Chapter Eight Cromwell

Chapter Eight

Cromwell

The breeze slapped my skin as I rushed through the quad, past some old alumnus memorialized in a cast-iron statue in the center. My eyes darted around me, at the darkened edge of the grass and the illuminated benches under vintage streetlamps.

I breathed in my cigarette smoke, forcing it into my lungs, waiting for the rush of nicotine to calm me down. But it didn’t work. I let my feet lead me wherever they wanted me to go. But it didn’t stop the shaking of my hands. It didn’t stop the erratic beat of my heart and the tears that just wouldn’t fucking stop.

My fingers ached as I clutched the metal in my hands so tightly I wondered if they would ever get the feeling back in them again. I walked and walked until I found myself at the lake. It was silent, no sign of life but the docked boats and the dim lights from the far-off lakeside bar that sat on the edge. My feet led me to the end of a dock before they gave out and I dropped to my knees.

The sound of the lake lapping against the dock’s wooden posts hit my ears. Pale purples lit up my eyes, and the taste of cinnamon burst in my mouth. I groaned low, not wanting any of it. Not wanting the colors or the tastes or the feels…

“Son,” he whispered, his eyes shining. “How…how did you play like that?”

I shrugged, dropping my hands from the piano. Dad’s hand came on my head, and he crouched beside me. “Has someone taught you that?”

I shook my head. “I—” I quickly shut my mouth.

“You what?” He smiled. “Come on, buddy. I promise I’m not angry.” I didn’t want to make him angry. He’d been away with the army for months and months and he’d just got back. I wanted to make him proud, not angry.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and ran my fingertips over the keys. They didn’t make a sound. “I can just play,” I whispered. I glanced up at Dad. I lifted my hands. “They just know what to do.” I pointed to my head. “I just follow the colors. The tastes.” I pointed at my chest, my stomach. “How they make me feel.”

My dad blinked then suddenly hugged me to his chest. I missed him when he was away. It wasn’t the same when he was gone. When he pulled back, he said, “Play again, Cromwell. Let me listen.”

So I did.

It was the first time in my life I’d ever seen my dad cry.

So I played some more…

I gasped, sucking in the humid air. I moved my feet, my back hitting the wooden post. A man was canoeing in the distance. I wondered why the hell he was here at night. But then I thought maybe he was like me. Maybe when he closed his eyes, he never got rest. Instead, he only saw the memory of what destroyed him. As I looked at the water rippling beneath the oars, I wished I were him right now. Just going. No destination in mind. Just bloody going.

Bonnie’s face popped into my head as I felt the dog tag’s metal cutting into my palm. I glanced down at my fingers and relived them playing the keys. Tattoos of skulls, and of the ID number that meant the most to me in the world, looked back at me. They mocked me.

It had to have been Bonnie Farraday who had walked in. At midnight, when everyone else was out at the bar or in bed, it had to be her who stood at the door. The one girl who had managed to get under my skin. To make me feel things I had never wanted to feel. I shook my head and ran my free hand over my face.

It had started with a message in my mailbox…

Drop by my office at five,

Professor Lewis.

I’d gone there and taken a seat in the chair opposite his. He had stared at me quietly. I’d met him a couple of times in my life. Mostly when I was young…then just before…

The first time I’d met him, I’d gone with my parents to see him conduct his work at the Royal Albert Hall.

He’d heard of me and had invited us all along.

Then years passed and I heard nothing again. Not when I’d wanted him anyway.

Right now, I barely knew him at all. “How are you doing, Cromwell?” he asked, his accent similar to my mum’s, although hers had been diluted through too many years in England.

“Fine,” I muttered and looked at the certificates on the walls. At a picture of him conducting an orchestra playing his music at the BBC Proms in the Royal Albert Hall.

I remembered how the place had smelled. Wood. Resin from the bows.

“How are you finding Jefferson?”

“Dull.”

Lewis sighed. He leaned forward, his face apprehensive. It became clear why a few seconds later. “I noticed the date this morning.” He paused. “I know it’s the anniversary of your father…” He cleared his throat. “I know I only met him a couple of times. But we spoke often. He…he believed in you so much…”

I paled. I didn’t know my father spoke to him often. I closed my eyes for a second and inhaled.

