Semblance

by Logan Patricks

  Then sleep in the same bed with me, I wanted to blurt aloud, but I decided to keep that to myself.

  “Anyways, what I do isn’t interesting. All I do all day is spin webs of lies. This is the core of the Midnight Society.”

  “You hate them, don’t you?” I asked, “The Midnight Society.”

  Shadow thought about the question for a moment. “I like certain people inside the Society,” he replied.

  “That’s not what I asked,” I said.

  “Where do you want to be in five years?” Shadow asked, suddenly changing the topic. He was good at that.

  “It’s a secret,” I said, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

  “No it’s not. I already know what your goals are.”

  “If you already know, then why ask the question?”

  Shadow grinned. “You have this smile on your face when you talk about your dreams. It’s just the prettiest thing to look at. I wanted to see it again.”

  Damn it. He was sweet talking me again, and succeeding at it.

  “How about I make you a deal,” I said. “I’ll tell you all the things I hope to achieve in the next five years, and then you do the exact same, truthfully.”

  Shadow thought about it for a moment before replying, “Okay, deal.”

  I extended my pinky finger towards him. “Swear it.”

  “Done,” he said as he hooked his pinky around mine and tugged lightly.

  I leaned back in my chair, grabbed a glass of wine off the table and took a healthy gulp and looked at him thoughtfully.

  “You already know that I dream of being a world famous pianist,” I said. “It’s a dream that my dad and I both shared.”

  “Your father wanted to become a pianist as well?”

  I nodded. “It’s a dream he couldn’t fulfill because of me,” I sighed. “My mom died of cancer when I was just a baby so all his time was invested into taking care of me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” Shadow said.

  “I’ve seen pictures of her, but I wish I could have heard her voice. She’ll always be the woman in the photos that I spent hours staring at; a beautiful smiling woman who succumbed to that fucking disease, robbing her of her life with me way too early.”

  Shadow was focused on every word I said. I had his undivided attention. It was a welcome change from the other ex-boyfriends I had.

  “Being a single parent was pretty much the death of my father’s dream to travel the world and perform on grand stages. He always told me that when I had the crowd in Vienna eating out of my hand, then I had finally made it.”

  “Vienna is a lovely city,” Shadow said. “We should go there sometime.”

  “I thought our dates were finished after this,” I said.

  “I can make an exception.”

  I giggled like a school girl, only to realize how juvenile I must have looked. I cleared my throat.

  “Growing up, I was always surrounded by pianos. As a side business on weekends, my dad restored pianos, picking up old clunkers and refurbishing them. He fine-tuned every string until they were restored to their glory again,” I said. “I helped him out quite often, handing him tools or helping him with the tuning. Sometimes I even helped restring them. It became a tradition that after every piano was finished, I’d learn a new song on it before it was to be sold.”

  “What was the first song your dad ever taught you?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Twinkle twinkle little star of course.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I’m lying. It was actually Baa Baa Black Sheep.”

  “Very funny,” Shadow said with a smirk.

  “It wasn’t until I was twelve, maybe thirteen, that I had asked my dad about his passion for music and pianos. It was then that he revealed to me his abandoned dream of playing music for the world to hear. When I asked him why he didn’t continue down that path, he always refused to tell me, diverting the conversation to other topics using the same stupid tactic you use.

  “My uncle told me the truth one time while drunk. The reason my dad abandoned his dreams was to take care of me. They often say that parents live vicariously through their children. It was true. I decided at that moment that I would fulfill my dad’s dream and train to become a pianist myself. I fantasized about sitting in Vienna Music Hall, finishing my encore and the crowd is roaring, giving me a standing ovation. In the first row was my dad, and I’d bring him up on stage, revealing to everyone that this wonderful man was the true inspiration behind the music that they heard tonight.” I paused and swallowed hard. “My dad died two years ago from pancreatic cancer. I’ll never be able to fulfill that fantasy.”

  I felt myself getting emotional. Crying was the last thing I wanted to do in front of Shadow. He’d probably think I was unstable.

  “I’m sure wherever he is, he’ll still be able to see and hear you play in Vienna when the day comes.”

  “Do you believe in heaven or God?” I asked.

  Shadow’s eyes diverted to the ground as he reflected on my question. “Not for a long time,” he finally said.

  “I see.”

  “I’m sure God comes to those who deserve it. However I don’t consider myself one of those people,” Shadow said.

  “So do you think my dad’s watching over me now?”

  “I do,” Shadow said. “He’s probably thinking ‘who’s this unworthy dipstick sitting in front of my daughter.’ That’s probably what I’d be thinking if I was him.”

  “I always believed people from heaven can see deep into people’s souls,” I said. “I’m sure my dad would have liked you. You seem like a pretty good guy.”

  “If your dad could look into my soul, then he’d definitely be scowling. I’m fucked up, there’s no mistake about that.” Shadow leaned back in his chair. “I’ve heard you play Aria. You have an amazing gift and I’d be shocked if you weren’t able to succeed. Everything is in its right place for you.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “The thing about classical music is there’s no demand for it. Classical music enthusiasts have already all the music they ever need in their collection. There are only so many variations of Beethoven piano sonatas that can be played, while maintaining the spirit of the original song. Let’s face it, I chose a dying breed of business that’s highly competitive and could live without another person redoing a famous composer’s work. A classical musician is the ultimate cover artist.”

