Violinist (CENTURIES series: Book #4)

15

"What do you remember?" I whispered again, staying up against the wall, watching him from afar. He didn't move at my words, but stayed silent. "What's... what's your earliest memory?"

He waited a whole minute before he finally shifted. His hand dropped into the pocket of his trench coat. Searching around, he pulled out a small scrap of plastic.

"Kuwait," He rasped. "ICU."

A hospital band. He had been abroad. Probably out-stationed to a military base. A mission gone wrong. Casualties. Hell raining down from heaven. Incoming on every angle. Then... nothing.

"Dog tags?" I asked.

His eyes flashed up and narrowed on me. My lips screwed shut, my deductions running away with me. He rose to his feet, stalked up to me, slowly; A predatory prowl.

"What do you know about me?" He breathed as he stopped in front of me. His hand touched the wall behind me, caging me in. It was exactly like his violin; he tossed me aside, but picked me up again the minute he changed his mind. The second I had something he wanted.

"Nothing," I whispered back.

"Bullshit." Was his judgement.

I swallowed. "I don't know anything. I... I've just seen your scars before."

When his eyes squinted, I took in a breath. Slowly, carefully, I moved my hands to his shirt. Undid his buttons. He stayed unmoving. He didn't flinch when my hand laid over his chest, touching his marks.

"I... I used to work at a senior care center," I volunteered, licking my dry lips. "They had veterans. Vietnam. Korea. Afghanistan. Their scars... they were just like yours."

Without looking at his eyes, I felt the confirmation inside him settle. He drew the same connection I had. Meeting his eyes, I let my hands drop again.

"No dog tags," He replied. Nothing.

I nodded vaguely, then waited. There was more. Not much, but more.

"They pulled me from the rubbles of a collapsed building. I don't remember..." His eyes shut, and the grit of frustration tainted his voice again. Always shutdown, always darkness. "I was wearing my uniform."

"Regiment?"

He shook his head and curled his hand into a fist against the wall. "Gone."

"What do you mean... gone?" His uniform had to have a badge. A name. Somewhere. Anywhere.

"The explosion," His teeth jarred as he forced it out. His breath hardened, his body tensed up. Anger rolled over him like a blanket. "They had to cut me out of it. It burned up in the fires... gone."

Gone. Like his memory.

My hand suddenly touched his chest again. He still didn't flinch, only glared down at me, the wrath storming inside his eyes. All that anger; Nobody to aim it at but himself. And me.

"I'm nobody," He told me. The fire in his eyes burned through my soul. "The police... there's nothing on me. I don't exist, Melody. I'm dead."