Page 131 of The Drummer

Callie still has his hand clutched in hers when he closes his eyes and starts to speak.

“It’s a perfect day for candlelight, let it cast its shadow.

It’s a perfect day for apathy.

It’s a perfect day for tragedy, eclipsed by a moment in time.

It’s a perfect day, why not today?

It’s a perfect day, don’t wait up for a tearful goodbye.

It’s a perfect day for illusion.

It’s a perfect day for solace, I’ll make this easy on you.

Don’t you worry, it’s a perfect day, why not today?

Can you hear me, screaming some lie, disguising the truth

Can you see me, bleeding, I’m unraveling

Shattering

Do you remember what you told me, ‘Everything has its place and time?

Well, that’s fine, you can look away, you’re just proving it’s the perfect day.”

No one moves. My heart is cracking apart inside.

I see him in that diner chair, breathing those words into an empty void that echoes them back at him. Elena screaming the same as the poison took control of her until she couldn’t fight it anymore. All the people crying out for help without making a sound, until one split second explodes into a cry that reverberates for eternity.

Tears stream from my eyes as Callie crawls back to me. I pull her back to my chest, burying my face in her hair. I can’t sort the mess inside me. It’s just a knot of sadness and incredible gratitude.

I couldn’t help Elena. In some ways, we can’t help Luke, either—only he can take the journey toward healing. But we can stand in the void and stop the echo. We can shatter the mirror and destroy the lying reflection that tortures him.

“What’s The Chair, Luke?” Callie’s words splinter the silence. “What’s its power?”

I direct my watery gaze back at Luke and blink away the film. I have to see. I have to understand.

Luke rubs at his eyes and fixes his gaze on the table. “Things were really bad with Elena,” he says in a haunted tone. “They had been for a long time, but… I loved her… God, I loved her so much... I just couldn’t stop hurting her.”

He clenches a fist in his hair, and I wince at the hostility in his tone, the self-loathing. It hurts like hell, but the poison has to come out. The mirror has to break.

“We’d talked that day,” he continues, releasing his hold to swat at his cheeks. “She couldn’t take it anymore, the way things were. She wanted to try to work things out. I agreed to meet her that night at a little café called Jemma’s. One last shot to fix things.”

He chokes on a memory and scrubs at his eyes. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

“I didn’t show,” he continues in a tortured voice. His gaze goes dark. “No, worse than that. I ended up in a hotel room getting wasted with two girls I didn’t even know. I just… I just left her there! Fucking abandoned her!”

He’s trembling when he reaches for his phone, and so am I.

My own confession is heavy on my tongue.

Tragedy needs a villain. Sometimes more than one.

The phone shakes in his hand as he holds it out. Callie takes it, and over her shoulder I see a photo in a text stream.

From Elena.

---