he was unearthing?
He went to his bedroom, packed his guitar and manuscript books and put together an overnight bag, some bedsheets and a towel. The flat was furnished and the kitchen was fully stocked so that would do for now. The place was silent. He pulled his case out of his room, the squeaking of the wheels eating into the last bit of equilibrium he had. He got out through the front door, carried the case down the stairs and then went out into the cold. It was pouring. He put his guitar down, pulled up his collar and put his head down into the rain. There was nothing he could do right now. He had patched things up with Linden and GJ, but he had no idea whether that would last. Right now, he would get home and begin again.
His hands were so cold he had to fumble to get the key into the lock, but inside the flat was toasty warm. Valerie must have left the heating on for him when she locked up. He kicked his shoes off and hung his soaking wet coat up on the hook in the hall. Not wanting to start out with a dirty floor, he picked up the case and carried it through to the bedroom. The bed wasn’t made up, but there was a duvet and a number of pillows. He went over to the window and looked out into the rain-drenched darkness. The light glinted on the drops of water that littered the outside of the window. Over the road, Tabitha’s house was all shut up tight, only slivers of light glinting between the pulled curtains. He heard the screech of the barn owl, and wondered, not for the first time, whether the bird had some strange way of communicating with Tabitha.
He went through to the bathroom and peeled off his clothes before getting into the shower. The water was piping hot and the pounding spray began to beat some feeling back into his freezing cold muscles. He wasn’t sure how much of the tension was the cold, and how much was the fear that flooded his body. He had just changed everything. He had walked away from his friends and moved to a job he knew virtually nothing about. The steps that had seemed exciting before felt terrifying alone in a new flat at night. He wished he hadn’t offended Tabitha. He wished she had given him the chance to explain, but now all he was left with was his fear, and the opportunity to put things right.
He towelled off and then pulled on a pair of joggers, before getting out his guitar and sitting on the bed.
The melody was already forming in his mind and he picked out the chords on the guitar while he began to hum. The first lines came fast and he grabbed the manuscript paper, scribbling them down in pencil before he lost them. The words weren’t any harder. The need to express himself was so raw, so urgent, that words tumbled from him and onto the page as he picked at the strings and sang line after line.
An hour later, the song was burned into his heart from the pain that poured through him and into the words. He sang it one more time, hoping to make it a little better, but there wasn’t even one note he wanted to change.
The rain had stopped now and a full moon was peeking through the clouds. He went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. He hadn’t brought many clothes, but there was a pair of low-slung jeans and a tank top that were presentable. He pulled them on, leaving his arms bare in spite of the cold. If Tabitha deigned to come to the window, he wanted her to see the tiger move across his arm, to remember that their connection was deeper than either of them had yet understood. He tuned his guitar again, shoved the flat keys in his pocket and headed out into the moonlit street.
There was still a crack of light between Tabitha’s curtains. He went through her gate, waving a hand at the owl, which shrieked in welcome, or warning. �
��Tabitha,’ he called out, hoping she would come to the window. In response, he heard a growl. The white tiger stepped out from between the trees to his right.
He gasped, the thrill of danger crackling like lightening over his skin. All sense of the tiger as an ally was gone. Instead, the rumbling growl was ominous. She prowled closer, her belly slung close to the ground, her lips peeled back from enormous canines.
Forcing the fear back, Dylan began to play, his fingers picking out the chords. The tiger stilled and stopped snarling, her face relaxing into the beauty he remembered.
Dylan’s voice cracked, but he began to sing, pouring his emotion into the music rather than letting himself break. He opened his heart wide, allowing everything he had held back to flood from him and surround the tiger.
Stripes in the Moonlight
Silent paws on glassy ground
Eyes flash in the darkness
Eyes flash and my heart drowns.
You shatter my defences
You fill my heart with fire
With you I am creation
With you I find my wild.
But when the shadow fades,
My world is small and dark
I can’t find my way forward
I can’t light my inner spark
Wild Shadow you consume me
With your flames that burn so bright.
Come back to me my tiger
Come back to me my light.
Wild Shadow
He swallowed. The turquoise blue eyes of the tiger held him captive, their intense human familiarity filling him with a grief that threatened to overwhelm him.
As the harmonics from the last chord faded, Dylan lifted the guitar slowly to avoid spooking the cat and unhooked the strap from around his shoulders. He put it on the grass and then walked closer. He held his hands open in front of him as he moved smoothly, not breaking eye contact until he was just inches away. She tilted her head, watching him, but still poised to pounce or flee. Slowly, he reached out one hand and held it there, open.
The tiger looked at him, perfectly still. Then it moved forwards, sniffed his hand and faded into blackness.
Dylan let out a choked sob. He staggered backwards and grabbed his guitar from the grass, clutching it to his chest. There was no sign of the cat now, no movement in the bushes, no growling. He had poured his heart out to her, and she had walked away.
The front door clicked. Tabitha stood there in joggers and a hoodie. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her feet were cosied up in thick fluffy socks. He had never seen her look so normal, or so vulnerable.
She leaned on the door frame and said nothing.
‘I’m so sorry, Tabitha.’ Dylan walked towards her as though approaching the tiger she had been a moment before. ‘Please forgive me. I miss you. I miss your tiger.’
