Undone by a Broken Angel

33.) Keys

“To the music of the lute and the harp, to the melody of the lyre.”

-Psalm 92:3

Abigail:

“Follow me,” Dianna says, turning to another hall.  “It’s imperative that you do not walk around on your own.  It’s easy to get lost down here.”

I scurry after Her, holding my hands up to my chest.

“What happened to your hands?” she asks with a no nonsense voice.  I notice that she’s task oriented, propelled by her worry for the men here that are fighting for their lives.  Getting me to my room is the least of her worries, but she doesn’t want to seem inhospitable.

“The reapers.  We engaged in a fight and I was stabbed through one hand and I used the other in desperation to get it out.  I sliced it to the bone- at least that’s what it felt like,” I tell her, feeling them throb against the bandages.  She grunts, deep in thought about what that means, but doesn’t grace me with a reply.  

We walk through the labyrinth of hallways, our footsteps echoing off the walls like a lonely cave.  I lose track of our turns along the way.  She wasn’t kidding.  This place is a maze.  We finally come to a stop in front of a white door and right in the center of it is a ruby.

“This will be your room during your stay,” She tells me, opening the door.

I walk in and look at the beauty of it.  It’s completely white: white canopy bed, white sheets, blankets, walls, and furniture.  Even the floor is white marble, it sparkles against the flickering lamps.  I almost didn’t notice the doors in the walls because they’re similar in color to the walls, but I notice two doors, one to the bathroom, and one to a closet.  The room feels  cold, having no color to make it feel warm, or carpets to keep my toes from freezing to the marble.

“Do you like it?”  I can tell she isn’t interested if I find the room pleasing, only that I find it suitable.

“Yes,” I reply, thinking I’ll need to find some more blankets to fend off the chill when she leaves.

“Let me clean your hands,” she says, and it wasn’t a suggestion.

“I’ll do it,” I quietly reply, turning away from her.  “I’m sure Abraham needs your help.  I’ll take a bath and clean them out.”

“You can’t get soap in them!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” I assure her, wanting to have some privacy.

“I would rather help you bathe, to make sure you can undress and dress yourself,” she insists, trying to convince me with logic.

Not only would I feel uncomfortable with her seeing me exposed that way, I don’t want to inconvenience her in any way.  There are others relying on her expertise and my cleanliness is not a priority.  “I think if you help me draw the bath, I’ll be fine on my own.”

Her mouth twists in frustration; she sees right through me.  “You can’t get shy at a time like this.  If you get infect-“

“And what about the others?  You think that my hands are more important than their lives?”

“Don’t do anything until I get back!  Take a nap or something, but please don’t take a bath.”

I sigh, clearly losing this argument.  I really want a bath, but not at the expense of convenience.  “Fine,” I say, tamping down the anger that rises with my blood pressure.

She nods and exits the room quickly, her footsteps fading as she speeds down the hall.  I go and look in the closet for blankets to curl up in instead, my mitts barely able to open the door.  I’m rummaging around in it when something on the wall to my right catches my eye.  It’s a straight line break that runs from the floor to ceiling.  It’s deliberate by the way it looks since it’s not a jagged crack in the wall, so I push on it, tenderly, and it opens under the pressure.  Inside is a tunnel, dusty and from the amount of neglect- it looks like it hasn’t been used for a very long time.  It’s dark from the lack of candlelight, but at the end of the tunnel is a faint light.  Dust particles dance in its blue beams, and at the sight of them, I’m drawn.  For some reason, they remind me of happiness.  I step inside and walk towards the light.  The pain in my hands disappears.  As I walk, my footfalls fill my ears and invade the quiet of my mind.  I hear laughter belonging to two joyous children, maybe it’s my imagination, or maybe it’s a memory, but it sounds so real.

