A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

Waltz For Zizi - Moderato

It was a short and stormy ride from Geber Laboratories to the White's residence on Commonwealth Avenue, in the heart of Back Bay. Living there, Henry liked to think, was having a finger in the pulse of the city. It made him feel, being a Florida native, that he belonged to a greater lineage than his own - a place with a proud history.

Henry briefly considered pulling an umbrella to shelter from the falling snow on his way from the driveway to the entrance, knowing full well that even the smallest of flakes would dampen his balding head as soon he stepped inside the house. The only thing he hated more than snow was getting unnecessarily wet. He decided to risk it, since the hassle of fiddling with the umbrella would've been greater than just drying his head on the way in.

It didn't stop him from cursing under his breath with every snow-crunching step as he approached the door.

What appeared to be an old colonial building on the outside was merely a shell, housing what could only be a shrine to the decadent 20s, in the best Art Deco style that mirrored Henry's office. The squeaky-clean vinyl floor of the living room was brought together by a soft beige carpet. On top of that, a zebrawood table with a vase of roses, popped like a sore thumb among the wooden paneling.

On the farthest wall of the living room was the piece de resistance: a huge black and white ink painting of a girl without a mouth, with slitted eyes. A gift given to him by his wife on their 30th anniversary, made by her own hand and pulse.

He had loved it at first, hence its position as the centerpiece of the room; however, the more Henry looked at it, the more he began to notice some peculiar and disturbing details.

If he looked at it straight in the eyes, he would feel drawn to them. It was almost too raw, too real, like she couldn't breathe, and would kneel over the moment he stopped staring. But if he looked at it out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see a smile where there was nothing.

Whether the smile was mocking him or not, he didn't know. Nor did he care to know.

That night, however, that smile reflected a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty, not much different from how he was feeling at that moment. His mind was restless, going back and forth about the government contract. And those assholes at Glocal, vulturing over the company. And how his company was about to go under. And, and, and - they all kept piling on.

Suddenly, the ands were too many to handle, washing over him like a wave at full force. Henry's eyes were dilating. His chest tightened with every breath. His heart pounded irregularly.

He was having a panic attack.

Staggering slowly to a divan, Henry placed a hand on the headrest for support. He took deep gulps of air, clutching his chest tight.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Like thunder in a storm, a voice snatched him out of his panic.

"You okay there, honey?"

On the same divan Henry was leaning on, the small frame of Zinet "Zizi" Geber laid gently wrapped in a gray woolen blanket, blending in perfectly with the peach-gold tapestry of the furniture. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot but otherwise alert.

Everyone who ever met her could only describe her as "youthful". Even though she was pushing past her mid-forties, her skin remained as tight and flawless as a teenager in the prime of her years.

Given her short stature, barely pushing 5 feet, her small features were heavily accentuated. Her eyes, by far her most attractive feature, were always laughing, doting, and warm. The only sign of her age was the odd gray hairs on her otherwise jet-black mane, which she always wore in a braid over her shoulders.