“You do, do you?”
“I do,” he says, staring at me intently. “I think you should definitely make the smart decision.”
“Or what?”
He smiles.
“I don’t like being told what to do,” I reply, “and I’m not some kind of performing monkey that can be ordered around. You can go back to your Mr. Glass and thank him for the offer, but please inform him that I must decline. I’m sure there are others around who can play for him.”
“Probably, but you’re the first one we’ve actually found,” he replies, before biting his lip for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, let me pop outside for a cigarette and give you some time to think.” He gets to his feet and reaches into his pocket, before taking out a packet of cigarettes. “See? Working for Mr. Glass brings some real benefits. I doubt there’s anyone else within five hundred miles who can lay their hands on some of these.”
He chuckles to himself as he heads to the front door, and by the time he steps outside his cigarette is already lit.
“Did you hear that man?” I ask, turning to Craig. “He thinks he can just show up and demand that we go with him!”
I wait, but Craig seems lost in thought.
“You can’t seriously be thinking that it’s a good idea,” I tell him. “What do you think would happen when I got there? I’d play for a few minutes and then I’d run out of music and he’d toss me straight out the door! I’d be of no value to him!”
“I know,” he replies, “but…”
His voice trails off.
“But nothing,” I say firmly. “The arrogance of that man, coming in here and demanding that I go with him! I have never been one for obediently doing what I’m told, and I certainly do not intend to start now at the grand old age of seventy-six! I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!”
“But if—”
“No!” I add, getting to my feet. “I’m not doing it! I absolutely refuse to waste the last of my music on some rich asshole who wouldn’t even appreciate it anyway!”
“You don’t know that it’d be the last of your music,” he replies.
“Of course I do!” I snap. “I felt it when I played the other day! I could feel it fading away! And once it’s gone, I have nothing! Don’t you understand? Music has been my whole life and once I know I can never play again, that’s it! I might as well jump off a cliff!”
“I get it,” he replies, but it’s clear that he’s still frustrated.
“I can’t face it,” I add. “I can’t face the day when I know I’ve played that last piece of music. I’d rather carry it around with me and know that one day, at the end…”
My voice trails off.
“If that’s your decision,” Craig says finally, “then that’s your decision.”
“Please try to understand.”
“I do,” he replies, “and Jerry will have to understand as well. He’ll just have to go back to his boss empty-handed.”
Suddenly feeling utterly exhausted, I lean back in the chair and let out a long sigh. For the first time, I’ve faced my deepest fear. My whole life, I’ve been terrified that music would be taken away from me. Perhaps by a stroke, or by dementia, or by some other affliction. And somehow I think I always knew that it would be taken away, that I was gifted with this great ability but that nobody could ever be lucky enough to enjoy it forever. Granted, I didn’t quite imagine that it would be taken away in this manner, but the fear isn’t new. At least now, I have a modicum of control over the situation, and I do not intend to surrender that control to some know-nothing billionaire.
I turn to Craig, to tell him that I understand if he wants to leave, but suddenly I hear a rushing sound and I look at the window just in time to see a vast red light exploding across the yard.
“What’s that?” I gasp, getting to my feet.
The light seems to be moving fast, casting long, twisting shadows.
“I think it was…” Craig hesitates, before turning to me. “I think it was a flare!”
Twenty-Seven
“Calm down, gentlemen,” Jerry says as he steps back into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets. “I was sensing some resistance on your parts to my offer, so I sent a signal to my friends.”
“What friends?” Craig asks, stepping toward him. “You can’t just come here and—”
“This isn’t about you, buddy,” Jerry adds, cutting him off and turning to me, “it’s about our musician friend.”
“I told you,” I say firmly, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“And I told you,” he replies, “things are a little more complicated. Mr. Glass knows what he wants, and he gets what he wants.”
“Find someone else to play for him!”
“We would if we could,” he explains, “but you might just be the last musician on the planet. Mr. Glass has had his surveillance system tuned to find music for the past few years, and all across the world he didn’t pick up anything until you started strumming your guitar the other day. Naturally he wanted us to spring into action. The world might have fallen to pieces, but some people still manage to keep a grip on things.” He takes a step forward. “You’ll be properly compensated, I assure you.”
“I’m not doing it,” I tell him. “You might as well leave right now.”
“You heard him,” Craig says. “This discussion is over.”
Jerry smiles.
“I think you’d better leave now,” Craig adds, putting a hand on his arm, ready to lead him out. “Nobody asked you to come here.”
“Mr. Glass asked me,” Jerry replies, “and—”
“Get out!”
Craig tries to push him toward the door, but Jerry resists. Craig tries again, and this time Jerry shoves him against the wall.
“I told you to leave!” Craig says again, this time grabbing Jerry and pushing him toward the door. “Get out or I’ll make you get—”
Before he can finish, Jerry puts and arm around his neck and twists him around, and then slams him face-first against the wall.
“You talk a big fight,” Jerry mutters, as he turns Craig around, “but you’re just a kid.”
With that, he punches Craig hard, sending him crashing back against the table and then thudding to the floor.
“I will not come with you!” I shout, as I hurry over and help Craig to his feet. “I don’t care how much force you think you can use, I refuse!”
“I’m the nice guy,” Jerry replies, still with that asinine smile plastered across his face. “My friends, who are coming, will be a little more forceful. I really think you should read between the lines here and try to see how this is all going to play out. Let me be more blunt. You’re going to come and play for Mr. Glass, and then he’ll send you right back here if that’s what you want. He’ll even provide some good food for the pair of you, and then you can go on living your lives in this hovel. If that’s really, truly how you want it to end.”
Once he’s back up, Craig steps toward him.
“Are you going to try all of that again?” Jerry asks, apparently amused by the situation.
“We told you to get out!” Craig says firmly.
“And I’m very keen to leave,” Jerry tells him. “With the musician.”
“You’ll be lucky to leave with your teeth,” Craig replies. “I’m done trying to do this the nice way.”
He lunges forward, grabbing Jerry’s shoulders and trying again to push him to the door. In an instant, however, Jerry kicks his legs away and sends him crashing back down to the floor. Craig tries to leap straight back up, only to get Jerry’s knee crunching against the side of his face.