XVI. The Girl Who Played to Escape

Carson City again. Same empty streets. Same tired sky.

But this world sounded different.

I first found her by chance, through an open window of the high school at night. A single flashlight weakly lit the music room, its beam spilling across the linoleum floor. Inside, she stood barefoot in the center of the room, bow poised in her hand, a violin pressed against her neck like a holy relic.

And then she played.

The first note was soft, trembling, vulnerable. The next was divine. The sound filled the room, swelled through the empty halls, and crawled beneath my skin. It was grief and defiance and faith all wrapped into one glorious anthem of devotion.

I leaned against the wall, eyes closed, listening. For the first time in years, I felt quiet inside.

She came here every night and played until her fingers bled. She slept on the old couch at the back of the room, her violin case clutched against her chest like a shield. She was chasing a scholarship, a future, a way out. Every competition, every late-night practice session was part of her desperate attempt to escape this place.

At home, her father drank. He said the violin gave him migraines, like the house itself was screaming. He hated it. So she practiced in secret instead.

When I watched her play, I lost track of time. I told myself I was just doing my job, that I needed to be here to study her, but the truth was simpler: her music had found a warm space in my soul I didn’t know was still there.

Then, one night, as I rounded the corner to the music room, I nearly collided with her.

The bow in her hand shook slightly, though her voice didn’t.

“I know you’ve been watching me,” she said. “For weeks.”

Weeks. Had it really been that long? The word struck harder than I wanted to admit.

She didn’t sound afraid, just curious. But I felt her fear all the same, the sharp, animal kind that hides beneath bravery.

“You’re not afraid of me,” I said, testing her.

“I am,” she replied. “But if you were going to hurt me, you would’ve done it already.”

Her eyes were steady. Violet, but darker than I remembered in other worlds. Like twilight right before the stars appear.

She turned away and walked toward the piano bench. “You can sit there if you want. Just don’t talk while I’m playing.”

I obeyed.

For three nights, I sat in the back of the room while she practiced. She never looked at me, never spoke, but I didn’t need her to. Her music did what words couldn’t. Every note was a confession, every pause a wound she didn’t know how to close.

I could have stayed forever.

But on the fourth night, she didn’t come.

The silence was unbearable. I waited an hour before I left the music room. Her house was only a few blocks away.

The front door was unlocked. The lights were off. Inside, I found her father asleep in his chair, a bottle clutched in his hand, the air thick with liquor and rage. Her violin lay on the floor next to him, splintered into ruin.

Upstairs, I found her in the bathtub.

Her body floated near the surface, half-curled, her arms hanging over the sides of the porcelain rim. The razor blade slid from her fingers when I knelt beside her. Deep cuts slashed vertically. No hesitation marks. This wasn’t a cry for help. This was a decision she had made long ago, like a promise she’d held close to her chest.

If he ever takes my music away, I’ll take the rest.

I stood there for a long time, watching her float gently, watching the water drip, watching the blood dry, wondering why I felt an ache inside of me.

When I finally left, I didn’t cross into the nearest parallel world. I could feel her there: a version of her who was still alive, still playing, still fighting for a way out.

But this one wasn’t the one. The violin had been the only thing keeping her from breaking, and without it, she was too fragile to survive the truth.

So I crossed to an entirely different stream. One where she had never found the violin.

But her music lingered, echoing in my mind long after it should have faded. A song without end. A soul that almost made me want to save her. Almost.

The search continues.

M.

Up Next: The Girl Who Lost Herself in the Big City