Torment

THE AFFAIR

Eyes tightly shut. Vase of Lilacs. Blood. Rifle. Burns inhaled deeply. Her diaphragm gradually expanding, the morning breeze filling her lungs with bountiful freshness of the newly bloomed flowers. Ears tickled by the birds chirping loudly from the garden. Behind her, the reviving wind carried the curtains and the hanging chimes. The swift promise of their bells touching, ringing and vibrating and whispering in constant cling... cling... cling... And, with heavy exhalation, Burns' eyes fluttered.

Without even knowing why, her stomach just suddenly clenched. Her chest tightened, as if someone had been squeezing them. She sighed once again and resigned herself in front of the piano. Why did Homer have an envelope of lab test results named for Rosalie? The envelope was empty. Burns searched for more but there was nothing she could find except for Homer's rifle, some office papers and an empty sketchbook in his office. But surely, there was something wrong. She wasn't that dumb not to understand what was going on however, at the same time, things did not make sense. She hated feeling this way. Not being able to grasp on what was going on was something she barely experienced. Now that it was finally happening, Burns thought she was being dragged under this world of illusion where nothing seem real anymore.

Or maybe it was because of the fact that she missed her old life. So much. Burns missed their small house in Sicily. The inspiring blue green waters of the Tyrrhenian sea. Her books. Her harpsichord. Now, every time she tried to play the piano, there was something that would always stir within her entrails. It was like pins and needles crawling from her toes up to the tips of her fingers. The sensation of keys beneath her fingertips accompanied with the glorious strings and rustic sound of Baroque music was slowly fading. Its sound now muffled in her head, almost gone.

Burns attempted to play Bach's concerto in f minor with a glimmer of hope that it would fulfil her agony. The rising and falling of the notes in tempo of Largo, was somehow satisfying. But it wasn't enough. She suddenly stopped because she knew it would never be as good like her own instrument in Palermo. Was she really that certain to stay in the country she barely experienced? Reader, Burns had experienced Germany and Rwanda more than she spent her time in Santa Lucia. Furthermore, the murder of manang Hilda's husband was still hanging in the air and it was frustrating her even more.

What troubled her more was the complication about the people around her. Burns had spent most of her times in her solitude with the people she knew and trusted. Furthermore, although she was aware that everyone would have their own faults, deep down, she also knew that would be struggling to handle the people that were now surrounding her. Manuel, Leonora, Edgar Sr., Georgiana, Carl, Edgar II and perhaps Rosalie though she was her mother. The idea that she was actually staying and giving her chance had left her wondering; did she really hate her mother for what Rosalie had done to her father? Or was it something else? Something deeper and darker because in truth she envied Georgiana, for having the opportunity to be with Rosalie and have a complete family?

Just beside her she felt Pilot's fur on her legs. Slowly, she turned around and found her dog sitting patiently in next to her. Burns felt bad for her dog too. She was aware that she didn't have enough time for him since she stayed in the town. Although she had been bringing Pilot to the lab and actually had brought the dog to look for a dead man's remains, it would never be enough. There was also no guarantee whether Pilot should stay with her because of the weather extremities in Santa Lucia. Pilot was massive and furry. Her dog was more likely to suffer if she kept him with her.