Dark Secrets Box Set

by Angela M Hudson

  “Hey, stranger,” Spencer called from the stage.

  “Hi,” Emily said as I sat beside her in the front row.

  “Where’ve you been, girl?” Ryan landed in the next seat and gave me a skinny-armed hug.

  “Just hanging out at home.” I sat back in the chair. “Good turnout for a rehearsal.”

  Emily nodded, her eyes on a notepad. “Most of them are just here to watch—or distract those who are trying to practice.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “We have to be out by ten, but no one’s taking things seriously.”

  “Oh.” I slid down in the seat and put my feet on the crate in front of me. “Well, do you mind if I take the stage now? I gotta get back early tonight.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Emily said to her page. “Everything okay?”

  “Mm-hm.” Except, I didn’t really want to be around this place any longer than absolutely necessary.

  “Where’s David? Is he coming tonight?” Ryan asked.

  Emily looked up from her book. I shrugged, reaching for my locket.

  “Oh, I thought he said he’d make it for dress rehearsals.” Ryan looked a little confused.

  “He did.” I tipped the crate with my foot, trying to look disinterested. “But I guess the plan changed.” Or the heart.

  “Where’s your new pal… Mike?” Ryan asked.

  “Uh, he’s taking my brother to a movie tonight.”

  “Sweet.” Ryan nodded. “Well, I’ll fill in on guitar for David, if you like?”

  “Okay. Let’s just get this over with then.” I gave a reassuring smile to Emily’s frown as I stomped up the stairs, then stopped dead. “Hey, where’d the piano come from?”

  “Oh, it’s on loan from Musicology,” Emily called out.

  “What’s Musicology?” I sat down on the stool in front of the baby grand, flipping out imaginary coat tails first.

  “Music store,” Ryan said, walking past me to grab his guitar.

  “Oh, cool. The keys feel nice.”

  “Wait ’til you hear her.” Ryan sat on a stool near Alana, who turned the pages on her music stand. “We’re calling her Betty.”

  “Calling who Betty?” I said.

  “The piano,” Alana said.

  “Oh.” I looked at it. “Why Betty?”

  “The song…” Alana said, rolling her eyes in Ryan’s direction. “Black Betty.”

  “Hm.” I looked down at my fingers as they positioned themselves on the keys. “Okay, we’ll start with ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.”

  Ryan nodded and found the page in his sheet music, then repositioned the capo on the neck of his guitar. “Hip, bubbly, Ukulele-style or…”

  “Longing misery,” I said.

  Ryan nodded. “Nice. Let’s do it.”

  They played, all of them, including the version of me who took over when the real one could no longer bear to feel. In those moments, sometimes I felt like I was watching from outside myself, while another version of me lived inside my own mind. I tried so hard to imagine David sitting in place of Ryan, smiling over at me. But no matter how hard I tried, the image wouldn’t alter, and wishing with all my heart wouldn’t change things either. It would be a waste of time.

  Ryan gave a nod of approval, and I smiled back because, in truth, our song did sound amazing. The three instruments harmonized so well with each other, even though my fingers were a little stiff and the flow of emotion through them was rigid, if not absent.

  When I opened my mouth to sing the words, my voice cracked and we all burst out laughing. All the sea-salt I swallowed the other day made my throat dry and hoarse. But I was glad Mike took me to the beach, because, despite our argument, the rest of that day went really well: just two old friends hanging out, eating salty fish and chips, talking about nothing, as the sun went down.

  While my mind wandered into the other days we’d spent together, the performance moved to the next song on our list: an instrumental piece from one of Nathan’s favorite gangster movies.

  “Ryan?” I stopped playing for a second.

  “Yeah?” He looked at me over the music stand, and Alana lowered her violin.

  “On that last bar, can you give me a B flat instead?”

  “Uh, yeah, okay,” he said slowly and frowned, but did it anyway, and then his face lit up when I came in with the piano.

