Top Peeled Back

Four

Jasmine's fingers struck the keys with an elegant ferocity. Confined to a pair of noise cancelling headphones, the ripping melody she produced was hers and hers alone. Her crying, on the other hand, was for everyone else to share. And although the emotionally charged teenager had locked herself in her room yet again, the drywall barriers could hardly contain her sobs.

Sitting just outside the door was Gracie. Very aware of Jasmine's elevated emotional state, the golden retriever had made herself available for whatever her owner may need. Including the dog, the entire Lewis household knew that playing the piano was therapeutic for Jasmine, and right now she required such therapy. She was in mourning, after all, grieving the death of yet another one of her favorite artists.

Within the industry, Miller Heavy's star was fast rising, but Jasmine had been an ardent supporter since his initial, informal mixtapes made the Internet rounds several years prior. Back in the day, to her father's chagrin, she printed out online images in order to plaster Jacob Miller's face all across her bedroom walls. They hung in her room until the rest of the world caught on, at which time professionally produced posters and magazine cutouts replaced her inkjet originals. But even in the days of homemade homage, it was clear to anyone who listened to his music that Miller Heavy had pure talent. He played his own instruments, wrote his own lyrics. He was energetic, charismatic—

He was so damn sexy.

In frustration, Jasmine stopped playing to gaze at her nightstand. Adorned with photos of both Big Tricky and Miller Heavy, the bedside table housed a small white candle which had maintained a flame since she witnessed the second stream come to a gruesome end in real time. The shock of the shot, Jacob's limp body, and the blood just starting to pool underneath the exit wound – those final moments continued to replay in her mind. Jasmine shuttered. Knowing that someone, some monster, had it in them to plaster his actual face all across a wall stirred a sickness within her. Through a grimace, she closed her eyes and pounded the keyboard with two open palms. A deafening, off-key tone was routed directly into her ears. She wailed, snapping Gracie out of a half-sleep, and causing the golden retriever to bump her head against the locked door.

Jasmine's fingers then calmly re-adjusted and selected more compatible keys. What they produced was a complex chord progression worthy of a symphony centerpiece. Having always displayed a strong propensity for music, much to her father's delight, she held a deep connection with rhythm and sound. When sitting at the keyboard, Jasmine's thoughts would clear. She could see the array of notes in her mind and the endless possibilities of their combination laid out before her. She was able to create beautifully original melodies or replicate the classics with ease. She could read music just fine but hardly ever did. Anyone could do that, at least according to her father. For Jasmine music was effortless. It seemed to just come together. It seemed to rhyme.

Just like Jacob...

She wailed once more, causing Gracie to stir with continued anxiety. But the dog was comforted by a head pat from Mrs. Lewis, who was also on the outside listening in. Jasmine's mother sat atop the second-floor staircase with arms crossed and her head against the hallway wall. Sad for her daughter, Deborah was happy to hear the dull thumping of keyboard strokes rumbling through the house. She knew coping was underway. But as she rustled Gracie's ears, she imagined back to how she might have coped with the sudden, public death of a variety of her childhood idols. How much would a live-TV assassination have shaken up her adolescence?

I would have been a wreck, too.

But her daydreams faded when the front door opened. Gracie sprung up at once, investigating the situation. From her perch, Deborah saw her husband step into the living room and remove his coat.