I round the corner where the light is coming from and find a room of marble.  A room of white marble.  The light is blinding, but this light is not artificial.  It’s coming in from about a hundred holes in the ceiling.  Directly in front of me is a piano carved from the wall.  The keys are marble, not a single one of them are black.  I sit down on the bench and wonder how it sounds.  Being cooped up in a ballroom keeps you from experiencing many things.  I rip off the bandages with my teeth and the cold air hits my wounds, and I hiss from the stinging pain.  I pluck a single key and the sound reverberates around me, flipping a switch in my chest.  Placing all my fingers on the keys, I feel a warming start in my heart.  It explodes from there into a tingling mess that invades my entire body. Memories come with it and I can suddenly hear the birds chirping.  My fingers tingle too and they fly across the keys, exploding the silence with music.  

Abraham:

“What do you think?  Is it what you have?” Dianna asks the moment he walks through the door.

Abraham sits on the edge of his brother's cot and studies his face, his brown eyes looking up at him, pleading for help.  “Do you know me?” he asks him.

“Help me, brother.”

“Do you hear a voice?”

David shakes his head no.

“You’re positive?”

His brother pulls on his restraints that Abe had placed on their hands and ankles just in case and groans in pain.

“Answer me, David.”

He swallows his pain.  “No!  My stomach feels like there’s hot coals in it!”

Abraham turns to Dianna, “no, it’s not the illness.  They would be dead by now if they did.  Besides, whatever they have is making them physically ill- I don’t have that.”

“So we just have to help them fight through this?  There’s nothing else we can do?”  She clearly doesn’t like not being in control of this type of illness.  Whatever this disease is, they’ve never encountered it before and therefore have no way of knowing what to expect.  “Let’s get them cleaned up and then I’ll pray over them, ask for healing.”

They get to work immediately.  She pumps warm water in from the boiler and fills several tubs of fresh water.  Abraham picks them up while she removes their bedding and their clothing, and then she places a clean sheet under them.  Leaving the room to go put them in the wash, Abe starts to bathe them with a sponge, taking care to remove all evidence of sickness.  He helps them dress into clean gowns.  Next, he and Dianna wash out their camber pots.  When they’re finished, Abraham quickly takes his leave.  The voice is uncontrollable when someone praying is in earshot.  He waits out in the hall until she comes out to tell him that she’s finished.

He doesn't like that Abigail has to wait for David to heal in order for her to be healed.  There’s no way of knowing how long it will take.  By the time he’s better, Abby may never have use of her hands again.  He leans against the wall, his foot up on the wall and his hands in his pockets. Waiting has never been his strong suit and not knowing what to do is even worse.

Just then he hears something.  It’s a soft melody that breaks the silence surrounding him.  It sounds like a piano, but where is it coming from?  Suddenly he feels pain in every cell of his body.  It’s the music- it’s seeping into his skin and attacking his sickness.

Make it stop!  Find it and stop it!  It hurts so bad! He’s glad the voice is having as hard a time as he is.

He doubles over and shakes from the pain, not knowing where to grab.  The four men scream out in pain too.  Are they being affected the same way he is?  He has to get up and find out where the music is coming from.  Everyone is here, except for Abby.  Despite being in so much pain, he gets up and fights his way to her room.  As he nears, the music grows louder and  the harder it is to fight the pain that’s plaguing him.  His feet shuffle forward as he fights, but he makes it to her room anyway and he slams the door open to find that she’s gone.  He looks around in desperation.  They told her not to go anywhere!  He runs through every room he knows of in his mind, searching for all the ones that have a piano.  Then he notices it, the wall that is slightly open.  He remembers it a little- the queen’s secret room.  The piano sounds strong, so he inches his way closer.  The pain coursing through his system becomes more intense.

Kill the girl!  Ah, you must stop her!  The voice screeches.

He walks the tunnel, listening to all the complex riffs she’s playing.  Then, he recognizes the melody- the song her mother sang to her, but it’s different.  This song is much more advanced and sounds almost alive, but songs can’t live.  As he rounds the bend and enters the circular room, he finds her sitting at the piano, her hands flying across the keys.  Blood spills from her palms and coats the keys, the hot sticky mess dripping down to the floor and pooling at her feet.  The red looks vibrant against all the white.

He’s pushed to his knees in pain.