Dream Weaver

Chapter 2

    She stared down at the black and white keys of her piano unable to muster a single note. Jo had something to say but the words or the sound just weren’t coming to her. The floorboards creaked with age from above as she heard Greg pace around upstairs getting ready for work.
          Sunlight began to filter in through the sheer cream curtains as the hovering clouds outside moved along. She watched as prisms danced along the wall, wishing they had some sort of profound inspiration on her.
    She attempted to play some notes abruptly stopping disgusted by her choice of song. She tried to shrug the intrusive memory of her Mother standing strict behind her as she scolded every note of the hymns she directed her to play. She shook her head at her own self generated insecurities. In an attempt to smother the disgraceful thoughts she forced a smile as she heard footsteps rushing down the staircase. She turned in her bench to greet Greg.
    “Babe, I’m gone, I got an important meeting today,” His voice boomed from the hall.
    “I’m right here,” she called to him from her seat in the neighboring room.
    He turned into the parlor, in his freshly pressed black suit, walking to the bench bending down to kiss her forehead. “What are you planning for the day?”
    “I think I’m going to try to write some songs, it’s been awhile.” She confessed admiring his sleek dark hair and strongly defined squared face.
          The man knew how to dress to impress, which added a layer to the confident charisma that he exuded. She honestly could never see him doing anything but his legal dance in a courtroom.
    “Don’t you spend enough time playing? There are still a lot of things that need to be done before the wedding.” His tone to easily resembled the scolding of a parent that it had caused Jo to squirm uncomfortably in her seat.
    She shrugged to him. “Teaching one kid after another the same songs is not playing. I’ll get to what needs to be done. You don’t want be late do you?”
    “Alright then, have a good day,” he conceded as he headed out the door.
    She returned to her position behind the piano. The sun retreated from the room once more causing a gray hue to filter the amber hued walls. She brought her fingers to the keys posturing herself to play, as determination set into her eyes. She just wanted to play, to write songs that got people tapping their toes.
          Unfortunately, toe tapping tunes were not at the forefront of her convoluted mind. She could only hear the tune of her past come calling no matter how far she crawled from the rubble of her fallen farm. Not exactly the mood of inspiration she was searching for.
    Jo stood from the piano intent on a cup of coffee when the sudden sound of furniture skittering across the floor above caused her to stop at the bottom of the staircase. She stared up into the shadows listening intently for any other noise. There was the unmistakable creak of a door opening from the upstairs that followed. She knew she should be easily terrified of such an ominous effect but at this point it began to peak her curiosity.
    Greg had chalked the minor incidents up to the settling of the house, old pipes, drafts, so on and so forth. A friend or two had suggested the house may be haunted, when she mentioned to them she had heard strange noises, because of its age and location.
            She’d happily indulge that lighter notion, their house was built in the mid eighteen hundreds, had been renovated several times as it was a gem in the St. Augustine landscape. She never hinted to anyone she had a slight clue as to what presence lingered in the hollows of this home. The presence was not native to this house or any other as far as she understood. It could follow her anywhere as long as it wanted to.
     In deep trepidation she climbed the steps, fearful yet probing as to why it had come now. She sensed a dynamic energy sweep through the sheetrock of the house as her knuckle scratched the surface along the staircase. She was about halfway up the steps when she considered turning around. In silent pause she thought she heard the faintest sound of music distantly playing.
     She held her breath to slow down her pulse from rapping in her ear. The tune was so familiar yet she wasn’t sure where she had heard it before. She continued her ascension into the darkness of the area above. When she reached the perch she headed off to the left towards the music.
          There was a guest room at the end of the hall to the right that she rarely visited. The usually closed door, she found, was wide open inviting her in. The music became more distinct as she crept into the room. The recognition of the tune sent chills running rampant through her bones.
    Her secret memories filled her mind. Her mother would have shamed her had she known Jo was composing –what she deemed worldly music- in her home especially at such a young age.
     The soft notes were what she composed on the rare occasion her mother was out without her. She had only a lone spectator in her usually crowded home when she played outside the realm of God worshipful music. He may have been a simple manifestation of guilt, but from the darkest corner of the family room, she could sometimes catch a glimpse of a shadowed man with a hat who would listen to her play.
    The jiggling of the knob on the closet door caught her attention. She was paralyzed with fear as the handle swiveled feverishly. She clenched her eyes shut not brave enough to face this one barrier amongst all the obstacles she had faced in her life. The knob turned with a rusty squeak, a draft wafted from the open door. Her chest heaved against rampant breaths as she began to panic at her decision to beckon to its call.
    She slowly opened her eyes as the music began to play louder. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once as her eyes tried to focus into the dark of the closet. “What do you want,” she hollered over the music.
     The tune stopped in response as something came rolling from the shadows of the closet. She watched the object as it bumped over a knot in the floorboard never easing its speed until it reached her toes. She scrunched her eyebrows studying a skinny solid black pen with a gold tip at her feet. She knelt in a hovering crouch over the simple object.
    As disturbing as the notion was she still felt connected to something that was more than likely inherently evil versus a supportive specter. Part of her wanted to walk away telling that thing in her closet to shove the pen up its ass. Then there was the other part, the damned part, fueled on the need to feel connected to something, anything. 
            There was another impression forever lingering in the back of her mind untainted by the darkness of memories. A simple sequence of dreams she found comfort in during times of her Mother’s punishing rages. These –happy place- dreams were things she turned to when she tried to prevent fits of nightmares. She would turn to someone out there beyond her reach, yet, so close to her in moments as these. Even as an adult she still pined for his eyes sometimes, the blue trappings of another lost soul from her deepest dreams.
            Like ripping a band aid from her delicate thin skin she grabbed the pen from the floor. A shot of poison distilled into her bloodstream taking a quick effect over her consciousness. Her vision blurred and for the first time she knew what giving in to fathomless being felt like.