  “So create your own music,” Shadow said. “I heard the song you wrote for your dad. It was brilliant.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I said. “The classical music circles are a snobby bunch and they won’t welcome a new artist with open arms easily. Take Phillip Glass for example, his music has been the ridicule of the classical elite for years.”

  “I think it’s more along the lines that all the songs he wrote can be played with two fingers.”

  “That’s beside the point. He tried something different with his minimalist style and was ostracized by the very people I need to impress.”

  “Why do you need to impress them?” Shadow asked.

  “Because it’s my dream to succeed; it’s our dream.”

  Shadow looked at me pensively. “Has your father raised you well?”

  “What kind of question is that?” I asked.

  “Well has he?”

  “Of course he has. My father was the greatest person I’ve ever known.”

  “Then technically you have a lot of your father in you, isn’t that a fair statement to say?”

  “Well…yes I suppose.”

  I was confused by his line of questioning but allowed him to continue. “Who do you want to impress more,” he began, “Those snooty wine drinking, Wagner worshiping mother fuckers who masturbate to the sounds of their own voices,” he paused, “Or do you want to impress your dad?”

  The answer was obvious. “My dad of course; it’s always my dad.”

  “Then impress yourself,” Shadow said. “As yo
u said, there’s a lot of your father in you. Compose a song that you’re proud of and that’s more than enough for you to succeed in this world. Pleasing a bunch of soul-sucking assholes will turn your hard work into a soulless product. However what you’re doing is art, and in the end, you—and your father—are the only opinions that matter.”

  He was right. All this time, I’ve been killing myself trying to imitate the works of others in order to please a bunch of wine-sniffing music aficionados who knew nothing about me, nor my work. Why the hell was I spending so much time pleasing these people? Why did I need to place my happiness in the hands of others?

  “I think you’re on to something,” I said with a smile.

  “Good,” he replied. “Now do you remember the agreed method of payment for your condo?”

  “Well yeah, you want me to record the most difficult piano pieces ever written,” I said, “Which is fair payment. I really shouldn’t whine about it.”

  “I’m going to suggest altering the terms of your payment,” Shadow said. “Instead of mastering those songs—which may lead to finger arthritis—I want you to record five original songs for me instead.”

  “Like a demo?”

  “Yes,” Shadow said. “Record me a demo of five original songs, written by the Golden Virgin.”

  “We really have to stop using that nickname. I’m neither golden nor a virgin.”

  “I like the name,” Shadow said. “It has a nice catchy ring to it. It’s mysterious and intriguing; perfect for the stage.”

  “I have issues with the virgin part of it. I’m never allowed to have sex?”

  “Not in public.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s fair I suppose.”

  The waiter returned, bringing us our meals that looked—and smelled—amazing. I wasn’t hungry before but the rich aroma of golden curry was enough to have my mouth screaming for a taste.

  I lunged for my fork and was ready to dig in, but paused when I saw Shadow reaching for his wine glass. He raised it in my direction.

  “A toast to a great day, and to our second date,” Shadow said.

  “Can I take a bit of my food first?”

  “And here I was trying to be romantic.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said, grabbing my glass and tapped it against his. “Cheers.”

  I savored every single bite of my meal, the foreign spices of the rich and creamy curry dancing on my tongue—an ensemble of flavors mixed together harmoniously.

  Shadow seemed to be enjoying his food as well, taking healthy bites of his fish, which also smelled phenomenal.

  As dinner began to wind down, I decided to pick up where our conversation left off.

  “So we discussed my five year plan,” I said. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Shadow set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “There are two stories I can tell you,” he said. “One happy and cheerful—but it would be a lie, which adds onto the other pile of lies I’ve spun as a member of the Midnight Society—or I can tell you the truth, which isn’t pleasant. In fact, the truth may disturb you to the point where you’ll never want to see or speak to me again.”

  “The truth,” I said with no hesitation. “I despise lies.”

  “Okay then,” Shadow said as he polished off the last of his wine before continuing. “I’m sure you must know by now that both my parents were murdered.”

  I nodded. “I wanted to give you my sympathies, but couldn’t find the proper time to. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Shadow said. “Talking about dead parents tends to spoil the mood of a romantic getaway.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess we’ve been talking quite a bit about our dads during this trip.”

  “Well, they were the people that shaped our identities,” Shadow said. “Think how drastically different our lives would have been if we were someone else’s kid. Everything you and I do, it’s because our parents influenced us that way.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “For the first ten years of my life, I always knew what my dream was—to impress my father and be a worthy successor to the Tremaine family name. Everything I did was for him; every goal I scored, every exam I aced—it was all done to earn my father’s approval.”

  “Did he ever give it to you?”

