Beethoven

chapter eight: this is goodbye

            "Dylan West, the son of Matthew West  (owner of the multi-million dollar worth Western Financial and Technology Group), has been reported missing since two weeks ago. There have been no traces of him the past few weeks, so the alert has been extended to the entire country. The reason for his disappearance is unknown. If spotted, please contact your local police station as soon as possible."

            "Okay, Mom, I know what you're thinking," I said, slowly backing away from her shaking figure. "And I honestly do not know who this Dylan West guy is. . ."

            "You said he went to your school and took AP classes!" She was only acting like how a normal mother would, especially after realizing the boy she was housing was completely different from what she had been told. "Instead, he's the kid of Western Financial and Technology Group? What is going on, Kiara?"

            Western Financial and Technology Group was an internationally recognized company that generated tons of money. And apparently we were giving him a roof to sleep under. The son in the picture was clearly Ludwig though, not Dylan West.

            But following this article, Ludwig -- or Dylan -- was supposedly the kid of a stinking rich company. Even I didn't know what to do anymore. I thought I had figured everything out after speaking, or I guess mostly, kissing Ludwig earlier.

            Tapping my foot quickly on the marble floor, we stared at each other, waiting for my answer. Finally, I asked, "Can I go talk to Eric?"

            "No. Give me an answer, now." She looked like she's just about had it. Trust me, I did, too. 

            "I don't know, okay?" I said, "I just . . . don't know. I thought I knew something, but it looks like it was the other."

            Her eyes softened. "Did he lead you on?"

            "What? No," I retorted, although it seemed like that was exactly what he did. Running my hands through my rather tangly hair frustratingly, I said, "Eric's Eric. Not Dylan West. This must be some sort of mistake."

            Either my mistake, or his.

            "Are you suggesting that this," she said, pointing to the picture clipping on the paper, "isn't Eric? Because they look completely the same."

            Snatching the paper away from the table, I stared at the picture closely. "I don't know," I admitted. There were so many I don't know's, but it was the truth.

            I didn't know.

            But maybe Ludwig did, and that's who I had to talk to, not my mother who didn't know anything. "I'm going to go talk to Ludwig. I mean, Eric."

            "What did you just call him?"

            "Ludwig. Uh, that's his nickname." Before she could ask any more questions that I couldn't answer honestly to, I made a dash towards the stairs.

            Maybe Ludwig really was someone different, and there was no such thing as a Ludwig. I mean, time travelling, really? Who believes in that anyways?

            Apparently me.

            Without knocking, my hands clutched onto the knob so tightly as I twisted it, not sure what to expect next. I don't think my heart has ever been beating so fast and so forcefully against my chest.

            It was still him, though. Black, slightly scruffy hair. Long, but rather thin eyebrows. Curled lashes, and a forever remaining soft glint in his brown eyes.