               A distant call stirred her from a dream she couldn't recall.
    “Babe, Jo, wake up!” She heard Greg’s voice call, once more.
              He was standing over her semi conscious body while she blinked into the dark of the room. A gasp of air escaped her lungs as reality sunk in. She popped her head up to inspect her surroundings. Somehow, she was back down in the parlor lying on their very uncomfortable Queen Anne Sofa. “What time is it?” She asked looking to Greg.
    He narrowed his eyes at her quizzically removing some sticky strands of kinky auburn hair from her face. “It’s almost nine,” he reported to her with concern.
    “I must have fallen asleep,” she told him to ease his alarm.
    “I tried calling you and I’ve been trying to wake you up for about five minutes, I was about to call an ambulance.”
            Greg settled forward onto the sofa with Jo’s legs at his back. He placed his hands into his palms with a sigh. “Did you take some sleeping pills or something? I’m just asking because I haven’t seen you like that since…well, for a while.”
    “God no! Greg, I just fell asleep is all.” Jo sat up putting a hand to Greg’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t worry about me so much, I’m a big girl.”
    Greg met her gaze with uncertainty, “I know Joanna but the day I stop worrying is the day you should be concerned. I love you and I want you safe is all.”
    “I know and I love you too.” She reassured him with a soft rub from her palm.
    Greg stood from the sofa treading over to the light switch near the foyer, flipping it on. Jo squinted against the blinding glow of the chandelier centered in the room. She stood before her vision fully focused using the sofa arm for support. She heard Greg step out of the room and head up the steps. Her head was spinning more than she wanted to let on to Greg. She stumbled forward her hand moving from the sofa to the piano for support. She covered her eyes with her hand pressing her thumb and middle finger into her temple.
    After a moment she let her hand fall as her eyes dropped down onto the piano bench. She bit down on her bottom lip in reaction to the pages of sheet music scattered along the plum velvet of the cushion. She picked up a sheet examining the handwriting as her own.
           She had not a single coherent memory of writing any of the notes or lyrics scribbled. A glint of metal caught her attention from under the bench. She took a step back to get a clear view of the object. It was a black gold tipped pen, the moment she found it upstairs was immediately triggered in her memory then nothing until Greg had awoken her on the sofa.
    Thoughts swarmed her overly exhausted mind- did she pass she out, was it a seizure, was she finally being taken by the same mental illness that plagued other members of her long lost family?-she began to tremor in distress.
           In defiance of her mental fragility she began to take long deep breaths like she had been taught by a therapist while in college. She slowly gained perspective putting silly notions behind her as she studied her new song further.