A Thousand Years

2

                                                                        ..

                In the morning, I open my eyes slowly, blinded by the light coming in through the balcony window. I entangle myself from the satin white sheets. I start walking down the staircases, running my fingers along the cool marble stairway handles. Once I get to the last step, my shoes click against the marble floor and I hear music—Beethoven’s 9th symphony—playing from the ballroom. When I walk in I see a grand piano, with his fingers gently caressing the keys, playing along to the record perfectly. The keys don’t move when his fingers press down, but the sound is released nonetheless. He looks up when he hears me come in. He doesn’t smile, or make any expression—just absolute and utter seriousness.

                He walks towards me. ‘Did you sleep well?’

                I nod, too nervous to speak.

                ‘Do you need to eat?’

                I shake my head.

                ‘Well, say something, please?’

                ‘…Why?’

                ‘I like the sound of your voice—it reminds me of the way mine used to be.’

                ‘Yours is more unique. I like the way yours sounds.’

                He smirks, ‘The price I had to pay to get such a voice…it wasn’t worth it.’

                I don’t think and blurt out, ‘How did you—‘

                He looks at me, back to his intimidating glare. ‘I-I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have asked…’

                ‘Technically, you didn’t. And no, you shouldn’t have to know.’ I nod, staring down.

                ‘You said you wanted to talk…’

                ‘Yes, and?’

                ‘Well I have a lot of questions.’

                He nods, and starts walking beside me as we stroll throughout the mansion.

                I don’t know how long we’ve spoken or the large number of topics we’ve burned through. I know I’m trying to avoid it—but I need to ask him.

                ‘What were you like when you were alive?’

                ‘No. Ask something else.’

                ‘Please, please it’s only a simple question.’

                ‘No. Next question.’

                I step in front of him. ‘Please…’

                ‘Here’s a change of pace for us both—tell me about you.’

                ‘…What would you want to know?’

                ‘Anything.  Just begin—age, background, family, life, anything.’

                ‘Um…alright…’ I shift around, playing with my hands while trying to find the words on my tongue. ‘Well…the reason I’m here…’ my breath hitches, ‘my mom was pregnant with me when she was seventeen and my dad was thirty. He worked double shifts and by the time I was five he started drinking…’ My throat burns from trying to hold back tears, ‘My mom was…so sweet…she had the most beautiful chestnut brown hair with curls that cascaded around her cheeks and these stunning, emerald eyes…’ I pause, and take a seat on a small chair in the hall. Jack stands by me, waiting for me to continue. I take in a deep breath.

           ‘She never did anything wrong…he would always come home—drunk, high…anything…I remember one night he-he came home with some hooker and my mom threw her out and my father…he…he was so angry, I watched him throw her to the ground and pull her hair…I kept hearing her skull hit the floor…there was so much blood. I screamed and tried to pull him off. It got him to let go, thank God…but he sent me to my room, locked the door…and he…’ I can’t bring myself to say it. ‘The next morning I saw her clothes on the floor, ripped with his and she was in the kitchen cleaning the blood. He was getting over his hangover… It just kept going…that same cycle from when I was born he was this disgusting, vile drunk…I’ve put up with it for sixteen years…

           ‘So the day I came here, started out like the rest…he came home drunk, my mother tried to get him to sleep but he was so angry he just kept hitting her…I tried stopping him but he pushed me down and got on top of me and…’ I push away tears streaming down my cheeks, ‘my mother got him off of me but he just wouldn’t get his hands off of her…and then he got a bottle…and…I just remember hearing her scream until I saw her body go still until he left her alone…he looked at me…

           ‘I remember grabbing a revolver from my mother’s room during the beating and…I held it at him and pulled the trigger…I heard his body hit the floor and… and…’

                Jack’s voice hits the air, ‘You ran.’

                I nod, letting my tears flow. ‘Most sixteen year olds worry about what to do for their parties or boyfriends or school…I had different expectations for my life…my only goal was to make sure my mother would stay safe but I couldn’t get him off of her and I couldn’t…’

                ‘It wasn’t your fault Lea…’

                ‘I could’ve done more…’ I quickly change the subject and wipe away my tears, ‘How old were you, when you died?’

                He doesn’t answer, but starts walking towards the ballroom. Before entering he turns slightly towards me eerily with a solemn expression in his eyes. He gently says, ‘I’m ready to show you…what happened to me.’