9.1) A Voiceless Song ~ Forget Me Not

The interior of the house eerily resembled his childhood home. The floor was made of wood, the walls were white, and there was a big, arched doorway leading to a patio at the very back from where the wind was gently flowing into the room. He felt uneasy, seeing how nostalgic the room seemed to be.

Then, as he scanned the room, one massive object stood out from all the rest–an object that he would have never guessed would have been here in her house.

There was a piano in the middle of the room.

And immediately, his heart sank. Something was definitely wrong here. It had to be wrong.

He quickly closed the door shut then approached the piano. There were countless music sheets spread across the top. He grabbed a sheet and realized that these weren’t regular music sheets–they were blank music sheets that someone had used to compose music. There were notes and comments on them, with occasional smiley faces drawn to the side. It was just like it had been in the past.

Victor was panicking–not because his sister seemed to be living in a horrible state, but because he felt that nothing had changed. This was wrong; it had to be. Alice Truman’s dreams of becoming a songstress had all died in that accident. Her voice was gone. She was physically disfigured. There was no way that this was real. It was impossible–or rather, pointless.

So why were these here?

Then, he heard a tap near the patio. Then another. It was the familiar sound of heels making contact with the wooden floor. And soon, a person in a white dress revealed herself in-between the flowing curtains by the patio.

He quickly closed his eyes, afraid to look at the woman, afraid of the scars and the grotesque skin he had seen fourteen years ago. But powered by the courage he had received from Abigail, he took a small peek at the woman by the patio.

And to his surprise, there were no scars.

As he fully opened his eyes in confusion, he saw that the woman in the white dress had covered her entire right body, making it impossible for him to see what her skin was like beneath the clothing.

And on her face was a mask that covered half her face, making it hard for him to initially recognize who it was. But he knew who this was. All the evidence pointed toward one person.

Victor took a deep breath.

“... Alice,” he whispered.

The woman pressed something on her neck. And to his surprise, she then opened her mouth in an attempt to speak.

“... Brother,” she said in a disturbing, low grumble.

Victor blinked in confusion. Then, he raised an eyebrow, his expectations shattered in the completely wrong way. It was awkward, off. That was not her voice.

Then, she rubbed her neck with a blush coming over her visible face. Then she began moving her hands in a slow and controlled way. She was signing in ASL. Abigail could never force him to become an expert at it, but she had forced enough lessons down his throat for him to roughly understand what she was signing. And Alice seemed to be making accommodations by signing and fingerspelling significantly slower than she was capable of.

Sorry. Few weeks ago, I got a “Tracheoesophageal Puncture”. I know my voice sounds bad. But I can speak again. Maybe I need more practice?

Victor blinked. “No, no, it’s um, well, uh, well…”

“Miss Kovacs” promised she would bring you to me soon. So I wanted to surprise you both.

“I… I see. I didn’t know.” He was struggling to process what was going on.

He looked her up and down once more. It was clear that she had taken every single precaution to try and hide her scars from him. But upon the second glance, he could see that there was no hair on the right side of her body. Her entire right side of her head was covered by the white mask. And looking carefully onto the mask and into her right eye, he could see that her iris was almost completely white.

He gulped, feeling some nausea, but he decided it was tolerable.

Then, he pointed at the piano. “Alice… Are you trying to fulfill your dream of becoming a songstress again? Is this why this piano is here? I understand that you’ve gotten your voice back, but…”

Alice shook her head.

No. I can’t sing. I know.

She walked over to the piano, with her heels tapping against the wooden floor. Then, she brushed her hand over the instrument.

He followed her, looking at the piano. “Then I don’t understand. Why is the piano here? Why compose songs that you can’t sing?”

I’m a pianist.

“... What?”

Do you want to hear me play? She snapped her finger with a bright smile. I’ve got just the one.

She pulled the piano chair from beneath and sat down. Then, she opened its lid and took the fabric cloth off the piano and gently placed it on the top.

Then, she patted the seat next to her, beckoning him to sit next to her.

