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Book Two in the Darien Grace Chronicles
"I couldn't hear the music. I knew that it was pulsing all around me, I could feel it vibrate through the air, but I couldn't hear it. I hadn't been able to hear it for a while now. I ju...
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Leala Kaine
"Well good morning to you, sunshine," I laughed, eyeing the tiny blonde as she stumbled into the room. I couldn't remember just how late it had been when Jas had finally passed out. She'd made it through at least two bottles of wine on her own before she started in on my cognac.
The more she drank, the more she talked. Despite the fact that her closest friend in existence had finally come back into her life, anyone could tell, that there was still a Darien Grace shaped hole in her heart. The Darien who returned from France was remarkably changed from the girl I'd come to know. Some might say the change was for the better, but the differences were eating away at the youngest McKenney. She'd spent the majority of her life following along in the wake of Darien's debauchery and chaos. It was all she knew and the change in her adopted sister weighed on her.
Darien moved like a ghost through the house, passing in and out of moments of awareness. She'd started the night out with Jas and I, laughing along to the old sitcom on playing on the television. Halfway through, something seemed to snap in her mind. She fell out of the conversation, staring off into space as her right hand tapped a strange rhythm against the arm of the sofa.
"That normal?" I asked, taking a sip from my glass.
Jas sighed, her gaze locked on the screen. "It is these days."
Darien's left hand joined the right, playing absently across the surface of the pillow sat in her lap, her glass of wine forgotten on the table beside her. Her eyes closed and her head tilted to each side in a languid arch to a song no one else could hear.
"Still working on the coloring book piece?" I'd seen the multi-colored pages hung like wallpaper throughout Darien's room. She'd been back in the city for a little over a week and she'd spent the majority of that time in her room, staring hopelessly at the large expanse of blank wall between the pages. Each night she played the half-finished composition over and over again trying any possible progression to fill the void left between each half of the arrangement.
There was only one day left before the start of term. Jas and I had only just coaxed her out from her musical isolation and already she was drifting back into the recesses of her mind.
"It's all she can think about. Problem is, the more she thinks, the further the answer drifts away. Dad says it's the curse of the brilliant." She scoffed, downing her entire glass.
"Isn't it a good thing she's playing? Catharsis and all that?"
"Not like this. It's the same sort fucked up mental shit that drove her to France in the first place. Yes, she's playing, but she doesn't know why. She's not fucking dealing so she doesn't know what it is she's writing this piece about."
"Damn Dr. McKenney. Where did you get your degree?" I laughed, trying my best to lighten the mood.
"I'm the leading expert on the mystery that is Darien Grace." She waved her hand dramatically toward her best friend. As if on queue, Darien got up and strode from the room. Moments later we heard the faint plunk of piano keys drift up to us from two floors below.
