And If You Wrong Us

Part 5: Secrets

"You asked me not to go back, so I haven't, for weeks now! Even though, even though..."

"Even though what?"

Sarah crossed her arms. "It's none of your business. If I won't be allowed to make my town outings than I must be allowed to play the piano!"

"You can play, Miss Pemberly, just not after curfew!"

"Sarah. My name is Sarah. Not Miss Pemberly. Not Mrs. Pemberly. Not Sarah Pemberly. Just Sarah."

"Sarah; will you please go back to your room?"

"And do what?"

Mr. Raven pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whatever will keep you out of trouble."

"I will return...after I play one more song." Sarah gestured towards the door. "Join me. Then you will know that I keep my word."

Mr. Raven nodded. "Fine." He followed her into the parlor and sat on the sofa while she settled down onto the piano bench.

"Any requests?" she asked, stretching her fingers.

"Play whatever will satisfy your itch," Mr. Raven replied, yawning.

"Very well."

She began playing a quiet, lonely melody, slow and steady. Mr. Raven was growing sleepy, lulled by the music. Just as his eyes were beginning to close, she hit the keys harder, and he jolted. What had started as sad and seducing was abruptly climbing in volume and speed, notes growing sporadic. Mr. Raven stood up straight, brow furrowing. He watched Sarah's face as she played, a twisted smile forming on her red mouth, eyes widening. It turned into a cacophony of spine-tingling highs and shuddering lows, a race of fingers across ivory. Mr. Raven thought to stop her, but he found that he didn't feel right doing so; he didn't feel safe. And so, he waited, hairs on end, until the madness died, and Sarah turned to him, still smiling.

"Thank you for indulging me," she said sweetly.

Mr. Raven nodded, no words reaching his lips.

"I think I feel sleepy now," she added with a yawn and stretch. She made her way to the door, Mr. Raven trailing behind. "I enjoyed having an audience. You should come to watch me more often." She stopped, went up on her tiptoes, and grazed his cheek with her lips. They felt like ice. "Goodnight, Mr. Raven."

"Goodnight...Sarah."

The winter was passing slowly, and Mr. Raven could not forget about that night. He volunteered for more overnight shifts. As the winter grew colder and more volatile, Sarah left the orphanage less and played the piano more. Although she did not know it, he was often listening, and what he heard was growing more disturbing.

What is happening inside her head to cause such chaos? Every song is like a lullaby that turns into the angry ravings of a madman.

On a particularly blustery day, when the wind was spinning the snow around like tiny cyclones, Mr. Raven spotted Sarah outside in the courtyard. He donned his coat, scarf, hat and gloves before braving the wild weather. When he stepped outside, he was nearly thrown backwards by the force of the wind. He had to use his height and weight to throw himself against it, forcing himself forward in small, aggravatingly slow increments.

"Sarah!" he called, his voice drowned out by the howling winds. "Sarah!"

She turned to face him, squinting against the stinging bites of snow.