Cecil's Gambit

Chapter IV: Renconciliation and the diary

It took Ashley and Mark some time, but they eventually reconciled, and it was quite the scene; Ashley cried, and Mark tried his best to comfort her.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, Ashley," he said, sounding truly remorseful at what he had done at breakfast, "I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."

Ashley looked at him, and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks; Mark immediately embraced her, and she didn't fight back. Between sobs, she said;

"Why would you do such a thing to me, Mark? I was trying to be nice already. You left me on the bed without even telling me you're going downstairs and - oh, you drank that wine when it was still so early!" and she cried harder, burying her face in her hands.

It was very difficult to watch, for my part, because I couldn't do anything to help Ashley or Mark; I couldn't think of any way I could help.

"I was drunk then, but now that I'm sober, I've realized my mistake. I'm so sorry-" Mark did his best to swallow his emotions and not break down too. He was embarrassed and ashamed of what he had done, especially in front of Mike. He had to apologize to him as well. I couldn't believe I was still standing by the piano, watching them hug, and Ashley cry. In a way, I was a bit guilty too, not seeing the signs and stopping them too soon, before everything got out of control; I felt like it was my fault.

The piano! Ashley has always become calm whenever she hears the sighing notes of a piano. I could play a piece for her, and maybe then, everything'll be alright; her pain may subside. She was humiliated but all that can disappear with just a few minutes' caresses on the black and white keys, making music with a handful of presses. Everything will be okay; everything must be okay...

I sat on the low stool by the piano and adjusted it to my comfort. Mark whispered in Ashley's ear, "Shh, stop crying, my love. Howard will play the piano for you. Cease those tears, because the pain that you feel now from the wounds I have created, makes me feel the same, as if I owned those wounds too."

Ashley looked up at me with swollen and tear-filled eyes; I looked back at her and smiled, and she smiled too.

Then, I started to play the piano; I played Schumann's Abegg Variations, and it did work in making Ashley a bit light-hearted and cheerful. Despite the tears that came to her eyes, she smiled: they were tears of joy. She was happy and grateful in her own position and state; even though she broke down because of Mark, she still loved him and will, evermore.

When I finished playing, I looked at her and saw that she dried her eyes. She was now smiling; she was calm; it worked. I ran over to the couch and crouched in front of them. Mark looked at me and mouthed, "Thank you", before holding Ashley's hand and kissing it.

They were having their moment, and I was smiling for them, when Zoey suddenly came running downstairs, all dressed, and with her Canon camera dangling from her neck. She was cheerful, all of a sudden; as if nothing happened to her last night.

"Let's trek the world!" She said as she clicked away, the blinding flashes illuminating part of where she was standing. Click here, click there. Click, click, click, click, click.

She stopped clicking and looked at the three of us (Mike and Charlie were still outside, talking). She raised an eyebrow, "What?"

She scrutinized us before she said, "Oh, come on, guys. Don't tell me you're not ready yet; Nature, outside, is waiting impatiently for our feet on top of her, waiting impatiently for us to visit so she can show off her beautiful wonders! Don't keep her waiting like this! And don't keep me waiting too!"

"Zoey," Mark says, squeezing Ashley's shoulder affectionately, "Charlie, Mike, and I are already ready. Only Howard and Ashley, here, are left in their pj's."

I realized that too: I was still in my pyjamas. It would be a burden to get ready because it might take long for them to wait; heat might strike (but obviously it wouldn't because it's already autumn), and we mightn't go until that heat subsides.

But despite that stupid thought, Mark told us that we should get ready, Ashley and I. That made us feel like babies - children. We were independent; no need for bossing around from a friend that acts like the father of the group.

As we went upstairs, Zoey stopped us to show some pictures that she took. Although most of them were a bit blurry from all her movements while picturing, they were still beautiful, capturing the manor's ravishing interior.

After showing us the pictures she took, she went down to Mark and showed him too, as Ashley and I kept on climbing the steps, reaching the second floor, catching our breaths a bit.

We went to our respective rooms and got ready. Since I was much awake now, and the sunlight was a bit brighter, I could scrutinize the room better, although this would take a lot of time.

I noticed that Cecil's photo was the only photo in the room, also, the only photo containing her. Why didn't she take family photos with her parents? And why didn't she have a framed photo, or a photo at least, of her as an adult or teenager? Why only as a child?

These questions racked my brain as I undressed and went in the bathroom, turning on the shower as the water ran through my hair and body, making me feel stone cold all of a sudden, and making me feel a familiar shiver down my spine.

~~~

It took me ten minutes to shower; I wrapped the towel around my waist as I picked the clothes I was to wear for our little adventure around the estate. I picked a striped polo shirt, black and white; a pair of brown pants and grey sneakers.

I was putting my clothes on when I was hit by a sudden, eating, curiosity to open the drawer of the oak nightstand, so, beaten by my impulse and curiosity, I finished putting my clothes, plus my shoes, on.

I walked over to the drawer, which was quite a low one, and tried it, thinking it was locked. It opened swiftly and smoothly; I was relieved by this.

Despite the revelation, however, I saw another, more greater one than the awful fact that the drawer was unlocked and opened: at the very top of the messy piles of papers and books, lay an old and tattered notebook with a black cover and letters bearing the golden inscription in cursive letters: Cecil's Diary.