Chronicles of The Boy Who Lived

Chanel Steele was about to pawn her ragged-ass drum kit. She was arguing pissily over its worth when she heard him.

The chord was soft and low and plaintive. She whipped her head around and nearly lost her cigarette. There was a boy in the back, sitting on a haphazard pile of vinyl records with a guitar in his hands. He had his head bowed, his unkempt hair sweeping over his glasses. He sat posed his fingers not touching, but just teasing the air above the strings. And the wildest shiver ripped through the room.

He didn't look up for the longest time. But when he did, she knew she'd met god.

He was reasonably good looking, despite an ugly but strangely familiar scar fading dully on his forehead. And he obviously had the talent.

He had The Gift.

But most importantly, he would need a band to back him. A family. The kid could probably pack and play a stadium solo, but he had a spirit that had been trampled on. There was something deep in those brilliant eyes, though, that told her he wasn't all dead inside. He just needed to be reawakened.

Chanel gave him a pen and receipt and asked him to write down the tune he'd just played. He looked up at her solemnly, then scratched something down on a piece of paper.

Erised.

Chills ripped down her spine.

And she didn't know why.

She told him on the spot that she could make something of what he had -- something better than whatever it was waiting for him (or whatever he was waiting for). She told him she would show her good faith. She shoved her drumsticks over at the owner and demanded the shitty amount he was taking her for. She snatched the money and turned to the boy.

"Tell me your story."

While they lunched on the miserable change Chanel had got from the trade in, she fell spellbound to the wonderful melancholy of his story. The dark and aching longing; the love.

The Fury.

Chanel would never forget that day she walked into his life and he plucked the bitter cords of her heart. She remembered every dream and nightmare she had had in the wake of what he'd told her and a burning vengeance that dictated only one thing -- that she would redeem him.

*******

Four years later...

*******

Tori Klug stood at the entrance to the Mandeville Hotel in London, shocked and stunned, in complete disbelief that she was actually there.

She had set the crazy idea in motion with a click.

She needed to get away. Run away. He wasn't leaving.

click

The phone hitting the wall, still ringing, as she had closed her door.

click

Her boyfriend of three years, and on-off again boyfriend for two more, trying to call her. Why?

click

Fuck you. Go be with her and your soon-to-be child.

Should've known, she told herself, sitting in front of her computer after hearing the news that Saturday.

Where to go, where to go. Out of state had seemed like a good idea. Just for a week, just to clear her head, sort things out, deal with it.

click

In the corner of the screen there had been an advert for London. Tori stared at it for a minute before shaking her head and typed in other cities: Las Vegas, Miami, Boston. It hadn't been her idea to go out of country, just out of state.

But each time she would go back to the main screen, and there it was: London.

Another county. Sixteen hours away. Practically the other side of the world. She turned away from the screen, and her gaze fell upon the broken keyboard in the corner. It had been a gift from her boyfriend, and now it lay in shambles.

Tears stung her eyes as she whipped around to face the screen once again.

Fury rose up inside her. I am not weak.

click

***

She woke up Monday morning, only slightly less shocked that she was really in London.

Outside of the hotel, Tori walked down both sides of the streets, just taking everything in. The sky was cool and gray, but there was no wind. She walked for hours.

It truly was like being in a different world. Everything seemed cleaner, neater, and more open. She walked until it was nearly noon, and then she ducked into a café to grab some tea and a snack. Then she walked some more. After dinner, she stayed in the room, perched by the window, looking out at the dazzling night sky, notebook in lap, scribbling out more notes, more chords.

The routine repeated itself on Tuesday and Wednesday as well; it was amazingly therapeutic. Thursday, Tori was eating breakfast in her room, when her fingers started tapping on the bed. She realized she was missing her keyboard. Then the notes she had written in the notebook came back, and Tori knew what she was going to do that morning.

After throwing on a new cream-colored sweater and a dark pair of jeans, Tori headed off in search of a music store. Walking down both sides of the street the hotel was on for two hours, she came across nothing. Feet sore, she hobbled back towards the hotel. As she approached her hotel, intent on calling a cab and finding a damn music store, she started laughing.

