Read Online Melody Burning by Whitley Strieber - Free Book Online
Authors: Whitley Strieber
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her, and I feel myself almost immediately being pulled off, and I scream—boy, do I scream. I scream with all my might for help, for anyone to come, for him to come because whoever he is, he’s going to be better than the living hell this place has become.
I’m dragged across the room by this prick, who is stronger than he looks.
I go limp. What’s the use?
“Melody, we’re going to give you a little sedative,” I hear him say.
Mom nods.
“That was probably the best session at Reynolds in history !”
“When you wake up in the morning,” Mom says, “there will be a composer here, and tomorrow the three of us are going to start creating some music that people want to hear.”
He takes my arm.
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
Then there is a pain in my shoulder and I jerk away, but it’s too late.
Already the world is going. I can feel the covers coming up around me.
I see the sunset out my window, red at the horizon, gold higher up.
Then it is dark.
C HAPTER 9
B eresford had never felt anything like this before in his life.
All day he had stayed in Melody’s apartment, forcing himself not to open her drawers or her closet, looking instead in the fridge at the things she ate and drank, the diet sodas, the cheese and roasted chicken, the cold cuts, the mint ice cream. He would take a taste and close his eyes and let the flavors fill his head and think, “ She has tasted this taste; she knows this flavor.”
Only when their maid had come in and cleaned had he hidden, and then just to go up his hatch and linger there, waiting for the vacuum cleaner to stop and the singing to fade away, which it did, as always, in a couple of hours.
He had looked for his rose, but it was not there, so that meant she liked it and had it with her. Good.
Usually, they were home late, so he wasn’t expecting the man who came when the sun was midway down the western sky. Still, it was easy to slip into the den and back up into the crawl space. He’d lain along one of the beams, listening. The man went into Melody’s room and searched it carefully. He could hear him turning pages, and he wondered if Melody kept a notebook. Why not? She could probably write and read and all that.
When they came home, the man met them and there was yelling that made Beresford stuff his fist in his mouth so he wouldn’t shout out his own rage at whatever they were doing to her. They were breaking her heart and maybe even hurting her. He could hear the terror and the sorrow in her voice.
Then the man put her to sleep. He’d heard that, too, had heard her scream and beg for him not to, and then her voice went low, and the man—a doctor—said she would sleep until morning.
Beresford sweated out the minutes until the place was quiet. He was going to enter an occupied apartment again. He hadn’t been able to stop himself last night, and he couldn’t now.
Slowly, carefully, he opened his hatch and looked down into the den closet. All was quiet. No light shone under the door. So he slipped down to the floor, then carefully slid the door open a crack.
The den was full of shadows.
Moving quickly and silently, he stepped out of the closet and crossed the room. There was light shining under this door, but none of the shadows revealed movement. Also, not a sound. Carefully, he grasped the doorknob and turned it.
The hall was dimly lit by a lamp in the living room. Melody’s mom sat on the couch reading papers of some sort. She listened to soft music.
Beresford needed to be with Melody.
He slid silently along the wall to her door, then touched the doorknob as if it was a delicate blossom and gently turned it.
He was in. The curtains were drawn. With three quick steps he crossed to her bedside. He could just see her in the darkness, her face glowing as if with an inner light.
He bent closer, cupping his hands around her cheeks, not daring to touch her. He could feel her warmth and smell a faint perfume. She was so wonderful. Just so
I’m dragged across the room by this prick, who is stronger than he looks.
I go limp. What’s the use?
“Melody, we’re going to give you a little sedative,” I hear him say.
Mom nods.
“That was probably the best session at Reynolds in history !”
“When you wake up in the morning,” Mom says, “there will be a composer here, and tomorrow the three of us are going to start creating some music that people want to hear.”
He takes my arm.
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
Then there is a pain in my shoulder and I jerk away, but it’s too late.
Already the world is going. I can feel the covers coming up around me.
I see the sunset out my window, red at the horizon, gold higher up.
Then it is dark.
C HAPTER 9
B eresford had never felt anything like this before in his life.
All day he had stayed in Melody’s apartment, forcing himself not to open her drawers or her closet, looking instead in the fridge at the things she ate and drank, the diet sodas, the cheese and roasted chicken, the cold cuts, the mint ice cream. He would take a taste and close his eyes and let the flavors fill his head and think, “ She has tasted this taste; she knows this flavor.”
Only when their maid had come in and cleaned had he hidden, and then just to go up his hatch and linger there, waiting for the vacuum cleaner to stop and the singing to fade away, which it did, as always, in a couple of hours.
He had looked for his rose, but it was not there, so that meant she liked it and had it with her. Good.
Usually, they were home late, so he wasn’t expecting the man who came when the sun was midway down the western sky. Still, it was easy to slip into the den and back up into the crawl space. He’d lain along one of the beams, listening. The man went into Melody’s room and searched it carefully. He could hear him turning pages, and he wondered if Melody kept a notebook. Why not? She could probably write and read and all that.
When they came home, the man met them and there was yelling that made Beresford stuff his fist in his mouth so he wouldn’t shout out his own rage at whatever they were doing to her. They were breaking her heart and maybe even hurting her. He could hear the terror and the sorrow in her voice.
Then the man put her to sleep. He’d heard that, too, had heard her scream and beg for him not to, and then her voice went low, and the man—a doctor—said she would sleep until morning.
Beresford sweated out the minutes until the place was quiet. He was going to enter an occupied apartment again. He hadn’t been able to stop himself last night, and he couldn’t now.
Slowly, carefully, he opened his hatch and looked down into the den closet. All was quiet. No light shone under the door. So he slipped down to the floor, then carefully slid the door open a crack.
The den was full of shadows.
Moving quickly and silently, he stepped out of the closet and crossed the room. There was light shining under this door, but none of the shadows revealed movement. Also, not a sound. Carefully, he grasped the doorknob and turned it.
The hall was dimly lit by a lamp in the living room. Melody’s mom sat on the couch reading papers of some sort. She listened to soft music.
Beresford needed to be with Melody.
He slid silently along the wall to her door, then touched the doorknob as if it was a delicate blossom and gently turned it.
He was in. The curtains were drawn. With three quick steps he crossed to her bedside. He could just see her in the darkness, her face glowing as if with an inner light.
He bent closer, cupping his hands around her cheeks, not daring to touch her. He could feel her warmth and smell a faint perfume. She was so wonderful. Just so
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