It was as simple as a Google search to see how and when it happened. People I didn’t know—or barely knew—could find out every detail if they got hold of my father’s name. They could read his death like they knew him. Like they were there when it happened…

But I couldn’t do it right now. I wouldn’t face this with a professor I didn’t know from Adam. He might have offered me a scholarship, but the guy didn’t know me. He had no right to stick his nose in this.

I jumped to my feet and stormed out of the door. “Cromwell!” Lewis’s voice trailed off to nothing as I got the hell away.

Students gave me a wide berth as I stormed down the corridor. I shouldered some arsehole, who spun on me. “Watch it, douchebag.”

I slammed my hands into his chest and threw him up against the wall. “You watch it, wanker. Before I rearrange your face.” I needed to hit him. I needed to get this surge of anger out of me before I did something I’d regret.

“Cromwell!” Easton’s voice cut through the gathering crowd. I yanked the prick in my hands off the wall and threw him to the ground. He looked up at me, wide-eyed I turned and burst through the door, looking from left to right, just wondering where the hell to go.

Easton caught up with me. He jumped in front of me. “East, I swear to God. Get out of my way.”

“Come with me,” he said.

“East—”

“Just come with me.”

I followed after him.

Some chick waved at me. “Hi, Cromwell.”

“Not now,” I snapped, then jumped into Easton’s truck. Easton pulled out of the campus, and for once in his life had the sense not to open his mouth.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. My mum was calling. She’d been trying all day. Gritting my teeth, I answered.

“Cromwell,” she said, relief in her voice.

“What?”

There was a pause. “I was just checking you were okay today, honey.”

“I’m fine,” I said, shuffling in my seat. I needed to get the hell out of this truck.

My mum sniffed, and ice-cold fury swept through me. “It’s a hard day for us both, Cromwell.”

My lip curled in disgust. “Yeah, well, you got your new husband to make it all better. Go pour your heart out to him.”

I hung up, just as Easton pulled up to a wooded area covered with thick green trees. I jumped out of the truck and stormed forward, not knowing where I was going. I burst through the trees and came to water. I stopped dead.

I closed my eyes and just stood there trying to calm the hell down. I breathed in, tensing my stomach when I felt all the pain I knew would come today.

I dropped to the ground and stared out over the water. I didn’t even know this place existed, never mind so close to campus.

Easton dropped down beside me. I shoved my mum’s phone call from my head. Pushed the anger over the nosy bastard that was Lewis aside and just breathed.

“I come here when I get like you are now.” Easton leaned forward, putting his arms around his legs and his chin on his arms. “Peaceful, you know? Like there’s no one else out here but you.” He laughed once. “Or us.”

I put my hands in my hair and hung my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was Dad’s face. The last time we spoke. The raised words and his expression as I turned my back on him and walked away. I couldn’t stand it.

I looked out over the lake. I was born in this state, yet I had absolutely no connection to it. The view right now looked nothing like home. It wasn’t green enough, and the weather was too hot. For the first time since I’d been here, I felt homesick. But I didn’t know what for. That place hadn’t felt like my home for a long time. My relationship with my mum had deteriorated and I had no friends. Not real friends, anyway.

It was a long time before I calmed down. Easton had disappeared a while back. When he dropped beside me again, he held out a beer. He put the six-pack between us. I pulled off the cap with my teeth. The minute the beer hit my lips, I exhaled.

“You good?” Easton asked.

I nodded. He clinked his beer to mine. “Wood Knocks. Tonight. We’ll get out of our heads. Help you forget.”

I nodded again, then drank another three beers.

I’d have done anything to take myself away from feeling like that.

* * *

Some girl’s hands moved down my stomach, dipping under the waistband of my jeans. I let my head fall back against the wall. Her lips sucked on my neck as she took me in her hand. “Cromwell,” she whispered against my skin. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

I stared out into the blackened room. Some cloakroom where students could store their coats in winter. Sawdust covered the floor. Peanut shells were down there too. The girl held me in her hand. Her lips kept pressing against my neck. It was annoying me. “You’re so hot,” she whispered.

