Page 90 of Petrify

The moment my fingers touch the keys and his song begins to fill the silent room, I know he’s here. I’ve become so attuned to the feel of his stare. I am never truly alone in this house.

This slow waltz he’s written, low resonant notes vibrating through my bones, a dance with death—we’ve been twirling around each other since the beginning, fingers brushing like cosmic dust coalescing, two stars orbiting ever closer, and eventually, we will collide.

My left hand progresses through the chords,one two three,one two three. The melody starts quiet, delicate and hidden, before it grows confrontational and cacophonous.

He listens to me play. I imagine us dancing from one side of the room to another, wondering when he will hum his approval, brush his finger against my neck, press his lips to my skin.

But when the song has its abrupt end and I turn around, he’s not there. The feeling vanishes.

Maybe I was imagining it. The disappointment still tears through me.

I’malone.

I stand so suddenly the room spins for a second. My eyes scan every inch of the walls, as if to find where the sensation of being watched came from. I know that he can easily slip between this room and the darkness behind the walls. The entry point has to be visible. Ithasto.

I walk the perimeter of the room. Nothing looks different. There’s no switch, no hidden door. He never came. I truly am alone.

The stabbing pain returns right behind my eyes.

I’m alone.

Even when I played his song. Even after last night. What else could he possibly have to do today? He said he wanted to be tethered, and yet I played his song and hedid not come.

My questions were too invasive last night. I asked too much of him. Pushed him too far.

I should have known. It’s always been volatile between us. This push and pull has been too much. He woke in the middle of the night and left me there because he lost interest. Like a cat batting around a dead mouse, it’s no fun unless the prey is squealing. That’s what he wants—he wants me afraid, he’s said I should be scared of him, and I was too easy, too willing to let him in.

He finally realized that I’m too much.

A high-pitched sound rings in my ears.

Stop.

I do this. Over and over again. I keep doing this.

Breathe, Mallary.

My lungs seize, but I force a breath to expand my ribs, filling them with more and more air until they burn. My chest aches. My heart is about to burst. My head pounds like I’ve taken a mallet to my skull. I only let the air out once stars dance across my vision.

Stop.

He must be somewhere.

My feet take me out to the hall. The quiet of the house only makes the ringing in my ears louder. It’s too quiet. There’s no music. He’s not taunting me, or whispering in my ear.

Breathe.

I force another breath in. Someone told me once to inhale and hold it, to let it out slowly. Breathe in, and out, and repeat. But my throat feels too tight. Fingers claw at my skin, my jaw, scoring red marks against my flesh.

There are hands around my throat. Squeezing.

So I strangled her.

The east wing is empty. He’s not in my room.

I can’t find him.

I watch the paneled halls pass me by, the chill of winter seeping in through every crack and crevice, until my hands are numb and there’s frost on my breath. It could snow inside, I think. The windows are foggy with ice, and there’s the fleeting scent of something warm and sweet wafting from the staff hall.