Chapter 5

It was a bright, warm spring day.

The sun's rays were shining down on the old city, casting long shadows down onto the empty streets as the distant sounds of busy traffic echoed throughout the city.

Arnaldo was opening his eyes to the stabbing pain of the sunlight while a harsh feminine voice was nagging into his right ear, giving him a most terrible migraine.

He turned his head to the source of his ever-growing pain.

There stood Laura, who was leaning over his sleeping form and glaring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"There you are, you dumbass! I've been looking everywhere for you!" she said with a very angry, very loud voice that caused the young man to cringe from his headache again.

He looked around and got a hold of his surroundings.

He was sitting on the edge of the roof of Rudolph Master's School for the Enlightenment, laying on the rail at the top of the building, leaning on a statue that resembled some kind of Greek figure.

Slowly but surely, his memory returned to him.

"Oh right-singing practice," he said sleepily

"What time is it?"

"It's 11:00, now come on! I don't want to be any later because of you!" again screamed the woman, eliciting him another migraine.

"Laura- please- not so loud," said Arnaldo as he rubbed his forehead.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I causing you a headache?" he nodded

"Well you give me a headache every single day, so I only thought it appropriate to give you one as well! See how you like it! Now come on!" screamed Laura, as she grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards their practice.

"You know, for how small you are, you sure can be a major pain," said Arnaldo as he was dragged along the roof like a dead body.

Laura's eye twitched again as she turned her head and looked down at the blue-eyed Italian with an evil smile.

She opened the hatch that leads to the attic of the school, looked down at the long drop and then back to Arnaldo with an even bigger, more sinister, eviler grin.

One that made Arnaldo gulp.

"I probably shouldn't have said that," he thought to himself.

"You wouldn't-" he said before she threw him down the hatch.

His screams echoed through the attic and then came to an abrupt halt as his back made contact with the old, dusty, wooden floorboards.

He groaned and rolled around in pain, dust and cobwebs.

He saw leather, high heeled boots step in front of him and he looked up and saw Laura, arms folded across her chest and an amused smirk plastered on her face.

"I hate you-" groaned Arnaldo as he glared at her

"Oh you love me and you know it," proclaimed Laura as he stood up and dusted himself off before they walked out of the attic and onto the second floor of the school.

"You go on ahead without me, I need to use the bathroom quickly," said Arnaldo to Laura.

She turned back at him with a sad expression, but a warm and reassuring smile from Arnaldo quickly made it disappear.

He stepped into the school bathroom, walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands, face and neck and rinsed his mouth.

He ran his fingers through his combed, chocolate brown hair and scratched his clean-shaven cheek.

He took a minute to examine himself.

His black vest and black jeans were dusty, but a quick and thorough dust off fixed that immediately.

His black leather shoes shined back the light of the bathroom lights quite aggressively.

His white, buttoned up shirt was clean and intact.

He grabbed the collar of his shirt and smelled it.

It smelled like poppies.

He examined his ocean blue eyes.

They were dilated.

He looked back down into the sink, the water from the faucet splashing against the bowl brought back not too distant, painful and miserable memories.

Memories he would very much like to keep buried.

He grimaced as he turned the water off.

He reached into his black vest and pulled out a silver flask with a Stella d'Italia engraved into it.

He opened the container and brought it to his lips.

He lifted his head back and let the brown liquid inside pour down his throat.

The whiskey burned his tongue and he could feel the heat rising to his face from the pit of his stomach.

As he felt the last drops of the liquid fall into his mouth, he placed the flask back into his vest and started walking towards the music room, with hands in his pockets and whistling a small tune.