Nyctophilia

I lay still for quite sometime. I lay still, I waited, and listened. It'd been a long day for all of us: up early, and we hadn't gone to bed until late in the evening. But the guys had all fallen asleep rather quickly. The slow, deep breathing that hummed from all of them was enough to tell me that. Casey shifted a few times, but was out cold. Still, I laid on the floor next to Thomas for a good long while, pretending to be asleep.

The voice in my dreams was still there, always chiming out the same old tune, the same words. It never changed. And every time I looked up to face the mirror... Everything blurred and vanished into a darkness.

And then I was awake, repeating those horrendous words over, and, and over again.

"And it all becomes clear that no one will hear my testimony..."

What was that? What did it mean? Roy had told me that maybe it was just stress, an apprehensiveness to the nightmare I knew awaited me, but I could no longer be so sure. It was trying to tell me something. It had to be... but what?

I didn't know. And I was starting to fear I never would. How long would this damn voice possess my mind? I'd spent every waking hour with my thoughts geared towards it... but I understood nothing.

And if I do, I haven't realized it. At least, I don't think I have. I could try talking to Thomas, but I know where the conversation would go. It'd go where it always does. All he wants is to help. But I can't let him.

Completely satisfied the guys were asleep, I let out a sigh and got up. Tip toeing across the basement, I made my way up stairs, cringing at every creek they made. Closing the door behind me, I stepped out into the dark of the hallway. I walked in silence, in no particular direction, maneuvering around the furniture as I tried to keep quiet.

The moonlight guided me to the living room, but I didn't just stop at the couch like normal; I made my way up stairs. Why? I had no idea.

There was a soft tapping noise as I trekked up the dark, polished wooden steps. This house truly was beautiful. The colors were dark and rich; deep brown, golden red. But I had a particularly favorite room.

And that's where I was going.

My feet met the soft tan carpet again as I reached the top of the stairs, and with a sort of detached demeanor, I moved in silence down the shadowy hall. Pictures were hung along the way, all just vague, dark squares. There was a window at the very end of the corridor l, and a pale ghostly white light flooded in.

I went to the last door on the right, turned the golden knob and pushed it open. Candle light, of all things, met my eyes.

And a black silhouette, sitting just across from me at the black baby grand piano. There was only one person who'd be in here at this hour.

Only one other person who'd be up.

Roy, if he heard me, didn't acknowledge my presence. The piano was closed up, keys covered, and Roy sat there on the black leather an mahogany bench, leaning on his elbows, hands folded in thought. His silver rings that he always wore were off and in the flickering golden light his tattoos seemed to come to life. They were Japanese themed, I think, with a traditional Japanese art style; waves and maybe koi fish or dragon, with a lot of detail and color, but not so much that they were difficult to look at. In all the time I'd known him, I had never thought to pay more attention to the artwork covering his arms. Not only that, he often kept them covered up with the long sleeved, black shirts he so often wore.

Closing the door behind me, I crept forward. Roy's piano room, especially in this light, was like something out of a dream; a classic turntable sat on one side of the small room, while on the other side was a book shelf filled with books geared towards philosophy, classic literature, and music books. Not that he needed them. He had been playing for piano for years; sheet music was all but useless to him, aside from the blanks for composing.

Even still, sheet music was scattered everywhere, along with a few record jackets lost from the pile of jazz and classical records stacked next to the turntable. The room was a beautiful array of chaotic organization, bathed in golden light from the candles, and in the center, the piano that Roy had had for years. It was polished to near perfection, and was in great shape, aside from one lone ivory key with a slightly chipped corner. This room was like a sanctuary; a temple. It was as if, while here in this charming little soundproofed space, the rest of the world didn't matter. Time didn't exist and problems were just... Distant memories.

But all of my problems were distant memories, so why I had come here, I had no idea. But why was Roy in here so late?

Silently, I reached out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. With calm, slow movements, Roy unfolded his hands, and looked back at me. Much to my surprise, he didn't ask why I was up. He knew he'd get no answers. Besides, how can you fuss at someone for not sleeping when you haven't slept either?

"Don't you just love when inspiration hits at two in the morning?" I just smiled, moving around the bench to sit next to him. It was only then that I noticed the sheet music page and pen laying in front of him.

"Let me hear what you've got," I spoke, not really wanting to say much. Asking too many questions led to conversation; a conversation I didn't feel like having again, but I needed something to keep me awake, least I fall asleep to that obnoxious dream again. Or to something worse.

Roy smiled slightly and reached up, handing me the music and pen as he opened up the keys' heavy wooden cover.

"Don't you need the sheet music?" He said nothing, but his smile grew as he laid his tan fingers across the black and white keys, shaking his head. Of course he doesn't, I thought to myself. He's amazing at piano.

And at that, nothing more was said as he began to softly play.