  “Okay. Cool, so just remember: B flat on the second verse, okay?” I said, flexing my fingers. “Em? You got the time?”

  “Uh, yep,” she said from the base of the stage. “Eight-thirty.”

  I closed the cover on the keys. “I’m gonna call it quits, guys. I need to get home.”

  “Okay, but… Ara?” Emily’s light footsteps made a dull thud as she came up the stairs and stood beside me. “Um, I hope you don’t mind, but… being that your act has the most heart, I thought I might place you last in the set. You know, kind of thought if people leave on a sad note—”

  “Yeah, all cool.” I held my hand up. Em obviously didn’t realize that closing a show was actually a great honor.

  “And, um, that sounded amazing, by the way.” She ran her fingertip over the glossy top of the piano, her reflection appearing upside-down.

  “Thanks. Looks like I still have enough soul left in me to play music.” I smiled, trying to sound light.

  “You miss David?”

  “Yeah. Kinda.”

  “He’ll be back.” She shrugged, then smiled and walked off to bark orders at the next act.

  It really was such a shame David never fell for Emily. She would’ve been a perfect match for him; she wasn’t complicated or moody, like me, and she would’ve given him eternity.

  A jaded smile grasped my lips while I watched her falling into Spencer’s embrace, tilting her face up so he could kiss the tip of her nose; they were so in love, like normal teenagers—so innocent and so easy. They’d never know the complexities of my life, and could never even imagine them. Somehow, that made me angry, or maybe it was jealous. Or maybe it just made me feel more… alone.

  “It’s not all bad.” Ryan sat beside me on the piano stool.

  “What’s not?” I switched on my happy face.

  He elbowed me softly. “David? I know you were missing him just now.”

  I looked down at my thumbnails, clicking them over each other. “Yeah. I kinda was.”

  “Well, he’ll be back before you know it. So, chin up, m’kay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I smiled at him. “Thanks Ryan.” But he was wrong. We were just another town David was moving through, and I was just another ending to a tragic love story. None of us would ever see him again.

  When I arrived home to see Mike’s smiling face, it instantly lifted some of the gloom. I even managed a smile.

  “So, how was rehearsal?” He closed the DVD drive and grabbed the remote as I shut his bedroom door.

  “Crowded.” But lonely.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you play.”

  I bounced onto his bed and propped my back against his pillows. “I wish you were doing a duet with me.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll have to sneak over to the school during lunch and use the piano one day.” His face lit with a cheeky grin as he slumped down next to me, right on top of the popcorn bowl.

  “Ah, crap!” We both cursed, catching the popped kernels as they scattered.

  “Here, I’ll get that.” Mike knelt by the bed, took the bowl from me, and started scraping the salty snack off the edge with his broad, square palms. He’d always had such big hands. So strong and protective. Like somehow, if he was holding me and the world was burning around me, I wouldn’t be afraid.

  “Something wrong, kid?” He looked up.

  I grabbed his salt-covered hand and placed my palm against his, comparing them. Mine were thinner and more petite, the top of my oval-shaped nail only just falling in line with the first fold of his fingertips, but there was so much familiarity in his hand that it was like looking at my own.

  “I m
issed your hands.”

  He laced his fingers through mine, then flipped them over and traced circles over my knuckles, seeming distant, almost sad.

  “Are you okay, Mike?”

  He moved the popcorn bowl to the nightstand and shuffled up to lie beside me. “You have her hands, you know? Your mom’s.”

  I tucked my arm under my rib and snuggled against his chest. “I know.”

  I had a lot of my mother in me: her hair, her heart-shaped face. But I got my dad’s eyes. Harry had her eyes. Harry had her smile. But they were gone. The only thing left from that life now was Mike, and I was so glad I at least had him.

