Page 12 of Petrify

After the sun sets, she wanders to the piano. The siren song of the instrument calls her back into its embrace. She can’t stay away long, no, she’s like me. She sits at the bench and doesn’t move for some time.

I almost come out of the shadows. I want to sit next to her.

She’s teasing me. Torturing me.

Just when I begin to grow bored, she exhales a deep breath and sets her fingers on the keys. There’s no music on the deck. It’s all muscle memory.

The first few soft notes of Respighi’sNotturnoring through the air. Delicate, nearly intangible, like the first scattering of snowflakes in a winter storm.

She sways, the blonde ends of her hair brushing side to side. I want to see the way concentration morphs her features. I want to hear her thoughts.

I want to know her.

The song is not even over before I force myself further into the darkness.

Knowher.

That’s not something I get to do. That’s not something I’ve everwantedto do.

I could keep lying to myself. Pretend that she is fodder and nothing else. It would be the wise thing to do.

If the Beauchenes think I am a demon, they are about to find I can be so much worse.

Chapter 7

The Pianist

Before I haveto meet Henri at the parlor this morning, I search the internet for his dead brother’s name.

Arnie Beauchene.

In this house, alone in this room, I feel the ghost is there, looming over my shoulders.

He doesn’t know he’s dead.

The first few pages of search results aren’t helpful. Articles from almost twenty years ago, nothing about his death. And then, nearly twenty minutes into my search:

Senator’s Only Son Found Dead at Eleven

Foul Play Or Fatal Accident?

Beauchene Family Tragedy

Senator Accused of Endangerment

The articles all summarize the event much the same: he was found dead at the edge of the pond after wandering away from his nanny. He hadn’t been alone for long. The Beauchenes came under fire for the “neglect” of their son, a controversy which theyturned around onto the nanny—successfully—though she’s not named.

But after this influx of news reports over a decade ago—nothing. No one questioned the outcome of the coroner’s report. A drowning. Accidental.

I frown at my laptop screen.

At the top of one of the news pages, a photo of Arnie with the Beauchenes is front and center. Heissmiling. His dark hair is ruffled, though he’s dressed smart. His mother and father each rest a hand on their son’s shoulders.

The perfect family portrait.

Tooperfect.

Senator Mariane Beauchene (CT) with husband Leo, and son Bastien, only two months prior to the fatal accident.