She shook her head. ‘I understand you don’t want to be watched. I get it. I have never chosen to watch you but, I travel when I draw or paint. It’s part of my process and inspiration. Right now I’m trying so hard to stay under conscious control that I can’t create. I have commissions and looming deadlines. I can’t afford to have you in my head, Dylan. I can’t afford to have you coming to my door and singing songs, however beautiful they might be. I have to forget you. I’m sorry.’ She stepped back and shut the door, leaving him outside, alone.
Dylan stared, stunned. ‘Tabitha,’ he shouted, rushing up to the door, too late, and banging on it. ‘Please, hear me out.’
Her voice travelled through the wood and stone. ‘I am respecting your boundaries, Dylan. Please do the same for me. I am trying very hard not to travel to you as a tiger but, to do that, I need you out of my head and out of my life.’
There was no sound of doors banging, no shouting, nothing. But Dylan felt a wall come down between them more resolute than anything he had ever experienced. It stole the breath from his lungs, left him gasping on the path outside a frosty front door.
His guitar was icy to touch, but his insides were so frozen he couldn’t find the energy to care. Tabitha was gone.
40
Dylan
Dylan set up in the sound studio, adjusting the drums, and tuning his guitar. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for any signs of stress after its stint in the cold the night before. It was as perfect as ever.
For some reason, the studio didn’t seem as bad the second time around. Dylan wasn’t sure whether that was because he’d got used to the dinginess, or because he didn’t have the energy to care.
The strange wall dividing him from Tabitha had zapped him of energy for anything other than his music. He went to work, got on with his routine, but he was only half there. He wondered if this was how Tabitha felt when she travelled. It was only music that breathed life back into his frozen chest. When he sang and played, he poured all the pain and loss into sound and for a moment there was light.
The technician was looking down, doing something on the desk in front of him.
Dylan took a deep breath. He had been in recording studios before, but this time was different. He wasn’t just creating something to sell, he was recording his soul.
‘Ready?’ he said.
The man looked up and raised a hand in acknowledgement.
‘I’ll start with the rhythm track,’ Dylan called into the microphone. The technician nodded and flicked some switches.
He sat down at the drum kit and allowed himself to fall into the music, feeling the pulse flow from his fingers, through his sticks and into the drums. This was his place, his home. This was how he grounded into the earth and made life real. No matter how much he loved playing his guitar and singing, the drums were the beating pulse of his soul and would always call him back no matter how far he strayed.
He swapped his drumsticks for a set of brushes. The sound was soft, gentle and it lulled him as he heard the song in his head, opening him up to the emotions that dripped off every word. He felt the tug of the song building towards that final line, the moment he gave voice to the storm that was building inside him. As the last beats faded, he put the brushes down and stood up, turning his back to the technician and trying to block out the dingy room as he gave himself a moment to settle.
Turning around, he walked over to the microphone, reduced the height and sat on a chair in front of it, pointing it directly at his acoustic guitar. ‘I’ll record the guitar now, mate,’ he said. The man nodded and flicked some switches.
Dylan put the headphones back on, and as the drumbeat started he began to pick out the chords, losing himself in the flowing current of notes that surged around him, carrying him forwards on the wash of his own outpouring of grief.
He imagined the man in the recording booth to be Tabitha. He pictured her face staring at him through the window, absorbing every emotion he poured from his soul. He imagined her understanding the message he sent through every note he played, reading the vibration of his grief in the movement of the strings. He closed his eyes and her image became clearer until he was sure she would be there when he opened them. Her presence was so strong that he almost felt the soft brush of fur against his leg. He wanted to open his eyes, but couldn’t bear to risk losing the illusion so he kept them tightly closed until the last note had faded away.
Dylan opened his eyes. There was no tiger. The man in the booth looked up for a moment, and then bent his head over his work. The room was as dirty and dingy as it had always been and the smell of mould was just as bad.
Dylan sighed. This place was soulless and the music was breaking his heart wide open. The combination of emptiness and overwhelm was so acute he wanted to run.
‘I’m ready for the last track. Is everything okay at your end?’ he said into the microphone.
The man looked up and raised a hand. ‘All good. Don’t worry about anything at this end.’
Dylan put down the guitar. Adrenaline raced through his system as he raised the microphone and stood in front of it. He closed his eyes and
pictured everything he wanted to leave behind. He saw it drifting away and focused on an image of Tabitha walking towards him. He remembered the last time he’d been here, the tiger in the room with him, his muse. This time the room was vast in its emptiness. He tried to connect with the tiger, to summon it, but he met a blank emptiness that left him hollow.
As the music started again, Dylan began to sing. With every note, he pictured Tabitha coming towards him. He sent out his intention, his hopes, his call for a better future. He sang with his heart and with his soul, allowing the vibrations to combine into something new. The music swirled around him, expanding his chest, his body, setting his nerves tingling.
He opened his eyes. There was still no tiger. A heaviness descended in his chest, but he pushed it back. He would play her the song before he gave up hope.
The man in the booth was staring at him, lips parted. He nodded.
Dylan nodded back. Something had happened while he sang. As he recognised the grudging respect in the man’s eyes, he finally realised how little it meant. There was only one person who mattered now.
He recorded the rest of the songs, packed up his instruments and headed through the door to the booth. ‘When can I get the final mix?’
‘I can have it ready for you tomorrow.’
Tomorrow. That gave him one day to get ready before life began again.
41
Dylan
The pub was locked, but Dylan banged on the door. He waited, and then banged again.
‘Alright, alright, keep your hair on,’ a voice shouted from the other side of the wooden door. ‘Give me a chance to find my keys.’
Wild Shadow : A Sweet Paranormal Romance Page 15