Dark Keys of Uncomplacency

Chapter 22: What Doesn't Kill You

"What'd you do?", Allison gasped as she looked out the window. Two fire trucks cornering the old Victorian house. Its wrought iron gate seemed to melt at the hands of the flames that shot through the windows and front door.

"Jesus Christ! Your house, man. Your house is burning down. What about all your photos, your cameras, family heirlooms—".

"Family heirlooms?", Connor questioned.

"I don't know man, it smells like a pretty big fire. I don't think anything will survive that, nothing can".

"Exactly", Connor added. "Not even the haunted piano in the basement. The house was nothing but a dinner plate to that thing inside of Mrs. Marley. I'm sure as hell I'm not gonna miss it. You know what it was like growing up there and hearing the sounds of this guy's past murders, past memories screaming in the hallways?"

"So how did you do it?", Allison asked, pulling her neck up over her nose. Dozens of emergency vehicle front doors were constantly opening and closing now. If it weren't for the speedy perimeter they put up, scores of locals would've crowded the scene, Mr. Keating included. He watched from afar, with Wallace at his side, praying for the poor family trapped in that house. He only hoped that that meant his long lost friend Mrs. Marley was returning back to normal.

"Phoned a friend to burn the house down for me—".

"Chris did it", Allison blurted out.

"Who?"

Connor sighed. "Yes, it was Chris. We both got in trouble in school. The only difference was he wasn't caught setting off firecrackers in the bathroom stall, like I was. Other than that, we shared a common pyromania, I guess you could say, before he got all into computers and hacking".

Before Julian could say another word about the stuff inside the house, Connor added, "the 'family heirlooms' and other important shit is jammed in the trunk of my car, parked in the backyard with plenty of distance between it and the house. It was Julian's idea really, he's the one that mentioned that burning an object containing the soul of the dead, frees it from the object. The real question is how did you do it?".

"You were there, you know how I did it. I played the piano and weird riddles got printed onto my wrist. We unscrambled the message and there, a solved riddle that gave us exactly what you needed, when we needed it. Pretty straightforward at this point".

Connor smirked in agreement. "But what was it like? How did you know Cedric wouldn't stop you from getting the info we needed?".

"By remembering that Cedric never existed. Right there in that hot, nasty old 2nd floor apartment in 19th century Baltimore, I had a mental breakthrough with Heinrich. Some kind of jagged pill that may have set him on the path of his own demise—mentally and physically. The funny thing was, he was never really there. I was talking to him through a mirror, much like the one we just used. Next thing I know I'm sitting back on the piano stool in your basement with a tingling sensation in my right wrist".

"Creepy stuff", Julian said. He sighed and whispered as he placed the belt on the arm of the couch, "I wonder if anyone will believe us".

"It doesn't matter, man. It's all over, thanks to you guys".

"Dude, your freakin' house is burning down! Where're you gonna live?"

Connor leaned the mirror up against the wall still facing an unconscious Mrs. Marley. "I'll be fine. Even in death my father took care of us. I found out a couple years after the car crash that my dad had a trust fund created in my name when I was born. Disbursement happens when I hit 18. That'll set us straight in a few weeks. New house, one new car. And medical care for my grandma".

Allison brushed her hair away from her and hooked it behind her ears. The embers coming from the house died down slowly and a cloud of smoke had been lifted up, blocking out the sun completely. She looked at Mrs. Marley, who was still fast asleep on the couch, now with a light snore. "Happy early birthday to you then. I'm glad you had a plan. You know, my parents wouldn't have had a problem with you staying over. Although, you probably would've been trapped in Julian's room until morning, by decree of my dad. I'm right across the hall".

Connor smirked. "Sounds like a problem to me. It's alright, I'll find an AirBnb somewhere in town close to the hospital". They both looked up and found Julian already waiting at the door.

"You think we should leave her a note or something, you know, for when she wakes up?"

"I'll leave one", Allison replied. After a few minutes of tracking down a pen and paper, she sat down to scribble out a short message.

"Write bigger", Connor mentioned. "I'm pretty sure she used to wear glasses".

One thing that never changes wherever you move is the first day of school. Although what you bring to the classroom changes everything. However, this one "What did you do over summer vacation story", Allison had reservations of telling. Instead she stared down at her desk in her home room class, with a light stack of syllabi under her forearm. Besides Julian's new, practiced New York accent, everything had returned to normal. Mrs. Marley woke up and described what sounded like a decade-long nap. She reported only seeing bits and pieces of what was happening to her, only the pieces Elsa wanted her to see. Allison looked up at the clock and wondered if, right now, Ruth was approaching the corner next to her house, about to turn in after a leisurely walk around the block.

Anne Faulkner, after years of being a hermit, actually joined Mrs. Marley at times, as part of her physical therapy. Instead of buying a new house, Connor decided to have their old home rebuilt, red circular window and all. Sitting atop the ashes of the piano that terrorized them all.

Thebell rang and like a herd of sheep, the students shot through the door. Allisonfollowed suit and slung her book bag over her shoulder. On her way towards thegirl's locker room, she heard it. Over the constant flow of chatter, chordsplayed in succession. Somewhere in the music room some band student was playinga piece similar to Uncomplacency. Allison had had nothing to do with thepiano since Connor's house was set ablaze, but she felt compelled to listen. Noglowing marks on her wrist. No visions of the past from the vantage point of aschizophrenic, serial-killing composer. Just a simple admiration for the hiddenmessages that can be found in all compositions, musical or not.