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I lifted the lid of the piano bench,pulled out a pencil and blank music sheets. I shut it and sat down, pulling it to just the right distance before letting my hands do their work.
This melody had been ringing through my head. I needed to extricate it before I ended up like Uncle Alastair, driven mad by sounds that existed only in my mind.
It was complex. It started with a fully diminished seventh chord, with a perfect fifth. Haunting, challenging. There was something crunchy in the music, unsatisfying and alluring. It went from note to note, never settling to a conclusion. It was like there were two strings of melody competing and fighting for dominance.
I played, and wrote the notes on the blank music sheets, then played some more.
The music wrapped and coiled on itself like the petals of a rose, dark and intertwining.
It was an ode to an iron rose in combat.
Chapter 13
Rose - Los Angeles
“Juju,getup!”Hecalled like a drill sergeant screaming down a hall at bootcamp.
Fucking Brett. The man was like a rooster, up and crowing at the break of dawn.
I put the pillow over my head and groaned.
“No!” I whined.
“Juju,” he said melodically, mocking me. “Juju bear. Juju bean…”
“Stop with these nicknames.” I complained.
“What? I’m trying them out to see if we like them.” I could feel him shrug good-naturedly. Even that made me want to punch him in the throat.
“Wedo not.“ I groaned.
“Well, I do, so the nicknames stay.” He told me matter-of-factly.What a dick.
I could hear him chuckling from my door, even with the pillow over me.
“Get up, get up! You have to show me those hacking skills today.”
I rolled out of bed, the blanket rolling with me and falling into a heap on the floor. I walked out in my sleeping shorts and t-shirt, and met the chipper jerk in the kitchen. Beside my coffee was the container of creatine. He mercifully let me drink it in silence before accosting me again.
Over the past five–or was it six?–days, I had learned how to fly a plane, shoot all sorts of guns and rifles. He took me skydiving, which was terrifying. And in the evenings we still worked on martial arts: Boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. In our down time, he talked to me about reading people and their expressions.
Don’t just watch someone’s eyes when you question them, but watch the tiny movements of their fingers. Watch the involuntary twitches, and when you’re caught - deny, deny and deny. If that doesn’t work? Counter-accuse and sow some chaos and doubt.
“I got you something,” he said, making me another coffee as I downed the first one.
“Hmm,“ I moaned. “More coffee? Thank you.”
He booped me on the nose with his finger, then chuckled.
“Not the coffee.” He leaned down and pulled something out of a drawer. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen.
A 17-inch laptop in steel gray, the sticky plastic still on it. It was the newest, most state-of-the-art thing in existence. On the lid was the image of a red rose. I squeaked and hopped in place, stretching out my hands.
He handed it to me with a laugh, mirroring my excitement.
I booted up the laptop and it dinged to life.
The laptop was equipped with a retinal scan and fingerprint. It was so fancy. As a poor girl from the Filipino provinces, money had always been tight. I had always seen these laptops advertised, and knew I’d never be able to afford them.
