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Chapter XX: Melody
Liz drifts into slumber, her consciousness slipping into a peculiar dream. She finds herself standing inside a dimly lit building, its structure unfamiliar yet eerily comforting. As the walls shift and morph, the surroundings reshape into a familiar sight—Bennett's house.
A sense of nostalgia washes over her as she steps forward. The front door stands slightly ajar, inviting her in. As she approaches, a graceful melody reaches her ears, its notes weaving through the air like a whispered lullaby. She pushes the door open wider, revealing a warmly lit room.
Near a grand window, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, sits a figure at the piano. His fingers dance over the keys with effortless grace, producing a melody so tender it tugs at her heart. Liz's breath catches as she recognizes him.
"Bennett?" she calls out hesitantly.
He stops playing momentarily and turns to her with a playful smirk.
"You almost look like you've seen a ghost."
Liz exhales sharply.
"You scared me, idiot."
Bennett chuckles.
"Dramatic effect," he teases, gesturing toward the piano.
"Music has a way of making everything feel exaggerated. A simple scene can turn into something theatrical."
She steps closer, drawn to the melody lingering in the air.
"You've always been good at that," she murmurs.
He pats the bench beside him.
"Come, let me show you something."
Liz hesitates before sitting next to him. The warmth of his presence is reassuring. Bennett places her hands over the keys, guiding her fingers.
"Music isn't just about pressing keys. It's about feeling."
She watches him intently as he plays a simple tune, his movements fluid, his expression serene.
"How did you start playing?" she asks.
Bennett leans back, a fond smile playing on his lips.
"It all started with a lyre. Back in the day, I used to play the patron saint's hymn over and over until I fell in love with it. Eventually, I moved on to the guitar, then the piano."
Liz listens, captivated by the way he speaks. Yet, a strange unease settles in her chest. This doesn't feel like a memory. It feels... different.
Sensing her tension, Bennett places a reassuring hand on hers. "I know what you're thinking," he says gently.
"This might not be a memory. But it's still me, and I'm here to protect you, no matter what."
Liz swallows the lump in her throat.
"Bennett..."
He smiles at her, warm and unwavering.
"Your lyre... it's your potential. If you want, you can learn more, play for the Lord. Music is a gift, Liz."
Her vision blurs with unshed tears. She grips his hand tightly.
"Bennett... I—"
Before she can finish, the dream shifts. The warmth of his touch fades, the scene dissolving into darkness. Her heart clenches as she reaches out—
And then she wakes up.
Tears stream down her cheeks, her breath ragged. She clutches her pillow, shaking. The room is dim, but the presence of another makes her jolt.
Dominga and Dolores stands at the door, arms crossed.
"You okay, drama queen?" she says, raising a brow.
Liz wipes her face hastily.
"What?"
Dolores leans against the doorframe.
"You were thrashing in your sleep. Mumbling. Crying. Looked like a full-blown tantrum."
Liz scowls, throwing a pillow at her.
"Mind your business."
Dolores dodges it effortlessly.
"I was just concerned," she says with an exaggerated sigh.
"But whatever."
Liz groans and sits up. She rubs her face, trying to shake off the lingering emotions from the dream. Her eyes drift to the small framed picture of Bennett on her nightstand. Without thinking, she picks it up and hugs it close.
Her phone buzzes, jolting her from her thoughts. She grabs it and sees a message from Bro. Padilla.
"Morning serve tomorrow. Be at the church early."
Liz exhales sharply and immediately texts Wyn.
"We're serving tomorrow. Get your cassock ready."
A response comes almost immediately.
"Ugh, Liz. It's too early for this. But fine."
Despite the heaviness in her chest, Liz manages a small smile. Tomorrow is a new day. A new chance.
She looks back at Bennett's picture one last time before whispering,
"Good night."
And with that, she drifts off once more, the echoes of his melody still playing in her heart.
The next day, Liz and her grandma travel to Ciudad Fernandina for the morning serve. As they arrive at the auditorium, Liz notices Wyn sitting near the altar, staring off into space. Confused, she approaches her friend.
