Serenading the shadows l.., p.1
Serenading the Shadows (Lightning Strikes Book 1), page 1
Serenading the Shadows
Copyright © 2016 by Jodie Larson
Cover Design by Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae
www.murphyrae.net
Interior Design by Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
Editor: Tee Tate
www.teetate.com
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incident are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
“Why? I don’t understand what the big deal is. Can’t you just move it so I can go out and live my life?”
Another crack of lightning illuminates the sky. The responding thunder rumbles in the background as the torrent of rain falls upon the ground. The cold, bitter wind howls against the glass as it presses forward, matching the mood inside the car.
“The big deal? Adrienne, you’re sixteen years old. There is no way we’re going to let you go to an overnight concert two hours away with that boy,” Mom says from the front passenger seat.
That boy? Ugh, why does she have to say it like he’s a disease? Just because Brian isn’t from our side of town doesn’t mean he’s not good enough. Sure, he dresses in nothing but baggy jeans and leather jackets, but he listens to me, treats me like a human and not a piano playing robot. In fact, half the time we’re able to sneak away together, the piano never comes into the conversation. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not with him. I can just be me, whoever that is. Most days I’m not even sure anymore.
“You know how important this weekend is to your career. You need to be there,” Dad adds.
I let out a frustrated groan and stomp my foot. “No! I’m sick and tired of playing on your schedule. You’re always trying to run my life. When do I get to have a say in what I do, or where I go, and when I play?” I run a hand through my hair, yanking at the roots. “You know what? Maybe I’ll give up the piano altogether just so I can be a normal teenager for once in my life!”
Playing the piano has been my world since I first crawled onto the bench at the age of three. My fingers hit the keys and played a simple melody: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I had listened and watched my mother play it so many times I knew exactly what to do. That’s when my life, my freedom to choose, ended. Piano lessons, performances, traveling concerts, scholarships to private schools to work on my music, voice lessons, and anything else related to better my ability. Not once have I been able to go out on a Friday with friends. Those nights were dedicated to showing everyone that the local piano prodigy is going to make a name for herself.
“Sweetie, you have the rest of your life to do what you want. What we’re doing now is helping you succeed for the future. You have a gift, and it shouldn’t be wasted,” she says. “Trust me, Adrienne, you’ll thank us later. Besides, it’s only for a few more years.” She turns and pats my leg. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the orchestra asks you to play with them for the new season.”
“Maybe I don’t want to play with the orchestra. Maybe I want to do something for myself.” I can feel the heat crawl up my neck the more this conversation doesn’t go my way. Time for the kill. “You can’t live your life through me. Eventually, you’re going to have to deal with the fact that you’re a washed up nobody who can’t play the piano anymore, Mom.”
A twinge of pain hits me as I watch my mom’s face fall from the sharpness of my words. It’s not like I’m asking for much. One weekend of normalcy is all. That shouldn’t be too much to ask for.
“Adrienne, you’re not going, and that’s final. You will go to this performance, and you will play the piano. And when they offer you the seat with the orchestra, you will accept.” The scowl Dad gives me in the rearview mirror almost makes me shrink back in my seat. “We are done talking about this. It’s what’s best for your future,” he says with the utmost finality in his voice.
I lift my face to the ceiling and let out a frustrated yell. “You don’t understand! I hate you! I hate you both! I’m nearly an adult. I should be making decisions about my life!”
Angry bolts of lightning flash across the sky, creating a distraction from the deafening rain pelting the car. Within seconds, the car shakes and rocks with the roar of thunder and gusts of wind. Darkness surrounds us again as the sky opens up, releasing its fury.
Suddenly, the car jerks and we float across the water on the road. Dad’s knuckles turn white before he corrects us. The wipers can barely keep up, making it nearly impossible to see.
Dad turns his head to say something, only he never has the chance to speak.
Mom clutches his shoulder, pulling at his shirt.
Everything moves in slow motion. Scenes flash before my eyes. Blinding white lights pour in from the oncoming vehicle. Our screams echo in my ears as I brace for impact.
And then there’s nothing.
No sound.
No lights.
Nothing.
I don’t know where I am or how much time has passed. Faint voices sound above me, while machines beep in the background. I can’t move. I can only listen to what the voices are saying.
“We need to get her to an OR, stat,” a man says.
“How’s her pressure?” someone else asks.
“Eighty over forty.” The woman’s voice grows fainter as the darkness threatens to pull me under again.
“Now, people, move it! We’re going to lose her.”
I want to move, but nothing works. I want to cry, to scream, to ask what happened, but I have no voice. Something’s wrong. Why won’t my body respond?
