Page 47 of Cruel Delights
I force myself to clear my throat. “Well, are you going to call him?”
She nods out of her dazed look and then blinks the last of it away. “Yes… yeah… I’ll definitely call him. But are you sure?”
“Call him Sunday morning. Around nine a.m. Mention my name. That I heard you play and knew you would be a good fit for his holiday orchestra. Tell him your educational background and that you are presently a piano teacher. Leave out the rest.”
“Kaden—”
“When he brings you in for an audition, dress conservatively. A simple black dress will do. Sleeveless if possible. Wear your hair up. Fyodor has a thing for female players who show their neck and shoulders. Be polite and agreeable, and he will hire you. Do you understand?”
“Why are you doing this? You haven’t even heard me play…”
“I’ve told you. I can tell you have talent. Now take my help and tell me how it goes.”
Lyra gives a sharp nod as it seems to sink in. Her mood lightens considerably, and she checks and then rechecks the business card several times.
When our lunch is over and we part ways, she apologizes for ignoring me for several days. I wave it off and tell her I understand. That she was correct to be wary of me—and she was.
She still would be.
As we part ways and I loiter an extra moment to watch her walk away, I stick my hands in my pockets, and wonderwhy.
Why am I helping this girl? Why did I feel the need to better her job situation? Why did I kill Maximillion?
In the moment, I believed I understood—he was a grating, pompous idiot, and he deserved to be put in his place.
But did he really? Did he meet my why, or was I reacting out of some other subconscious motive?
Finally turning away and walking off, I’m not sure of the answer.
* * *
One a.m., I sit in the dark across the street from Lyra’s apartment building. Her bedroom light is off and she’s not home. After our lunch, she went out and ran some errands (I know because I was with her almost the entire time).
Then she came home to shower and change for her shift at the Velvet Piano. Part of me was tempted to go sit outside the bar; however, I decided against it. Since I have several methods to monitor her movements at all times, I didn’t want to risk the chance she’d happen by and catch me.
She was right about her manager at the Velvet Piano. Erma had her duel against a player named Rooney. Lyra’s nerves bested her, and she lost… though not nearly as devastatingly as the last time.
Perhaps a sign she’s overcoming her nerves.
She kept her phone in her pocket as she played, which meant I couldn’t see the performance. I could only listen to it using the spy app I’ve used to link her phone to mine.
The duels ended and the bar closed for the night.
I check the time with an impatient glower. She should be home by now. If she’s decided to make any stops along the way, particularly to see that junkie loser ex of hers…
I grit my teeth and glare at the numbers on the clock.
Despite the fact that I haven’t consciously stopped to think about my newfound obsession in Lyra, I’m distantly aware of it. I’m cognizant of the fact that I’ve begun to dedicate an increasing amount of time to monitoring her. I’ve devoted entire segments of my day to observing her and following her.
She’s begun to invade my thoughts at all hours.
There’s something about her that draws me.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve formed an obsessive attachment.
My father would sneer and remind me of how I behaved around my mother as a young boy. Before I could make sense of the world around me and the violence I had been born into, I often sought her out to hide. Hear her play beautiful melodies for me. She was a form of comfort and peace against an ever-darkening urge. At least I believe it the comforting music was coming from her…
It was her beautiful music that often called to me in the dark halls of our home.