Normally he didn’t go to the music room, but
he was being punished for fouling up again. At least that was Seifer
Almasy’s excuse. No one but him knew about his love of his music…or his
ability with a guitar. Well
Carefully, the
blond man poked his head into the room and looked around. No one was
there.
He slid in and shut the door behind him,
locking it, before he headed over to the piano, his guitar in tow. In the
absence of a stool, the piano bench worked very well. Seifer pulled a
blank cassette tape out of his trench coat pocket and clicked open the recorder
attached to the piano. His eyes narrowed.
There was already
another tape in there.
Seifer looked
around. No one was in there. No one had been in there for past hour
that he’d stared at the door, making sure it was clear to go in. He
shrugged and put it in, pressed play. It stopped immediately. Well,
who would give up a free tape? Quickly he rewound it and began it, giving
blank lead time to make sure everything he played was recorded.
But the tape
wasn’t blank.
A bunch of chords
rang through the room and Seifer loosened his grip on the guitar. He
recognized the tune, liked it even. A woman’s voice sang then and Seifer
nearly lost his hold on the guitar. The song was normally sung by a male,
but somehow this woman managed to lift it up an octave without sounding
whiny. And it touched him. The raw emotion in her clear voice, the
heartbreak, as she neared the end of the song made him shiver at the haunting
quality of it. He stared at the door, unable to break free of her voice,
of her pain. The song closed and he heard a sob. A heart-wrenching
sob, and another, followed by the sound of wood scraping across the tile
floor. Heels clicking, door closing. Then nothing but quiet static.
Seifer gaped at
the door for a long time. It was incredible. Leaping to his feet,
he rewound the tape and listened to it again, hoping for some clue into who the
unforgettable voice belonged to. No luck. Rewind again, listen
again. Still no clue. He rewound the tape again, but his finger
paused over the play button. Then it moved to eject and caught the tape
as it shot out of the holder. This called for a more careful study.
He had to find
out who she was. But then he might not hear her sing again. She
would be embarrassed that her emotional display was on tape and the ex-lapdog
listened to it. What if she didn’t come back for it though? No, she
would. A woman in such heartbreak would be too scared that someone else
would find out. She would be back. But she wouldn’t find her tape.
Seifer pushed his
own tape into the recorder and hit the record button, striking a G chord,
before he silenced the polished instrument in his hands. And he began to
play.
You
know the sun is in your eyes
And
hurricanes and rains
Black
and cloudy skies
You’re
running up and down that hill
You
turn it on and off at will
There’s
nothing hear to thrill or bring you down
And
if you’ve got no other choice
You
know you can follow my voice
Through
the dark turns and noise
Of
this wicked little town
Oh
Lady Luck has led you here
And
they’re so twisted up
They’ll
twist you up, I fear
The
pious, hateful, and devout
You’re
turning tricks till you’re turned out
The
wind so cold it burns
You’re
blowing out and blowing ‘round
And
if you’ve got no other choice
You
know you can follow my voice
Through
the dark turns and noise
Of
this wicked little town
The
fates are vicious and they’re cruel
You
learn too late you’ve used
Two
wishes like a fool
And
when you’re someone you are not
And
Remember
Mrs. Lot and when she turned around
And
if you’ve got no other choice
You
know you can follow my voice
Through
the dark turns and noise
Of
this wicked little town
Seifer struck the
last few notes of the song, let the echo of those notes remain, then cut off
the recorder. Then he got up and headed toward the door, turning back at
the last moment.
How was he going
to know if it was her who would pick up the tape? How could he keep other
people from entering? A moment’s thought and he had the answer. He
strode over to the storage closet and pulled out a piece of poster board and a
roll of tape. With a black Sharpie™ he scrawled the words,
Closed for Cleaning
That done, he put
everything away, taped the sign to the door, and hurried away, customary smirk
in place. He rounded the corner and bumped headlong into someone, who hit
the floor with a loud OOMPH. Shit, he thought, I have a guitar in my
hands. Then his green gaze moved to the person he ran into.
“Instructor
Trepe,” he bowed mockingly. “However did you get down there, where you belong?”
Quistis’ blue
eyes narrowed as she pushed herself off the ground and brushed imaginary dirt
from her uniform. “Only a person like you could drag someone down that
far,” she returned. They faced off with matching glares on their
attractive faces, before her gaze drifted to the guitar in his right hand.
“Seifer…whose guitar is that?”
Seifer barely
managed to conceal his flinch, before he realized he found himself a perfect
cover and had Miss Stuck-Up Trepe to thank for it. “I don’t know,” he
shrugged. “Some poor sap’s I found in the music room.”
Her jaw
tightened, but she forced herself not to give orders. After all, she
wasn’t his superior anymore. “You should return that.”
“You can’t give
me orders, Trepe.”
“You called me
‘Instructor’, Seifer,” she smiled sweetly.
His jade eyes
flashed. “Just get to wherever you’re going, Trepe. I have things
to do.” With that he left her.
Quistis shook her
head and looked around. Coast clear. She headed for the music room.
**********************
A/N: “Wicked Little Town” by Stephen
Trask. I was going to do first person, but I changed my mind. I
write third so much better! PLEASE
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