Sounds fade in and out, the voices and machines are a constant now, the only reminders I’m still here.
“She’s stable now,” a familiar masculine voice says. “She’ll need to stay here in ICU for a while, though. How’s her family?”
“Died on impact,” another voice says. “They never had a chance. She was lucky she was in the back seat.”
Darkness.
Quiet.
Alone.
It’s what I wanted.
It’s what I asked for.
I guess what they say is true.
Be careful what you wish for.
I look out my window at the gray clouds in the sky. Such a gloomy day, but for me, it’s normal.
It beckons me, the piano sitting in the corner of my small apartment. Days like this is when the remorse crashes on me like the force of hitting a brick wall. Some call it survivor’s guilt. I call it karma. Things happen for a reason. It’s the universe’s way of telling me I should have been thankful for what I had instead of pissing it away and being an ungrateful, spoiled child. Even after ten years, the feeling hasn’t gone away.
The soft notes of “Moonlight Sonata” float in the air as my fingers glide across the keys. Each note painting the sad picture of a life once forgotten. This piece was to be my promise of a bright future. It was all my parents wanted for me. I guess they knew better than I did.
As I get lost in the music, I close my eyes and transport myself back to a time where scars didn’t mar my body and nightmares didn’t plague my dreams. I can still see their smiling faces in the crowd as I play various pieces by Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven. I don’t play them anymore. Too many memories are attached to each one, chipping away at the broken life I’ve created for myself.
I’m startled when a gentle hand is pressed to my shoulder.
“Holy shit!” I jump high off the bench and clutch a fist to my chest. It’s like my heart is trying to escape the safety of my body as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
My best friend, Quinn, takes a seat next to me and sighs. “I’ve been calling you nonstop for the past hour. Have you been playing the whole time?”
I turn my head fractionally and begin playing again, quieter, though, so she can hear me.
“Yes.”
I knew she would show up today. She’s taken on the role of my protector, making sure I don’t fall too far down the rabbit hole. She’d seen it enough times after the accident when I came to live with her parents. Quinn understands better than anyone the demons living in my head.
“Adrienne, you know you need to stop thi
s, right?”
The sorrow in her voice hurts, threatening to shake the control I’m barely holding onto. Every time she looks at me like I’m made of glass is just another glimmering reminder of what I once had. I ignore her statement and continue playing, focusing on the keys.
She sighs. “Come on. Let’s go. You need to get out of here. You’re not spending your one day off moping around your apartment.”
“You know I like it here. Besides, what are we going to do?”
“Something that doesn’t involve here. Come on, get out of your jammies and put on real clothes. I mean, my God, look at you.”
I glance down at myself and shrug. “What’s so wrong about me? Besides the obvious. Who am I trying to impress?”
She rolls her eyes and drags me across the room to my dresser. “Nobody, but seriously. Sweatpants and a Hello Kitty shirt?”
I almost laugh. Almost.
“You used to love Hello Kitty.”
Clothes fly out of my dresser as she rummages through my stuff. “Yeah, when I was five. You know we’re a little older now.”
After selecting a pair of shoes from the rack, she stands in front of me with her hands on her hips. What is she waiting for? Gratitude for treating me like a six-year-old who still needs their mommy’s help? I raise an eyebrow to her. “You know I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, right?”
She looks me up and down. “I can see that. Humor me, will you?”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
Quinn giggles like a schoolgirl and does a little hop. I roll my eyes. “Thank you for seeing things my way. Now hurry up and shower. You look like shit, and I refuse to be seen in public with you like this.”
This time, I do laugh as I gather up the clothes and head into the bathroom. After I’m done showering, I wipe the steam off the mirror and stare at myself. The roadmap of scars covering my shoulders and sides always catch my eye. Constant reminders of what happens when you act selfish and think of only yourself. Those are easily covered. It’s the one by my ear that disappears into my hairline that’s harder to hide. The angry white, jagged line always draws my attention. No hairstyle can hide it, so I cover it as best I can. When I emerge, Quinn’s rummaging through my refrigerator, acting as if she lives here.
“Why don’t you ever have anything good in here?’ she whines as she takes out a can of Diet Coke.
I pull down a glass and fill it with ice for her, placing a cherry on top because I know she likes it that way.
“I have lots of good things in here. It’s just not the crap food you like to eat.”
“It’s not normal to have this much healthy food.”
“Says the nurse practitioner.”
She laughs and slugs my shoulder. “You’re not one of my patients so I’m allowed to tell you to eat junk food every once in a while.”
“So, where exactly are you forcing me to go tonight?” I ask, taking a sip of my soda.
“You’ll see. Dinner first, then fun.”
I groan. “Why must you torture me so?”
