Beneath the Broken Chords

Chapter 1: The Night Everything Collapsed

The darkness that the night carried on its shoulders held more than just a hollow sorrow that carved a path toward the solitude of the Texas hills, a pathway deliberately created by the mud and soil for only one person to walk on. As the fog extended itself, the pouring rain spread out across the dried grass, reaching the barn where the animals' screams echoed in vain, begging for salvation not only for them but for the man inside the old ranch house.

Pouring rain.

Living hell.

As lightning struck everywhere at once and the rain danced across the now suffocated soil, the heavy steps of a man rushed across the patio from the larger barn to the garage. The tall figure stumbled in the dark as the light was not working; the darkness swallowed him completely.

Bruno Bernacchi reached for what he was looking for.

The rope and the gun.

The desperate screech erupted from the other barn, the wood and metal walls slamming as each strike of lightning bombarded the sky. There was something heavy and calculated in the way Bruno carried himself through the flooded grass.

The panicked cows and horses made his chest vibrate, and just like he thought, it felt empty.

So empty...

He shifted his eyes from the barn to the objects of his current desire, then he glanced back at the ranch house. Without doubting his instincts, he moved forward.

Each step carried a heaviness, as if the mud and water were trying to give him something his own body could not even hold onto. Bruno refused to give in, one step forward, then another, dragging his hand down his face without even dropping the gun he held in his other hand. As he pushed himself toward the house, the water wrapped around his legs. For others, it would be salvation, but for Bruno, it was an anchor to living hell.

He cursed at it, at life, at God itself.

All he knew was his nightmare would end that night.

Bruno slammed the door open as he made his way inside the empty ranch house, leaving traces of his existence behind. The wooden floor attempted to cling to the soles of Bruno's boots as the mud became heavier and more solid, as if life wanted to save his unforgivable soul. He stood in the middle of the living room, and he glanced at the single candle illuminating the entire space. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensing as a horrible electric shiver traveled through his body.

He heard them, the steps, the voices, the arguments.

He felt dizzy the moment the tears decided to make their entrance again that night, like waterfalls during the most beautiful moments of spring. For Bruno, they were not beautiful; they flooded not only his face but his heart, making him feel suffocated.

"STOP!" Bruno shouted, grabbing his head as he felt he was about to fall. He pressed his boots harder against the floor. "Fuck...stop it..."

His vision became disturbed as he continued walking deeper into the living room. He heard the soles of his boots, thicker than air itself, echoing around him; the mud stopped insisting on anchoring him there. He saw her there, sitting on the couch, alone and empty. Bruno cursed at himself. He cursed at the ghost that tormented him morning, noon, and night. He gasped for air as his eyes traced the back of her figure. She wasn't looking at a particular object, or maybe she was until he approached the couch and saw it, quietly and carefully this time. He decided to follow the line of her vision, the way her head appeared slightly tilted.

Bruno had never managed to see her face; he hated himself for it. Not because she laughed at him every time he attempted to get a glimpse, but because he couldn't push himself to do it fully, to grasp the consequences of what he had done.