I wasn’t doing this.

I rolled my eyes, pushed her off me, and moved her hand away. I ducked out of the cloakroom and into the mass of students Easton seemed to have gathered in the hour between when we got back to the dorm and came here.

I could hear him. I was sure Easton’s voice could be heard from space. I burst out onto Main Street and looked around. There was hardly anyone around. Everyone was inside.

The shops and diners seemed to tilt slightly. I rubbed my hand down my face. I’d drunk too much.

“Where’s Cromwell?” I heard the girl’s voice ask from inside. I took off toward campus before anyone could see I’d smoke-bombed. My feet were heavy as I trudged my way back home. But when I approached my dorm, it was the last place I wanted to be.

I didn’t think. I didn’t even know where I was going until my feet stopped at the music rooms. I stared at the closed door and the card reader that let you in. I breathed hard, as if I’d just run a marathon. I tried to turn around, but my feet wouldn’t listen.

My head fell against the door, and I closed my eyes…

I lifted my hands off the piano and blinked. My head always went somewhere else when I played. It transformed. Turned to color and shapes. Until I finished, and the world came back into view.

The audience burst into applause. I stood up and looked out over the crowd. I saw my mum clapping, on her feet with tears in her eyes. I gave her a small smile then left the stage.

As I loosened my bow tie, the concert’s director tapped me on the shoulder. “Amazing, Cromwell. It was amazing. I can’t believe you’re only twelve.”

“Thank you,” I said and walked toward the backstage area where we could get changed.

I stared at the floor as I walked. I was glad Mum could see me tonight, but the person I wanted to see me wasn’t here.

He was never here.

As I turned the corner, a flash of movement caught my eye. I lifted my head. The first thing I saw was khaki green. My eyes widened. “Dad?”

“Cromwell,” he said, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My heart beat faster as I ran to him, throwing my arms around his waist.

“You were unbelievable,” he said and hugged me back.

“You saw?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

When I looked up, I was inside the music building. My student ID was in my hand. I was in a music room, with a large rack of instruments at one end.

My hands itched to touch them. I wanted to blame it on the alcohol. I wanted to blame it on any damn thing else but the fact that I needed to be here. That I needed these instruments.

I wandered to the piano and ran my hands over the closed lid. My gut felt like it was tearing in two. I pulled my hand back, trying to turn away. But I couldn’t. I sat down on the stool and lifted the lid. Ivory and black keys stared up at me. And like always, I could read them. I didn’t see them as mute; I saw them filled with notes and music and color.

My hands trailed along the keys, and my lip hooked up at the corner. I ripped my hand away. “No,” I said, snapping to no one but myself. My voice was lost in the room.

I closed my eyes, trying to stop the ache in my chest that had been there for three years. I could control it. I was good at that now. Pushing it away. But since this morning, I’d had to fight it harder than usual. It had killed me all day.

It was getting hard to fend off.

“Play, son,” a voice whispered in my head. My hands fisted as I heard the echo of my father’s words in my mind. “Play…”

I gasped, releasing all the fight I had bottled up inside.

The room was silent. A blank canvas waiting for color. My hands rested on the keys. I held my breath then pressed down on a single key. The sound rang out like a siren. A burst of green so vivid it bordered on neon. Another came, bringing a faded red. Before I could stop, my hands were dancing over the keys as if I’d never stopped. As if I hadn’t moved on three years ago.

Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor spilled out from my hands, every bar burned into my brain. No sheet music was needed. I just followed the colors. Vibrant red. Pale blue. Ochre. Tan brown. Lemon yellow. One after the other. A tapestry in my mind.

When the piece came to a close, I turned on the stool. I didn’t think this time. I didn’t put myself through the torment. I just crossed the room and picked up whatever I came to first. At the first stroke of the string on the violin, I closed my eyes and went with it.

This time it was my own music that poured from me.