Victor shook his head. “I’ll… stay standing. I need time to process all this. Sorry.”

She nodded in understanding. I’ll start playing. Feel free to walk around.

Then, she began playing the piano without any music sheets. A melancholic and bittersweet song began. Immediately, he realized that she was excellent at playing the piano, perhaps even better than she had been in her youth.

Trying to process these sudden revelations, he took her suggestion and began walking around the room. But he was not focused on looking around her home. He was focused solely on his own thoughts.

Alice Truman’s destiny as a songstress remained unfulfilled, but it seemed that she had changed courses upon awakening, choosing to continue on the path of a voiceless musician.

She wasn’t a songstress, but she was still a composer. And a pianist. She hadn’t just sat around in grief since her awakening from her coma. She hadn’t stared into the mirror in self-hatred. She had practiced, practiced, and practiced in silence.

Her dream in its original form had died, but something different yet similar had been born and cultivated in its place. And while Victor had completely abandoned his own dreams since the incident, Alice had chosen to accept the setbacks and continue forward without abandoning her dreams entirely. She had compromised to continue moving forward.

It was as if the accident had never changed her true nature. Her encounter of death had not deterred her from continuing to live with her scars, while he had run from death and suffering from merely seeing her scars. The victim fought while the witness ran.

In his tendency to view the world in absolutes, he had decided Alice to be a lost cause. And yet, it seemed she was the one who had truly found her purpose in this world.

He returned his attention back to the song. It seemed that the song was in its second phase. It had begun on a sad note, but this part of the song seemed to be gentle and hopeful, with occasional moments of clear and high notes.

But eventually, the song reverted back to its original theme, this time with a slight variation. It was as if things were simply ending the way they had begun. But the subtle change made it clear that something had changed, if only by little.

And finally, the song ended on a minor chord. Alice had kept her eyes closed for the majority of the end, as if the song had been ingrained into her soul.

She opened her eyes. Was it good?

He nodded weakly. “It was excellent. What’s the name?”

Then, she fingerspelled the title. “Forget Me Not”.

He sighed, then looked up into the ceiling. He knew by heart that she wasn’t intentionally trying to make him feel guilty, but she had succeeded anyways.

He had tried to forget about her for fourteen years, all because he was so afraid of seeing her broken. He momentarily wondered why Abigail hadn’t told him about what Alice had been up to behind the scenes, but realized that it was probably his own fault for always shutting her up whenever she tried to begin a conversation about Alice.

And even if Alice had not recovered the way she had here, he should have been there for her. Even if she had lost all four limbs in the accident and had gone blind, he should never have abandoned her. Yet he had run from even less. He wondered what that said about him as a brother.

It was all his fault. He was a coward and his relationship with his sister had suffered dearly for it.

Victor sighed, deciding he should now take responsibility to look at her for who she really is.

He gently reached toward her mask. Alice blinked in surprise, then softened her expression, as if understanding what he was trying to do.

But as he grabbed her mask, he couldn’t find the courage to look at the ugly truth that she had hidden away for his sake. He had seen her face first hand. To him, it was death and suffering personified. To take her mask off now meant that he would spend the rest of his life looking at her disfigured face.

… And, cursing his weakness, he let go without removing the mask.

“... I’m sorry. I’m a failure,” he said.

She shook her head.

It’s okay. I can keep my mask on. You can focus on my good side. The sides of me you love. Whatever makes you happy. I don’t want to see you sad.

I’ll continue to hide my scars… for you.

As she held his hand with her unburnt hand, Victor sighed, finally admitting his sin.

“I’m a horrible brother. I’m sorry for running away.”

She shook her head again, letting go of his hand to sign.

You’re not horrible. And I found it cute that you ran from me.

He scoffed in disbelief. “Cute? You found it cute? You should hate me for my actions.”

She laughed. How can I hate you? You’re the only brother I have.

He sighed. He had been wrong this entire time. And in this moment, it finally clicked: Alice was still Alice. She was his sister.

No amount of scars could have changed that.