The First Move

Selene’s POV

“When we get home.” Came my reply.

The ride  back home  was silent.

One hand of Ronan was on the steering wheel and the other was lying at ease in a position close to the gear shift. The car windows were flashing with the city lights passing by and then becoming invisible in the darkness again. I was sitting in the passenger seat, and I was trying to contain the storm that was in my chest, staring ahead.

My hands were yet trembling.

It was still possible to hear Liora playing her songs.

Her voice singing my songs.

Every word. Every melody. All the lines that I had written by myself in my little apartment years ago when I thought that the world was still fair. She had claimed that she had put her heart into them. I gulp and clenched my hands. Ronan looked at me a moment and got back to the road.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

I let out a small breath. “I am attempting not to smash something.”

He smiled a little like he knew just what I was talking about.

“Feel free to smash anything.” He smiled.

Nevertheless, I managed to laugh a little. It came out bitter.

“She’s using my songs,” I said. She even did not change the melodies. It’s exactly the same.”

“I know,” Ronan replied.

His voice was regular, as usual.

I glanced back and stared at him. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” he said. “But tonight confirmed it.”

I reclined in the seat and shut my eyes. The picture of Liora with a proud smile playing the preview of her album was burning in my mind. My songs. My work. My life. All stolen.

Upon arrival at the house, our car was parked in the driveway by Ronan who switched the engine off. The silence of the vehicle was oppressive following the prolonged silence throughout the ride.

“We don’t act yet,” Ronan said.

I looked at him again. “Why not?”

Since any accusation will not ruin her, he explained. “Not yet. We must have evidence such that no man can deny.

I stared at him. Evidence. One idea gradually came to my thoughts. Something from years ago. I had nearly forgotten about something.

I climbed out of the car and walked into the house without any further words. Ronan was behind me and did not prevent me. He seemed curious. I went straight to the living room where my laptop was lying on the coffee table. I began to feel my heart beat quicker. I sat and activated the computer.

“What are you doing?” Ronan inquired when he entered the room.

I didn’t answer immediately. The fingers were already playing on the keyboard.

“I might have something,” I said.

The login screen appeared. I hesitated for a second. This account was old. I had not touched it in years.

When I first started to write music, I used to be paranoid that I would lose my work. My laptop had crashed once and I had lost two songs altogether. Then I began storing all of it on the internet. Early recordings.

Lyrics. Draft versions of songs. Every demo I ever made. I had a small cloud storage account of which nobody was aware. At least, I hoped no one knew. I typed the email slowly. Then the password. Nothing happened awhile. Then the page loaded. My chest tightened.

It worked.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

Ronan stepped up and stood behind the couch and looked at the screen.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Old demos,” I said quietly. “Recordings from years ago. Until Liora put anything out before her.

I opened the first folder.

Inside were dozens of files. Each one had a date. My hands began trembling once again. I clicked one of them. There was a silence a moment. Then the recording started. My voice was filling the room. Unrefined. Unpolished. Younger. But unmistakably mine. I was listening and my throat narrowed.

The recording was simple. Only the voice and a cheap keyboard playing in the background. But the melody was clear. And the lyrics. The very words that Liora had sang at night. I hastily scanned to a different file. Then another. Each one was the same. The original versions of the songs of her album. I clasped my hand over my mouth.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

Ronan bent a little and heard attentively.

These are dated recordings, he said.

“Yes,” I replied.

I felt my voice was now weaker, but stronger.

These had been recorded many years earlier than Liora album.

I clicked on the file information, and indicated the display.

“Look at the upload date.”

Ronan studied it for a moment.

A creeping smile came to his face.

This was what we wanted, he said.

I sat on the chair and gazed at the laptop. Proof. Not rumors. Not accusations. Real evidence that I had originally written the songs. I might turn Liora in. I would leave these recordings all over. I might ruin her career in a single night. My hands were floating over the keyboard. Then I stopped.Ronan noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head slowly.

“It will be as though I were jealous,” I said, “to put it now.”

He waited.

“They will believe I am another unrecognized singer who is out to victimize a star,” I thought. “They will claim that the tapes are counterfeit. Or that I copied her.”

Ronan nodded slowly.

“That’s possible,” he admitted.

I shifted forward once again and opened a new browser screen.

I must have them find out by themselves, I said.

Ronan crossed his arms.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

I entered the address of a web site.

A popular music discussion board.

It had a reputation of revealing scandals in the industry. There was a tendency whereby information was leaked by anonymous users before the media got it. I opened a temporary account. I uploaded one of the demo recordings then. The file was transferred slowly filling in the progress bar. Ronan watched silently.

I smiled faintly.

“I’m not posting it yet,” I said.

I have opened the scheduling option. Then I set the date. It was in the morning of the big album promotion of Liora. The day she would be making interviews and playing her new songs. At the time the world would be listening.

“When it is live,” I said, “everyone will be talking about her album.” 

Ronan nodded slowly. “Smart, then all at once the internet finds the original demo,” he said.

“Exactly.”

I completed the time of posting and checked the time. Everything was set. One click was all that would be needed. I closed the laptop gradually and went back. My heart was pounding. The revenge was in good earnest. Ronan looked at me carefully.

“You handled that well,” he said.

I have thought of revenge years, I said to myself.

I got myself out of the couch and stretched my rigid arms. Now the room seemed painfully quiet. My anger had become focused, something to do, as it had never been before since dinner. Something controlled. However, my phone sounded on the table then. I picked it up automatically. A message was displayed on the screen. My stomach dropped. I stared at it.

“What is it?” Ronan asked.

I didn’t answer immediately. My hands were suddenly cold. I turned the phone slowly towards him.

Somebody came to the file, I said.

Ronan frowned.

“What file?”

“The demo.”

He looked confused.

“But you didn’t post it yet.”

“I know,” I whispered.

The message itself was still blinking on the screen. Someone viewed your file. I began to beat my heart faster.

“That’s impossible,” Ronan said.

I shook my head slowly.

It could only happen in one way, I said.

Ronan’s expression hardened.

The account is shared with another person.

I stared at the phone screen. It was the first account that I opened this evening. I had not shared the link. I had not posted the file. But somebody had already been able to see it. Which meant one thing. I was not the only one in the account any longer.