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But it was thoroughly empty.
No prom for you, she thought with a nervous laugh, and now no cotillion either. You’re batting a thousand, Melody.
She’d missed her senior high school dance, ironically, due to her ‘gift’. It turned out that while it was somewhat advantageous to read someone’s thoughts and feelings, it wasn’t always fun. Especially not when your boyfriend Jason inadvertently reveals he’s been sleeping with someone else — one of your closest friends, to boot — just hours before the big night.
The realization had been bitter, the confrontation even worse. It had ruined any chance Melody had of finishing her senior year with any degree of happiness, but at least it had made the decision to go to New York that much easier.
She sighed, thinking back on what the pseudo-gypsy had said to her about sorrow. Her abilities were both a blessing and a curse, and they didn’t always come when she needed them. Sometimes they were outright useless, too. Melody would try to determine if someone were lying about something, only to read a recipe, or a reminder to pick someone up at the airport, or the random memory of pure ecstatic joy from hugging a puppy.
Bits and pieces. That’s all she got. Fragments. Shadows. And sometimes, she’d learned bitterly? Getting half a story from someone’s mind was worse than nothing at all.
A minute later she was in the conservatory, standing in front of an elaborate glass trophy case. Tiny crystal birds filled the first two shelves. Melody saw a beautiful vintage music box — she knew it from the treble-clef on its front, and because she owned a similar one herself. Her father, a gifted violinist, had given it to her on her eighth birthday. He’d given her her name, too.
Focus.
Above, on the higher shelves, she saw more gold and silver trinkets. There was a small spoon collection. An antique dueling pistol, set in a wooden stand. Melody stood on her tiptoes, straining to see. She saw a drinking — no, a powder — horn. An engraved flask. A scrolling filigree box with the cameo of a woman on the front. It was too small to hold the egg though, she decided.
SKRIIIIIIT!
Melody’s heart leapt into her throat. Something moved. Something in the shadows, on the other side of the room.
She recoiled immediately, crouching down and curling into a ball. She felt vulnerable and naked in only her underwear. She was torn immediately between hoping she wouldn’t be seen, and wanting to run as fast as she could.
For now, she stayed put.
SKRIIIIIIT!
It was a shifting noise. A dragging sound. Like someone scraping a dried branch against a stone floor.
Get out of here! her mind screamed. Go!
She was up and out, moving in one fluid motion. At the base of the staircase she turned to look back. It was horrible, staring into the darkness of the previous doorway. Wanting but not wanting to see what might come through it…
SKRIIIIIIT! SKRIIIIIIT!
She took the stairs two at a time. And then she was back, back in the hallway. Back in her hallway, standing at the door to her room. Melody grabbed the knob. Turned it…
But the knob didn’t move.
The key!
She’d forgotten to take it with her! It hadn’t even occurred to her that the door might lock behind her.
Another noise reached her ears. This time, it was more of a bump. A thump. A double-thump…
Someone — or something — was coming up the stairs.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit…
Melody ran past the next door and stopped at the second one. How many doors down was Eric’s room? Two? Three? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. Tried the knob gently, but it didn’t move.
This is it. It’s gotta be it.
She curled her knuckles against the door. Just before knocking, she heard another sound — this one from the other side.
The sound of a man weeping.
All the blood in her veins went to ice. The long, wracking sobs on the other side of the door were borderline hysterical. They came with an intermittent wailing that sent shivers down Melody’s spine.