  Shadow shook his head. “My father wasn’t the type to hand out gold stars or pats on the back. To this day, I’ll never know if he was proud of me or not,” he sighed.

  I reflected on my own dad and how he constantly congratulated me on each one of my accomplishments. His encouragement allowed me the confidence to face all my challenges head on and succeed. Listening to what Shadow’s childhood was like made me feel sorry for him.

  “Have you ever seen something so horrible, you’ll never be able to rid yourself of that grotesque image, no matter how hard you try?”

  I nodded as I recalled a dark memory of mine. “I was helping out my grandpa on the farm once when I was little. One day, I went out to feed the calves and I noticed one calf in particular was moaning and jerking her head around wildly. I remember walking up to her, only the left side of her face in view. She had looked at me with these wide eyes, terrified, her head swinging from side-to-side as if she were possessed. It wasn’t until I drew closer and saw the right side of her face that I realized what was wrong.”

  I paused, and shuddered at the memory.

  “You don’t have to tell me the story if you don’t want to,” Shadow said. “It was more of a rhetorical question anyways.”

  “Too late now,” I said. “I always hated it when someone started a story and didn’t finish.”

  “Don’t make friends with writers then,” Shadow said. “Many of them tend to start but fail to finish.”

  I smiled at him. “Storytellers are equally as troublesome,” I agreed, before continuing with my memory. “What I saw was something straight out of a horror movie. It looked as if half her face had been chewed off by flesh eating worms; fat bulbous insects that ate away her eyes, the flesh on her cheeks, and her nose. All that was left was cartilage and bone. That’s the one image I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.”

  “Has the image of the worms devouring the calf changed the way you look at the world?” Shadow asked.

  “I was twelve at the time. For years, worms and skele-cows haunted my dreams,” I said. “But eventually I got over it. However take me to a restaurant and nine times out of ten, I’ll still choose chicken over steak.”

  Shadow nodded.

  “This is a lead into your story?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “The one image that will haunt me until the day I die was opening the door of the study and seeing my mom and dad lying in a pool of blood. My mom had one solid stab wound through her neck, followed by multiple ones all across her body. Meanwhile my father’s neck was half sawed off, his head tilted back at an impossible angle.”

  Shadow swallowed hard.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” I decided to come out. “I already know all this. The other day, while I was relaxing in the park, Lucien approached me and gave me a package. Inside were transcripts of your sessions with your therapist.”

  I felt guilty keeping this secret until now. I should have told Shadow the minute I received the package, but the mystery behind him was too tempting to resist. And then when I saw him at Angkor Wat, I contemplated telling him then but the beauty of Cambodia had stolen my heart and discussing the murder of Shadow’s parents was the last thing I wanted to talk about while we explored the magical Khmer ruins.

  “It took him longer than usual this time,” Shadow sighed.

  “Huh?”

  “Lucien’s been passing around those files to anyone and everyone who would listen,” Shadow said. “Did you read them?”

  I shot Shadow a nervous glance. “Truthfully?” I asked.

  “I dislike liars almost as much as you do,” Shadow replied.

  “Yes, I rea
d the transcripts.”

  Shadow leaned back in his chair and took in a deep breath. “And what do you think?”

  “I think you’re still a wonderful person and the death of your parents was very tragic.”

  “Do you know what my first thought was when I saw my dad lying there, dead?”

  I shook my head.

  “I was angry that he was dead because I could never prove to him that I was a worthy heir to the Tremaine estate, that it was possible for me to grow up into someone he could proudly call his son,” he said. “The soulless eyes of my father’s, the same ones that looked at me with disgust every time I failed—those dead eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life because they’ll never see the man that I would become. I will always be a failure to him, until the day I die.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You’re not a failure. In fact you’ve become quite the successful man.”

  “I have none of my father in me,” Shadow said. “So even if I’m satisfied with my own accomplishments, I don’t think they’ll ever be enough for him.”

  “They never found the killer?”

  Shadow shook his head. “It was an unsolved mystery. The Midnight Society was good at suppressing it in the media, allowing us to use our own brand of investigation—and justice when the time came. However the murder was a clean one—no evidence left, no fingerprints, absolutely nothing; only two dead bodies in a pool of blood with no signs of struggle. After five years, the Midnight Society decided to ease up on the investigation, conceding that this was one mystery that would never be solved.”

  “Fuck that,” I shouted. “They need to keep at it. What if the psychopath decides to kill again? There has to be someone who’s still investigating their murder.”

  “There is,” Shadow said. “Me.”

  He broke his gaze away from mine and stared out into the street where a crowd began to form. Music blared from old speakers as people moved to the beats of songs popular ten years ago. There were plastic glasses in hand and many of them were drinking beer distributed from buckets. It looked as if the Cambodian New Year’s festivities were just starting.

  “I guess this leads back to the original question of what I want to accomplish within the next five years,” Shadow said, his eyes coated with a thin layer of moisture. “I want to find my parent’s killer and make him suffer. When there’s nothing left but a pile of flesh and bone, only then will I be satisfied and perhaps my dad’s ghost can look at me and finally be proud of me.”