Yanire had taken to writing her daily entry one morning when there came a polite, short knock on the door to her lodging. She looked confusedly to the door but recognised the manner in which the person had knocked. She wasn't sure what she had done to provoke Adriel's attention but she assumed it was by being a space cadet as of late and she answered the door, fully prepared for a lecture.
It was, indeed, Adriel Andersson outside the door when she pulled it open. He was dressed up in a suit with his sandy coloured locks slicked back and light cologne. It was a bit startling really, Yanire had never seen him in formalwear. He looked at her confusion and went a bit flustered for a moment.
"We have to meet with some clients regarding a new business venture, Zayn and I will be gone for two-to-four days."
Yanire nodded, accepting the explanation and proceeding to ask him what he needed.
"Well…"
He trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to ask or say whatever it was.
"Is there anything I can do to help you feel safer here?"
Yanire was taken aback by the question and shot him a look that could be misconstrued as disgust. Adriel didn't look offended in the slightest and instead remained patient. Yanire ran through a list in her head of things which, surely, he couldn't allow for his own sake until she landed on something that seemed a fair compromise.
"Is it possible that we could install a lock on this door?"
Adriel eyed the frame closely, mentally noting the lack of lock, before nodding.
"Yes, I suppose that can be arranged. I'll order a lock in the next shipment."
Yanire thanked him and bid them good luck on the trip, it seemed polite enough. He then turned on his heel, as was the Adriel way, and stalked off down the long hall.
Yanire awoke in her bed with a cold sweat drenching her back. Her body shivered and heat flashes assaulted her unforgivingly. Sitting in the lonely room after having a horrible nightmare wherein Martien had harmed Joeri, she decided two things.
One, she was fucking done having all of these horrific nightmares. Her mind wouldn't be able to take much more of the insanity before it cracked, and she knew that.
Two, she was going to play the piano. It was a beauty and really, her Joeri would have been more distraught that she let such a treasure go to waste than that she played without him.
She woke early and snuck down into the chilly basement, pulling her coat up around her as she approached the instrument. Sitting on the small bench before it was surreal, just as it had been every other occasion. Only now, she had a slamming heart in her chest, full with the knowledge that something was about to happen.
She eyed the keys carefully. With time she would gain the confidence to settle back into the glorious symphonies she had played before. Today though, was not the day for such things. She racked her memory for a simple melody she could string about. Something pure, soft, the sort which she would have played for her son when he was still very small.
The idea struck her naturally and her hands hovered above the keys necessary. There was one melody which Joeri had constructed himself. It was a clumsy, awkward sort of memory but she had loved it because it whispered of the elegance he would grow into later. She hit the first three keys and her heart swooned to hear the absolute summit of comfort. As she gently fingered the next keys, she felt little Joeri's energy filling her heart. It was a wonderful, tragic sort of fulfilment.
This would not be not her last soiree with the instrument.
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Yanire, despite having a new hobby and time-passing focus, did not shirk her duties with Secoiya even slightly. In fact, the woman put herself into the work with a higher spirit and a certain weightlessness. Secoiya seemed greatly relieved to see the woman recover, though she never sought to ask what had brought about the change.
"It is good to see you smile again, dear."
Yanire smiled, planting a small and platonic kiss on the older woman's shoulder as they made cute little pastries. Yanire had lost track of time entirely and hadn't thought about what season or holiday might be approaching since the shipwreck. Though Secoiya had informed her that morning that Halloween was around the corner and it was one of the few holidays which everyone on the island celebrated. So they had opted to make what Miss Polson called "zombie cookies" in honour of the holiday.
They were a bit on the morbid side, being cookies which mimicked decaying body parts of all kinds, but they were quite a fun thing to make. Yanire stuck to the simpler body parts, eyeballs and brains with a bite taken out of them. Secoiya on the other hand, who had apparently done this every year for a very long time, created absolute masterpieces. One of her cookies was a decaying heart and part of a lung which had been bitten into. Another was a zombie head, complete with a dangling eyeball.
"Wow, you're freakishly good at this."
Secoiya laughed a little.
"Decorating is my favourite part."
Yanire nodded in agreement.
"Are we going to eat these now, or?"
Secoiya shook her head, nudging her head in the direction of the living room.
"We'll all get together after dinner tonight and have cookies with old horror films."
Yanire smiled to herself. Festivities were something she had missed, admittedly.
"What horror film do you like best, Secoiya?"
The older woman's chocolate brown eyes lit up with excitement.
"I've always loved The Shining. It was the first film I saw outside of Jamaica."
"Ahh, that's one of the classics, good choice."
"Which is your favourite?"
Yanire thought for a few moments before answering.
"Zombieland."
Secoiya scrunched up her nose but smiled.
"That's a comedy, it doesn't count."
Yanire shrugged.
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The woman found, with no real sense of surprise, that if she played the piano for at least ten minutes each day, she could sleep restfully and without nightmares of any kind. This realisation only solidified her new hobby and she played every morning while the others slept, for fear of being caught in the act. She could not explain why she didn't want to be seen, but she didn't.
Yanire lived in the illusion of secrecy between her and the instrument, when an unknown figure lurked in the background, watching every so often as she played.
Adriel never commented on her performances. Never admitted to any of the other household members that the occurrences even happened. It was an unspoken understanding he held, that there was a reason Yanire only played while everyone else was fast asleep.
Many times, Adriel had scolded himself for intruding on her private moments this way. Sure, it was his home and his piano, but he still couldn't shake the sense that it was wrong somehow. She obviously hadn't wanted to be seen, and he watched on anyway.
Still, he couldn't help himself every once in a while. The instrument stood as a very solemn reminder for him and at the same time a very comforting memory. This was a small thing that he allowed himself, though eventually he put a limit on his intrusions. He decided that he would only watch her play one day out of the week and would leave her to her own devices the rest of the time. It seemed a fair compromise in the young man's mind .
It wasn't long until Adriel was caught in the act. Yanire's precise fingers had danced about the keys for Danse Macabre, one of her personal favourites, when she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Immediately alarmed, her eyes shot up to find a creepily silent Adriel.
Her momentary shock quickly faded to a heated anger as she jumped up from the seat and marched over to the man. Adriel, accepting he was to be caught eventually, did not flinch or falter as the enraged woman approached him. Yanire had a way of being pretty intimidating when upset, even only standing at five feet and three inches tall.
"What the hell, Adriel!"
Her shout came out as a high whisper, still trying to maintain her secrecy.
"You scared the shit out of me."
The confession was low then, as she stared at him expectantly.
His eyes moved behind her to the piano, there was a storm brewing in the blue-greys and Yanire wanted to get to the bottom of all of it.
Finally, the man spoke, though his words were ice in her veins and there was an unmistakable loss in the man's tone.
"That piano was my mother's."
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