"Wyn, what are you doing here? We should be preparing for the processional," Liz says.
Wyn shifts her gaze to Liz and sighs.
"We're not doing the processional today."
Liz furrows her brows.
"What? Who told you that?"
Just as Wyn opens her mouth to answer, Bro. Padilla appears behind Liz, making both of them jolt in surprise.
"I did. Today, we're letting the other servers take charge of the processional so they can gain experience. You two will be in the choir instead."
Wyn's face drains of color.
"T-The choir?" she stammers.
Bro. Padilla nods.
"Yes. You'll do great."
Liz and Wyn exchange anxious glances as more people gather in the auditorium, most of them faculty members. The weight of the task settles in, making Wyn visibly tense.
"I think I'm going to pee myself," Wyn mutters.
Liz, equally nervous, clenches her fists. She closes her eyes briefly, whispering in her heart,
"Bennett, please help me, Lord give me strength."
The bells begin to ring, signaling the start of the mass. As the opening hymn starts, Liz takes a deep breath and sings with all her heart. Her voice, initially shaky, grows steady as she remembers Bennett's words in her dreams:
"In everything you do, if it's dedicated to God, give it the essence of your heart and expression."
Encouraged by Liz's example, Wyn finds her voice and begins to sing along. The tension in their bodies gradually eases, and by the time the hymn ends, they feel more at peace.
Fr. Edgar steps up to deliver the homily.
"Today, we honor St. Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians. She dedicated her life and talents to glorifying the Lord through music."
Liz stiffens.
"St. Cecilia?"
Her mind flashes back to the dream—Bennett playing the piano, guiding her to appreciate music.
"That's why music was the theme."
The realization sends a shiver down her spine.
Midway through the mass, Wyn discreetly turns off the choir microphone and leans toward Liz.
"Hey, how are you holding up? And how's the whole Bennett situation?"
Liz glances at her but remains quiet for a moment before whispering,
"I don't know. But... I feel like he's guiding me."
The two continue to sing through the rest of the mass. As it comes to an end with the final blessing, Bro. Padilla approaches them with a warm smile.
"You both did well today. I'm proud of you."
Liz's eyes wander to the piano at the side of the altar. Feeling a pull toward it, she steps forward and hesitantly takes a seat on the bench.
"Liz? What are you doing?" Wyn asks.
Liz closes her eyes and exhales. In her mind, she sees Bennett's fingers dancing across the piano keys. Her hands begin to move instinctively, mirroring his movements as she plays Iesu Panis Vitae.
Wyn watches in awe, while Bro. Padilla listens intently. When Liz finishes, Bro. Padilla smiles nostalgically.
"You know, there was once a student of mine who played like that. He was part of the choir, an acolyte, and a lector."
Liz's heart clenches, knowing exactly who he means. She bites her lip, keeping silent as Bro. Padilla excuses himself to attend to urgent matters in the campus ministry office.
Later that night, Liz sits at her desk, writing another letter addressed to Bennett:
Bennett,
Today, I sang for the Lord. I played the piano, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like you were there with me, guiding me. You once told me that music is an expression of the heart, and now I understand what you meant. Through music, I felt closer to you. It's almost as if you were beside me, smiling.
Bro. Padilla mentioned you today, though he didn't say your name. He remembers you. Everyone does. I just wish I knew where you were, if you're safe, if you're coming back. I keep hoping, keep praying. And if you can hear me, wherever you are, please know that I won't give up on you.
I hope you're proud of me. I hope one day, I'll get to tell you all of this in person.
Please, come back soon.
With all my heart, Liz.
She stops writing, her fingers lingering on the page before she gently places her pen down. Turning to the small framed photo of Bennett on her nightstand, she picks it up, staring at his face.
With a quiet whisper, she says,
"Good night, Bennett," before pressing a soft kiss to the glass and curling up under her blankets, letting sleep take her once more.
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