She drains her glass and sets it in the dishwasher. “Because I can.”
I do the same and turn to face her. “Okay, let’s get this shitshow on the road, then.”
“Yay!” She claps her hands like an excited child. “And just so you know, I’m highly offended. You know it’s not going to be a shitshow. It’s going to be fun. Come on, say it with me. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.”
I grab my stuff and turn on the light above the stove. “Fun. There. I said it. Now let’s get this over with.”
Soon enough, we’re piling into Quinn’s BMW, a gift from her parents after she finished grad school. It’s hard to believe she’s in charge of patients and performing medical procedures considering she used to faint at the sight of blood when we were kids. I told her when she started the whole process she should have been a doctor. She said they were too stuck up and worked ungodly hours. This was the next best thing.
The Kansas City lights flash past us as we drive down the familiar streets. “So how did your date with Pete go?’ I ask.
She shrugs and pulls into the parking lot of our favorite little Italian restaurant. “It was fine. We went to a movie, then he took me home.”
We exit the car and walk inside Emilio’s, finding our usual table. It’s dressed as your typical cheesy Italian bistro, complete with the red gingham tablecloths and old-world decorations hanging from the ceiling. Candles adorn each table, as well as a single white daisy.
“What was wrong with him now?”
We take our seats, and she sighs. “I don’t know. I just didn’t feel that spark. He’s nice enough. Maybe a little too nice?”
“Is there such a thing as too nice?” I ask.
Pete is just another name on a long list of dates left behind. She’s starting to become more like me, afraid to commit or open herself up to someone. And I don’t want that for her. She deserves better than the life I’ve resigned myself to.
She doesn’t respond because Matt approaches our table, wearing his usual white dress shirt, black tie, and blinding grin aimed directly at Quinn.
“My favorite girls. How are you tonight Quinn, Adrienne?”
Quinn straightens in her seat and fluffs her hair for a second. As if she really needs the help. I’ve always been envious of her thin figure and flowing blond hair. Heck, she even developed a good two years before me, turning every boy’s head in our neighborhood. But it’s her blue eyes that draw people in. They’re icy blue in the middle with a darker ring around the edges. Way prettier than my dull honey-colored ones. It’s obvious she has a crush on him, and, judging by the way his eyes slowly roam over her snug pink shirt, he does too.
“Hey, Matt. I’m doing awesome. Just dragging my pill of a friend out of the house for some fresh air.” She leans into her hands, placing them neatly beneath her chin.
“The pill is doing just fine tonight,” I say.
He laughs and pulls out his notepad. “So, ladies, do you need menus tonight or is it the usual?”
“The usual,” we both say in unison.
He scribbles down our order and turns to head back to the kitchen. As soon as he’s out of range, Quinn sags into her seat. “Damn, he’s looking good tonight in those glasses.”
“Yeah, I’ll say he is. Why don’t you ask him out? Maybe you can find that spark with him?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be classy? ‘Hey, I know I’m just your annoying customer, but would you like to maybe go out on a date with me? Oh, and can I get more parmesan cheese?’”
I laugh. “Well don’t say it like that. You’ll scare the poor guy off before he has the chance to say yes to the date.”
Matt arrives with our salads, and I swear he winks at Quinn, who instantly turns pink.
“I can’t. It’ll be weird.”
“I’m supposed to be the awkward anti-social one. You’re the upbeat, way-too-perky-for-her-own-good best friend.” I pause. “Wait, this isn’t still about Brad, is it?”
The look she gives me could freeze hell in an instant. “No, absolutely not. I’m not giving that assbag another thought.”
Okay, apparently her only long-standing relationship, which ended six years ago, is still a cause for contention. I raise my hands defensively. “Okay, okay. It’s not about Brad. Then what is it?”
She looks off to the side. “It’s just…it doesn’t seem right for me to date when you’re…you know.”
My fork clanks against my plate as it falls from my hand. This is exactly what I was afraid of. “Just because I’m not currently attached to someone doesn’t mean you don’t have to be either.”
She shrugs and finishes her salad before Matt arrives with the rest of our food. “Did I tell you about the flu epidemic going around the office?” she says, changing the subject. I shake my head. “I’ve had five kids this week who had to be hospitalized due to severe dehydration. Why is it so hard for parents to bring them in at the first sign instead of letting it progress to that point?”
“That’s horrible. Those poor kids.”
A twinge of pain runs through my heart as I think about those little kids sitting in hospital beds, hooked up to tubes and who knows what else. Hospitals still give me the creeps. I haven’t set foot in one since the accident, nor do I plan on ever going back there again. Not that I planned on being there…the first time.