Not two spaces down from the hotel was a pawn shop. In the front window, along with the pieces of dilapidated jewelry and the old furniture, were an old guitar and some sheet music. Tori walked inside, hoping, and was not disappointed.

In the back, with the other worn instruments from varying families, was a keyboard. It was about ten years old. Nonetheless, she calmly asked the old gentlemen if she could play on it. He appraised her quickly, and nodded.

She trembled slightly as her fingers approached it. But the apprehension drained away as they were greeted by the keys like old friends. When she had been confronted by her ex, she had smashed her only keyboard in a fury, and hadn't played since then, almost a month.

Tori played on the keyboard until it was time to close. It had felt so good to play, to feel her fingers dance on the keys; she hadn't moved a muscle from that spot. The elderly gentleman complimented her on her playing as he locked up. She thanked him and turned to go back to the hotel, when his voice called after her, "You're welcome back any time."

On Friday, she dressed quickly and, as an afterthought, grabbed her notebook. Promptly at 10 am, she entered the shop, smiling widely at the owner, who nodded in return. She made her way back to the keyboard. Opening the notebook, she began to try out her untitled song. Periodically, she would stop and make minor changes here and there. Head down, Tori would occasionally hear the bell jangle as people came and left.

Sometime after lunch, the bell jangled again, which Tori barely noticed. She had just made the final changes to her untitled melody, and was playing through it for the first time. Tori didn't realize she had closed her eyes as her fingers flew up and down the keyboard as if they had written the notes themselves. She felt a strange sensation quell up inside of her. The melody seemed haunting, yet beautiful. She had no idea why she had written such a thing.

She opened her eyes halfway through and stopped abruptly, startled as they came into contact with a pair of green eyes. Bright, striking green eyes set in a face as pale as hers had been the day she had left for London.

They belonged to a person who was about three inches taller than her. He had short black hair and was wearing gray cords and a black hooded sweatshirt. He had been watching Tori intently, unmoving.

Taken aback, Tori stood there, mute. The stranger offered a thin smile, which she briefly returned, more automatic than anything.

"Hello," he said quietly, his voice accented like most here.

"Hi," Tori managed, still tense at having been watched like that for who-knew-how long.

"Can you play that again?" he asked, again quietly.

Tori blinked, surprised. Why did he want me to play it again? Instantly, she chastised herself. Stop being so jaded.

She found herself nodding before giving it another thought. Why she was willingly playing for this stranger, she didn't know, but she began playing.

When she was done, she paused, then raised her eyes cautiously to look at him.

Again, a small smile. "That was incredible," he said. "Did you write that?"

A little embarrassed, Tori looked down. "Yeah, just this week."

"Hm," He glanced down at her hands, now resting on the keyboard. "Played long?"

Tori nodded. "I took it up when I was nine. I hurt my knee, and couldn't do anything for six months. My parents had me take piano lessons, and...yeah." Stop talking.

He had looked down when she started speaking, but now fixed her with those brilliant green eyes. "You're not English."

Tori smiled briefly. "No, I'm not. I'm from the States."

"Why are you here?"

She hesitated. The answer was too personal and she was too embarrassed to admit she was in London on a whim, trying to outrun something painful. "I--I just wanted to--go somewhere else. Try something new."

He looked impressed, and she felt a slight twinge for not telling the truth. Why do I care what I tell a stranger?

"Can you sing?"

Her eyes widened. "Uh, yeah, in the shower. Or a car."

He laughed, then spoke seriously. "I think you can."

The joking demeanor died as that rang in her ears. He was serious.

"Sing something." His voice was soft and imploring, and again she found herself relenting, unexplainably. A song popped into her head, and she quietly began playing. Her mouth opened, and she heard herself singing in a low, steady voice:

'You took your coat off,
And stood in the rain,
You were always crazy like that.
And I watched from my window,
Always felt I was outside,
Looking in on you.'