One after the other, I moved through the instruments, the music like a drug being injected into my veins. I was finally getting my fix back. I was unable to stop. Overdosing on the color, the tastes, and the rush of adrenaline it sent sailing in my blood.

I didn’t know how long had passed. But when I had played every instrument, I headed for the door. But my addiction wasn’t done with me yet. I wanted my feet to just cooperate tonight. I wanted to leave this behind and chalk it up to being too drunk.

But I no longer felt plastered. The alcohol wasn’t what was leading me right now. It was me. And I knew it.

Like it was a magnet, I made my way to the piano again. I reached into my pocket and pulled out his dog tags. I couldn’t bring myself to look at his name. Instead I put them on top of the piano and let them just be with me.

Let him be with me.

I breathed in and out five times before my hands landed on the keys. My heart was a bass drum as I let them take control. And when they did, it was a damn dagger to the chest.

I’d only ever played this song once. Exactly three years ago to the day. I’d never written down the score. It didn’t matter. It was committed to memory. Every note. Every color. Every heartbreaking feel.

This piece was all dark colors. Low notes and tones. And as the sounds surrounded me, my face contorted, remembering Mum walking into my bedroom at three in the morning…

“Baby … ” she whispered, hands shaking, face pale and wracked with tears. “They’ve found him…he’s gone.”

I’d stared at her, not moving a muscle. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He’d been missing, but he was going to be okay. He had to be. After how we had left things. He had to be.

But watching my mum fall apart, I knew it was real. He was gone.

As the sun had started to rise, I’d gone into the room that had my piano—my twelfth birthday present. And I’d played. I’d played, and as I did, the reality started to sink in.

He was gone.

I curled over as my fingers touched the keys, the pain in my stomach too hard to bear. The music was dark, slow, and like nothing I’d played before. He couldn’t be gone. Life wasn’t that unfair.

“He’s gone…” My mum’s words circled my head. As I hit a crescendo, a bellow ripped from my throat. Tears came thick and fast after that. But my hands never stopped moving. It was like they couldn’t.

I had to play.

It was like they knew this was it. That I’d never touch piano keys again.

As the piece fell away, the last note coming to a close, I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands. It was all too much. My hands on this piano. Playing again after all this time. The colors, the taste of metal…the massive rip in my chest.

Teardrops fell onto the keys. Dad’s face came into my mind. The last look he ever gave me—pain and sadness. A face I never saw again.

He’d taken the music with him.

My hands slipped from the keys. I couldn’t breathe. The room was too silent and still, and—

The sound of the door opening made me look up. I felt the blood in my face drain as I saw who stood in the doorway. Bonnie Farraday was staring at me, her face pale and her brown eyes sad. And it ruined me. In that moment, I hadn’t wanted to be alone. But I had no one to lean on. No one to turn to. I’d pushed everyone away.

And then she appeared. Her eyes filled with tears. Bonnie was there with me when I was breaking apart. I didn’t know what to do. I needed to leave, needed to push her away too. I didn’t need anyone in my life. I was better off alone. But in that moment, I wanted her near. Then she touched my arm, and I nearly gave in.

When I looked into her eyes as tears fell from mine, I knew I had to get out of the room. I broke into a run, hearing Bonnie’s voice as she called my name. I ran until I reached the small clearing Easton had shown me earlier. I slumped down on the grass and let the warm breeze wrap around me. As I lit up a smoke, I caught sight of my hands.

They seemed different. Fingers freed, somehow, like I’d finally given in to what they wanted after all these years.

I’d played. I’d let the music back in.

As I took a drag of my cigarette, I tried to push the feeling of it from my head. But the echo of the notes still lingered in my ears. The shadows from the colors were still living in my mind, and the phantom feel of the keys beneath my fingers was still etched on my skin.

Muscle memory refusing to let go.

Frustrated, I lay back and looked up at the night sky. The stars were out in full effect. I closed my eyes, trying to push everything away and get back to the emptiness I’d embraced for so long. It didn’t work. Nothing would leave me.

Especially not the southern accent of Bonnie Farraday and the look in her eyes. “The way you can play…”

Her voice was violet blue.

I closed my eyes.

It was my favorite color to hear.