The Hidden World of Nitea [2 | The Other Realms Series]

Chapter Nineteen

It was another sleepless night. Eddie sat upright on his bed, his body too alert to fall asleep. He reached for his phone. Before he could type out a message and send it to Michelle, he held himself back and locked his phone. He should not disturb her; she could be sleeping. Eddie placed his phone back on his bedside table and leaned against the headboard.

His mind rewound to the moment she asked him to play their favorite nocturne. Sadness rose in his heart as he recalled seeing bafflement and guilt in her eyes. He knew she loved the piece as much as he used to, that she meant no harm, yet when she uttered its name, a flood of memories flashed in his mind and rendered him unable to play it for her.

An idea popped up in his head. Perhaps, if he were to learn to play the piece, he could replace its bitter memories with a happier one. It was more than doable; he could play all three movements of "Gaspard de la Nuit"—and do so at the age of sixteen! The nocturne should be unchallenging. He rose from the bed and made his way to the music room.

He arrived a short while later, and the first thing he did was take a long glimpse at the Bösendorfer. Its empty stool was pushed out of its regular resting spot as if it was expecting him. Eddie sighed. I will do this.

Eddie lit a few flames and suspended them in the air like floating lanterns; if he turned on the lights, it would be too bright for him. He strode towards a shelf and picked a folder of sheet music. He read the label, checking if it was the correct folder, then flicked through pages and booklets until they landed on a thin bundle: the Op. 9 Chopin nocturnes. He extracted a score from the bundle, returned the folder to the shelf, then paced toward the piano.

Eddie set the pages against the rack before he took a seat. He glimpsed the name: Nocturne en Mi Bémol Majeur, Op. 9 No. 2. Its name was enough to make him shudder, but he shrugged it off and leaned closer to study the score. The piece was far easier than the hardest piece in his repertoire, so he could play it. He must play it.

His fingers reached for the keys, a familiar coldness greeting their tips as they landed on the ivory surfaces. This was it. Eddie breathed, exhaled, and pressed the first note. I can play it, he told himself. I can play it.

The past seized him from behind and dragged him back to his Parisian home. It was practice time, which was an hour after the end of dinner. Eight-year-old Eddie carried a set of sheet music as he sauntered toward the Steinway. After placing the pages on the rack, he lifted the lid, kept the felt keyboard cover, and took a seat.

His father eyed him from the comfort of his armchair. "What are you practicing?"

"Nocturne No. 2 by Chopin. I managed to figure out the melody on my own," Little Eddie beamed. He played a few notes with his right hand.

His father smiled. "Very good! So you want to try playing the whole piece?"

"Yup!"

"Wonderful, go ahead."

Little Eddie straightened his posture as he adjusted his seating position, moving the stool around millimeter by millimeter. He looked at the sheet music. There were three flats written after the clefs, which was not a lot—a month earlier, he sight-read a piece with three sharps without much difficulty. The time signature was twelve-eight, which was not too hard for him either. He could do it. He could definitely do it. Little Eddie squinted as he read the first measure, then his hand followed suit.

Not even a minute into the piece and his finger pressed a wrong note, producing a dissonant chord. Little Eddie froze. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting his father's attentive stare. He turned around and reread the notes. Of course, he pressed a B instead of a B-Flat. Little Eddie repositioned his hands and tried again.