After another verse, she broke off then, fully realizing that she had just been singing out loud, in front of a complete stranger. In a store. In London.

He chuckled to himself as the color rose in her cheeks. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Tori mumbled a reply, unbelieving. He cleared his throat, and she looked up. "I was being serious."

Tori couldn't keep eye contact. "Thank you." Now, if you would just leave me to my embarrassment...

He smiled again. "Can I bring someone over here to hear you play?"

"I don't--" Her eyes darted around the store, feeling a bit off.

He cut her off, as if sensing that he was losing her. "Please?"

Tori stared at him hard, wondering inside why the yes was already playing on her lips. As he turned to leave, she took notice of something on the upper right of his forehead, underneath his bangs. It looked like a scar, which was curiously shaped...

She only got to think about it for a few seconds, because the stranger came back with a girl who was merely an inch shorter than him. She was very striking, with short, auburn colored hair that ended just below her chin. Her gaze was piercing, making Tori feel a little intimidated. What was going on? What did I just get myself into? They were talking; she didn't seem too happy.

Tori heard one word of their conversation as they approached, and she wasn't even sure she heard correctly.

"Erised."

Tori didn't recognize it, but apparently the girl did, because her demeanor changed to reluctant curiosity, she gave a cursory nod and waited, arms crossed.

The stranger smiled at Tori encouragingly, which solicited only a half-smile. She began to play, keeping her eyes off of the girl. Tori chanced a glance up at the stranger, and he was watching her as well. Feeling warm, she resumed her focus on the keyboard.

As Tori finished playing, she looked up and received a shock. The girl's face softened, and the fleeting look on her face was now serious, not haughty. She exchanged a curt look with the guy. "That was...good." She stepped forward reluctantly, her hand out. "Chanel."

Tori shook her hand. "Thanks. I'm Tori."

She nodded again. "I won't waste your time, then, Tori." She motioned to the stranger and herself. "We're in a band and we need a keyboardist. Do you sing?"

Tori hesitated as the stranger spoke up. "Yes, she does."

Chanel looked quickly at the stranger, then back at her, crossing her arms. "Sing something."

Inwardly, Tori knew that she was being challenged, to see what she would do. Something inside of her told her to keep going. Tori immediately began playing, picking up where she had cut off from before.

For the second time, Tori abruptly ended the song. The girl looked as if she had been taken by surprise. It was quickly replaced with a stone face, suggesting that she was one who was rarely taken by surprise. She looked from Tori to him and back. He nodded, which she didn't seem to agree with wholeheartedly.

Then she spoke tersely. "We would need to finish our demo in seven weeks, and then jump into touring right after." There was a brief pause, before she added, "Interested?"

Tori stood there, stunned, as what Chanel said sunk in. She thought vaguely of her ticket, scheduled for Sunday. What Chanel was saying, what she was asking...and why the hell was Tori thinking about it? Her home was sixteen hours away. Then his face floated through her mind, the one she had been running from, for the first time in almost a week. And instantly, Tori knew she didn't want to go back.

Tori realized she had been silent for almost a minute. Both Chanel and the stranger were watching her intently. Tori cleared her throat. "Um, yeah, I'm interested. But, can I think about it first?"

Chanel's eyes narrowed. "We need to know by Sunday. Morning." She stuck out her hand again, which Tori took, reeling from the short time she would have to make such a decision.

Chanel turned abruptly and went back up front, leaving the stranger standing in back with Tori. "Where are you staying?" he asked.

It took a second for Tori to find her voice, which had been rendered nearly mute after what Chanel had just said. "The Mandeville."

He nodded. He took out a yellowed piece of paper, scribbled on it, and then extended it to Tori.

She glanced at the paper as he said, "That's where you can reach me."

She nodded dumbly, as reality began to sink in.

"I hope to hear from you, Tori."

She managed to speak. "I'll let you know."

He smiled at her again, and left. Tori stood there, watching him leave. Then she turned off the keyboard, grabbed her notebook, quickly stuffed the old piece of paper into her pocket and headed to the front.