  It made me wonder how things might be if I went home with him. How those hands had always made me feel so safe, and how every thought behind his eyes placed me first. If I went with him to Perth, would it always be like this? Would we be happy, get married and have little dark-haired babies with caramel-colored eyes and strong hands? I liked the idea—liked the idea of always feeling this loved.

  Mike looked down at me, watching my eyes expectantly, like he was waiting for me to say what he knew was in my heart. But, after a quiet moment, he pulled me back to his chest and pressed play on the remote.

  As the opening credits rolled across the base of the screen, I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of human normality. I loved it—loved Mike—and I wished I could tell him that. Wished he knew.

  We’d laid like this so many times as friends, but in his arms tonight I felt the difference. I felt how real it was. And it drove a strong urge within me to look up at him and say, “I’ll come with you. Let’s go home to Perth.”

  But I knew that my current desires were at odds with my heart, and the war raged inside me, unresolvable still.

  “Ara?” Mike swept his hands through the front of my hair, his low voice coming from above my brow.

  “Mm,” I muttered sleepily, keeping my eyes closed.

  “You still with me, baby?”

  “Hm?”

  “Shh.” He kissed my head and the volume on the TV decreased. “Just sleep.”

  * * *

  The smell of morning and the crass sound of a crow somewhere outside brought my mind back from sleep. I rolled up on my elbows and looked around the room—my room. It was dark still, the curtains closed—obviously by Mike; unopened by David—and the house sounded quieter than usual. Even the gentle hum of cars and the distant chatter of school kids outside were absent from the day. It almost sounded like a Saturday, but without the lawnmower.

  Last night, while I fell asleep in my best friend’s arms, a few things became so clear to me, and I was afraid clarity would be gone come morning. But the feeling I had as sleep arrested me remained the same.

  I jumped out of bed, dashed my curtains across and looked to the eastern hills. Somewhere over that rise, somewhere further than I cared to imagine, my David went away. I could feel him; feel his soul aching beyond the rising sun. He never told me where he lived, or even which direction he ran to each night, but I could feel him over there—somewhere.

  Down below, nestled into the long yellow-tipped grass in the backyard, the oak tree sat staring back up at me. As many times as I’d looked at that tree since David left, I had also let my heart believe he would be there beneath its leafy boughs. But for some reason, as I watched the gentle motion of the rope swing absently batting the trunk, I felt none of the surprise that he wasn’t there. The only thing present in my heart was that warm feeling I had in Mike’s arms last night, which suddenly burned into a flaming heat.

  With a tight fist, I rubbed my chest and grabbed the edge of my desk. Was it possible that Mike managed to crawl his way a little bit deeper into my heart while I was sleeping; that my brain finally understood the fact that David was gone—that even tomorrow, when I looked for him on the stage where he should be performing our duet, I wouldn’t see him? Did I finally get the message?

  I backed away from the window, clutching my locket, and turned to face the girl staring back at me from my mirror. She understood. I could see it in her eyes: she knew David wouldn’t return for anything. Not for the concert, not for all the tears in the world, not if Skittles got stuck in the tree, and not even if I threw myself from the window and splattered all over the ground.

  David Knight was gone. For good.

  But I didn’t feel anything. Nothing. The admission should’ve changed something in me. Anything. But it didn’t.

  I needed to think. I needed to let it all sink in. I felt catatonic, empty, hollow. Afraid, because the feeling in me—of not feeling anything—felt like suddenly waking up deaf.

  “Run,” the girl in the mirror said.

  “Run?” I looked back at her.

  She smiled and nodded. “Run.”

  In my running gear, my feet moved me over time, over distance, and it wasn’t until I felt my limbs shaking from hunger that I realized how far I’d run. Or where I’d needed to run to—going far away from home before circling back. When I found myself at the school, I knew why. I could feel the deep burn to play the piano tightening my fingers.

  No one noticed me sneak into the school; no one even passed me as I reached the darkness of the auditorium. Everyone was at lunch, thankfully, and the stage was set for the concert tomorrow night.

