Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) by A.M. Hodgson

become a natural extension of me. I had no conscious idea I felt that way until I was panicking while packing the room. I was certain I’d lost the instrument. It wasn’t until Stacie pointed at it and gave me a ‘duh’ sort of look that I realized it’d been with me all along.
    The rest of my inheritance I bundled together. I tucked the ring inside the music box with the letter from my birth parents— who were really sirens, I was now sure.
    During the last trip inside, I stooped down to my foster parents who were still slumbering on my bedroom carpet.
    “ Forget ,” I said, being sure to enunciate the word carefully. “Forget Sarah Mills. Forget you ever had a teenage foster child. Forget this night. You both sat down and watched reruns on television. Forget the song.” This sentence elicited a response, the first sign that my compulsion was having any effect. Susan whimpered at the suggestion, while Rick made a sound like I’d punched him in the gut. “ Forget the song ,” I said again with emphasis.
    Was this going to be enough? Could it be? I didn’t feel the magic the way I did when I was singing, but both were eager enough to follow instructions before.
    “In thirty seconds, you’ll wake up. You will not remember me, or the song. You will continue your life as normal.” I sighed, feeling drained. I was certain this was for the best, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. This was just another example of me taking away their freedom of will. I only hoped I hadn’t destroyed them.
    I watched their chests rise and fall softly for a few seconds before Stacie whispered, “Come on.”
    I followed numbly behind her, hoping that I’d successfully erased myself from the truest family I’d ever known.
    We stood at the door. Our plan was to knock, then evaluate if it’d worked. If it had, we’d know when Susan or Rick answered. Stacie pulled out her phone, pausing for a long moment before she nodded. “Should be waking up now.”
    My nerves ignited, and my stomach churned. I felt dizzy and light-headed, like I might faint. Did it work?
    Stacie pressed on the doorbell, and I could hear it chiming within faintly. Susan cracked the door open with wide and suspicious eyes.
    “Hello!” Stacie said cheerfully, “We’re here on a fund raising effort—”
    Susan shook her head, her eyes hollow. “No,” she whispered. “No. No…” She turned to me, taking me in from head to toe. Not a flicker of recognition crossed her features. “You don’t have it,” she said bitterly.
    “We don’t have what?” Stacie asked her carefully.
    “The song! The song, the singing! The song!” she muttered rapidly, slamming the door in our faces.
    Stacie’s brows furrowed. She turned to me, shaking her head sadly. “It didn’t work.”
    That was obvious. Still…“It worked a little,” I said, feeling my heart sink. I had successfully made her forget me , but not the song. I slumped against the siding on the house. It was wet, and left a muddy smear against my jacket. “But not enough.”
    “Maybe they just need some time. Let’s go in and check on them.” Stacie pried the door open, “Come on.”
    Susan sat on the edge of the couch, Rick beside her. They didn’t bother looking up when we entered, though we were breaking into their home. They stared off into space, eyes blank, focused toward the television. It was turned off.
    “Are you two okay?” Stacie asked them.
    Rick turned his head to her, slowly, mouth slacked. “There is nothing.”
    Susan gripped a chunk of hair, yanking it out with a sharp jerk. She stared at it as it fluttered to the ground. “There is nothing,” she repeated.
    “What do you mean?!” I asked, practically in tears, “There’s nothing?”
    Susan’s eyes met mine, but her expression seemed to look through me. “There is no feeling in this world,” she said. “Only the singing. Only the song, and that is gone now.”
    Rick flicked a thumb against his lighter, hovering