Recovery (Lana Del Rey/Elvis Fan Fiction)

Chapter 2: Three Days Later

He blinked his eyes open as a thin ray of sun, that peaked from a velvet coloured curtain, hit his face . He let out a tired breath as the dizziness in his head slowed down. There was a smell of vanilla in the air, and the faint sound of the blues played in the background. With his eyes now wide open, Elvis realized that he was no longer in the numbing snow but instead he was in a beautiful room; in a comfortable bed. The room was fairly wide with walls of shiny dark brown wood; the floor was the same wooden texture. On those walls were various pictures of people Elvis couldn't quite make out. The bed he was laying on was one fit for a king; with silky white sheets and a thick velvet comforter; and there were various pillows piled around his head. At the end of the bed - rather in front of it - was a soft white rug to pull everything together and his suitcases. Next to the bed was a small nightstand that had nothing more than a glass of water, which he had assumed was fresh by the way condensation surrounded the glass. And there was a coat hanger across from him that held his trench coat and wool scarf. Elvis was wearing the thin, egg coloured sweater he had wore underneath the trenchcoat and the previous slacks he had on, and his shoes were neatly tucked beside the bed. He was nervous and somewhat curious as to where he was. The only thing he had remembered was trying to stand and then everything else went blank. But Candice... he thought. Where could she be? Perhaps that man that he had seen saved Candice and then came back for him. Which would mean that Candice too would be in a room somewhere. Slowly but surely Elvis weakly pulled himself to his feet, trying his best not to fall or cause any attention to himself just in case a psycho killer had kidnapped him. He stood tall, and though he was weak, he did have enough strength to go off of. Elvis opened the door and stuck his head out. The view in front of him was beautiful. The entire house was made of the the wood in his room; so beautiful, so delicate. A giant chandelier hung from the middle of the room, and in front of him, feet away, was a balcony. He walked over and slid his hand across the smooth wood that had beautiful hand made designs. Attached to that beautiful balcony were two staircases, each on the opposite side of the house. Looking over the balcony, Elvis could see the front door and a rug that complimented the entrance. He smiled to himself in amazement at this place. "Boy, does this guy have money to spend," Elvis mumbled to himself quietly with a chuckle. There were three other rooms that sat next to the one he had slept in. Each room was about nine feet apart. One of those rooms, Elvis quickly found out, was the restroom; with a wide stainless mirror, a China embroidered sink and a large, deep bathtub to match. He closed the door gently and checked the other rooms. One of the rooms were similar to the one he had woken up in, except the bed set was black and it looked as though it hadn't been touched. The next room was far more beautiful than both of the other rooms. It held a giant bed with white bedding and various neatly stacked pillows that were just as white. There were two nightstands on each side of the bed, making it look as though two people were meant to sleep in the bed; on each nightstand were matching lamps. At the end of the room were two thick glass doors that led to an outside balcony. He closed the door gently, seeing as Candice wasn't there.

Elvis made the brave decision of going down stairs. He held onto the railing tightly as he was still a bit tired and was in no condition to hit his head or pass out again. After what was minutes, but to Elvis seemed hours, he had accomplished the passing of stairs. That scent of vanilla had gotten stronger, causing his stomach to silently growl. And as hungry as he was he couldn't help but go on snooping around to find Candice. He came to a large sliding wooden door. Whoever made the house seemed to have tried to make the door look like part of the wall but it fooled not even the simple minded. With the door barley slid open, Elvis made his way into the room. On the walls were various pictures of a man about thirty years of age with different famous singers and guitar players; and under each picture was a different type of guitar. He quickly recognized that man to be Carter Rey, one of the most famous singers and guitar players of the 1920s; being one of the first people to sing with an acoustic guitar in the jazz age; and who was also one of Elvis' favorite artists. All of the singers in the pictures were way older than Elvis, he knew that for sure; but still, they were legends. In the middle of the room was a black piano with music sheets settled on top of it, and underneath the piano was a beige rug. Elvis was flabbergasted at the room. Being a music lover himself, he couldn't help but find this room to be the best in the house. He walked further into the room, forgetting about Candice for that moment, and checked out each guitar; some bass, others electric, but this one acoustic guitar stood out to Elvis the most. He instantly fell in love with the guitar. He knelt down to it and slid his finger tips down the strings; they were tight and fitted, and it was obvious that this guitar hadn't been played in a long time. The picture above this guitar was of Carter Rey with the acoustic guitar in his hands, sitting on a wooden chair. It was obvious that he wasn't aware of the picture being taken since he was looking to the right and smiling wide as if he were having a conversation with someone. Elvis's eyes twinkled with amazement for the guitar that Carter Rey had touched with his hands. This was the guitar that Carter Rey started the blues with; the guitar that Carter Rey carried everywhere; the guitar that was his first one ever. And Elvis was right in front of it, feeling its smooth texture, and breathing in its history as if it were a fresh apple pie.