  I kicked the door ajar a little, placed the doorstop in the crack, and hugged myself as I headed down the aisle, walking the path of the thin blue line of light from outside.

  The warmth of the day remained behind, making me shiver as I reached the stage. Across the room, I could make out only a faint silhouette of the seats—enough to see that there was no one here—and despite that, I stopped dead, certain I’d heard my name in a whisper.

  “H-hello?” I waited, motionless at the edge of the stage. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  All around me, the shadows carried eerie secrets and the unmistakable feeling of being watched. I knew I shouldn’t be in here. Knew I should be at lunch, be attending school today like everyone else. But, like a beacon of salvation, the piano in all its majestic glory told me to forget about everything right now and just play. So I took a seat and obeyed.

  For a moment I just needed to sit; just to exist in the space where music was the center of my world; where the only thing that mattered was the notes, the keys, and me.

  My heart was trying to make sense of the fact that David didn’t say goodbye to me, all because I had that stupid dream, even though I had no control over it. And I guess that was the problem, wasn’t it? What we dream does have meaning. Consequence. What we think, feel, desire, it matters. And it hurts.

  And it sucks.

  But life taught me that prayers are just words, and there’s no one to answer them. We are the authors of our own stories, and what we suffer is our own fault. How we endure is determined by our will to survive in a world we’re forced to accept. You can either fly or fall.

  But I would survive this. I had to stop asking, had to stop wondering if there was some point to it all—some lesson to be learned—because, in doing that, I was holding myself back from moving on.

  I closed my eyes tight, trying to imagine a world where David was human, the sultry notes of that impossibility ringing loud through the auditorium while I played.

  “Ara!” Mike’s angry voice broke my thoughts apart. “Where have you been?”

  The room fell silent instantly as I pulled my hands from the keys and placed them in my lap. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through this morning?” The stage thudded under his feet. “I was about to call the police.”

  “Police? I was at school—”

  “Don’t give me that rubbish. I knew you didn’t attend school today because your dad’s been out there searching for you since we realized you weren’t in roll call!”

  My mouth hung open in shock. “I… shit. I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

  “You should be! Your father is irate, Ara. He was so mad he couldn’t even come in
here to talk to you. He called me when he found you.” He pointed to his chest. “How could you just run off like that? Not tell anyone where you were going—”

  “I didn’t even think—”

  “No, you didn’t, and that is exactly what got you into the last mess!”

  My blood ran cold. He was right.

  “I’ve been driving all over town looking for you. We had no idea what time you left or how long you’d been gone.” He looked at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty, for God’s sake.”

  I looked down at my lap, running my thumb over my locket. “Please stop yelling at me.”

  “No. I’m mad, Ara! I thought you might’ve thrown yourself off a bridge and—”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’ve been deeply depressed! So much that I don’t trust you to be alone right now. I was so worried that I nearly shook Emily when I asked her if she’d seen you.”

  “What! You talked to my friends?” I smacked the stool with both hands. “Mike, how could you? Now you’ve gone and made a huge drama out of thi—”

  “No. Ara. You did that. You took off without leaving a note to say you hadn’t gone to school. You’ve been gone all bloody day!”

  “I lost track of time. I—”

  “That may be the case, but you’ve caused a lot of worry. People care about you, Ara. You can’t do things like that.”

  “I had a lot on my mind, Mike.” My voice broke as I stood up.

  “I know you do, baby, but after what you’ve been through, you can’t just disappear like that and not expect everyone to freak out.”

  I nodded, hugging myself.

  “Where have you been all day?”

  “I went for a run.” I shrugged. “I lost track of time.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

  “I needed to be alone—to clear my head.”

  His eyes narrowed at me as if he was trying to see inside my head. “What’s going on with you lately, Ara? You’re… something isn’t right.”

  My lungs deflated with a heavy sigh as I walked over and sat down on the edge of the stage. “To be honest, Mike, this is all because of you.”