***
Layla-Age 16
The house was silent. It was just me in my forbidden room. Oh, how badly I wanted Peter to come in and sweep me off my feet.
But that didn't happen. I knew what I had to to do.
I silently opened my door, walked passed my father's room, and headed to the music room.
In our music room, we had a giant piano. Although no one in our family played piano, dad thought of it as a statement of wealth. For some reason, Peter was always in here if he wasn't in the kitchen.
"Pete?" I said silently.
Peter walked out from behind the piano.
"Layla? You should be asleep. It's 2:00 AM," he said. So typical.
"I wanted to talk...about you," I said, trying to sugar-coat my voice.
"Me?" he said with a laugh- and a beautiful one, at that.
"Yes..how did you die?" I said innocently.
This caught him off guard.
"It's just...I...know...ma-" I said nervously. I must have sounded like an idiot.
"In this manor," he said, as if recalling memory, "that's why I stayed here. I was going to leave, but I saw your father- how he treated you- and how you could see me. Everywhere I went, I was ignored. But even when you were and infant, you saw me. You could touch me, as well. And I could touch you. It was like someone had finally broken me out of walking prison. I decided to stay and become like your second father," he said.
"OK, so you died in the manor...that still doesn't tell me HOW you died," I said.
"Her name was Gertrude. She was the daughter of William and Claira Van Stant, the owners of this house in the 1800s. She was five years old and I was eighteen. I was the gardener, I needed some extra money for my family. One day, both William and Claira had gone to a social party and I was to look after Gertrude. She was running in the garden, and she twisted her leg in a hole I had dug for the petunias. She was so little- she didn't understand what had happened- so I took her in to clean her up. When William got home, Gertrude told him that I hurt her in the garden and made her cry. I pleaded my case, but I was only a poor boy, and money wins over matter. Always. I was hung at once for the abuse of a child, and I stayed in the manor thinking that one day I could tell people what had really happened. I never got my chance."
I stared at Peter long and hard. I wanted to cry and hug him. I wished I had never asked, but at the same time, all I wanted was to know more. He was so gorgeous, so perfectly sculpted, how could they even do that to him? They were rich, I thought, just like me. I would have been one the riches that accused innocent poor people. If I had lived in that time, that would have been ME.
I was suddenly furious with myself. I was so confused and so angry...I had found the true meaning of money, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Desperate, I ran to Peter's arm and gave him a long embrace. It was so perfect, and it was like time was moving around us. I felt safe, but at the same, I felt his anger, his sadness, everything he had been though, with just one hug. It was depressing, but I wanted him to know I was there for him.
He could tell I was upset.
"Music," he said simply.
He lead me to the piano and I took a seat.
"It takes you away," he said.
He took a hold on my fingers, and played a gentle song, filled with more emotion than I had ever felt.
I couldn't believe he could play piano, and it was amazing that he could control me to compose this.
Through that one song, I could feel his pain, his angst, and his heart. At the end of the song, the tune became lighter and cheerful.
"It changed," I noticed.
"It changed when you came into my life," he said smoothly.
For once in my life, everything felt right.
