His trembling hands hovered over the keys as he waited for the courage to play, for the courage to remember a life when he enjoyed the music. When guilt didn’t destroy everything he loved. The courage never came. He closed his eyes and let his hands fall. The crashing cacophony of notes slammed against his ears, irritating his frayed nerves. His fingers refused to move, to stretch fluidly over the keys, to produce anything remotely resembling music.Gone.Just like his life as he’d known it. At one time his hands had produced beautiful music, now…now they were only known for killing. He slammed the cover down with a thud that echoed through the room. Would he ever have the desire to play again? Did he care? Certainly there were more important things in life than producing music. He had a lead, a very promising lead on Collette, after all. So why, then, did that thought not lighten his mood?Because he hadn’t known for sure if Hanna was the Collette he sought. She had the right coloring, she had the same laugh as Emma.
