“You can play,” the man says firmly, stepping out of the shadows.
“Roger,” I reply, recognizing one of my less agreeable neighbors, “I assure you—”
“Don’t lie, Derek,” he continues, cutting me off. “I never had you down as a liar. How about you go upstairs and get your guitar, and then you come back down and play for us? Is that really too much to ask?”
“I’m very sorry,” I say, before turning and unlocking the door, “but I’m afraid I’m busy.”
I pull the door open and step into the foyer, only to stop as soon as I see that there are three more men standing on the stairs, blocking my way.
“These fine chaps will escort you,” Roger says firmly, leaving me in no doubt that I shall be forced to comply, “so that you don’t get lost on the way. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Please play for us,” a woman says, edging closer to me with her hands thrust together as if in prayer. “I’m begging you, play something. Anything’ll do, just play for us!”
“Try to understand,” I reply, “I’m not—”
“Please!” she sobs, suddenly dropping to her knees. “I’ll do anything you want! I just need to hear music again!”
“You must try to pull yourself together,” I reply, before realizing that perhaps I am being a little harsh. “I can’t play for you right now,” I continue, “but please, try to be patient. Whatever’s happening, it will pass soon and then everything will go back to normal.”
“You don’t know that!” she whimpers.
“What’s the alternative?” I ask. “That this madness continues?”
“The alternative,” Roger says menacingly, as he comes over to join us, “is that you play for us, Derek. It can be anything. It can even be that stupid pop song that briefly made you famous. Just play something.”
“I—”
Before I’m able to finish, I’m shoved hard in the back, and I take a couple of stumbling steps forward. Just as I begin to recover my balance, I’m shoved again, and now I’m right in the middle of the pool of light. Turning, I find that I’m surrounded by these aggressors.
“Play!” another woman snaps. “Get your guitar and play!”
“Here,” a voice calls out, and I turn to see a man coming down the stairs. To my shock, I realize that he’s holding my guitar.
“Where did you get that from?” I gasp, rushing toward him, only to be held back by another man. “Did you break into my home? You have no right!”
“Play the guitar!” Roger snaps.
“No!” I reply, filled with indignation. “How dare you accost me like this? How dare you even—”
Suddenly Roger swings at me, punching me so hard in the belly that I immediately cry out and drop to my knees. Barely able to catch my breath, I reach out to steady myself, and then I lean forward onto my elbows. The pain is intense and brutal, radiating through my chest, and for a moment I can’t even sit up.
“I don’t think you understand the situation,” Roger continues. “Do you know how much we’ve been suffering? You could make us all better, Derek. You could bring us out of the madness.”
“I can’t!” I splutter. “I’m just a—”
Before I can finish, I’m shoved hard onto my side, and then a boot slams against the side of my face. I recoil in agony, and once again I feel desperately short of breath.
“Are you not gonna do it, man?” Roger yells, as he grabs my guitar from one of his associates and holds it closer to me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“That’s mine!” I gasp, trying in vain to reach out and take the guitar. “Give it to me!”
“Play!”
He thrusts the guitar into my hands.
“Play it,” he snarls, “or, so help me God, you will suffer in unimaginable ways.”
I adjust the guitar in my hands, but my hands are trembling and I can taste blood in the back of my throat. I try to work out what I might play, but at the same time I hate the idea of surrendering to these bullies.
“Play!” a woman says behind me, and then all the other voices join together in chanting the same word over and over, filling the air all around me.
“Play!” they shout.
“Play!”
“Play!”
My left index finger hits one of the strings by accident, but nobody even hears the sound. I call out, telling them all to be quiet, but then I’m shoved in the back and send falling forward. Somebody else punches the side of my face, and then I’m hauled up and spun around before another thud knocks me back down.
“Play!”
“Play!”
“Play!”
I try to beg them to stop, but the frenzy is building and I’m getting kicked and punched from all sides. I feel ribs starting to break, and I can feel blood bursting into the back of my mouth. I try to crawl forward, only to get kicked in the face, and then several more kicks slam into my chest and I fall down. As I land against the concrete ground, I feel and hear a loud, ominous cracking sound coming from the neck of my guitar.
“Play!”
“Play!”
“Play!”
“Stop!” I yell, before holding the guitar up for them to see the damage. “Look what you’ve done, you fools!”
Some of them pull back, and I see Roger staring in horror at the broken instrument. The neck has been cracked open, leaving the strings straddling the gap. I’m sure that even an untrained eye would be able to understand that this guitar can no longer be played.
“Look at it!” I snap. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Why didn’t you just play for us?” Roger asks.
“Why didn’t you leave me alone?” I snap, turning to him. “You had no right to touch me!”
“Well,” he replies, stepping closer, “now you’re no use to us, are you? That was a stupid move, old man. It’s not like we can magically summon up another guitar for you to play, is it? Now you’re just an annoyance, and frankly I think you deserve to be punished for what you’ve done here tonight.”
I try to respond to him, but my left eye is starting to swell shut and I think I’m missing several teeth. My jaw’s damaged, too, and I find that it won’t open when I attempt to speak. Then, as I raise my hands, I see that I have a number of broken fingers. Even if I wanted to play now, I wouldn’t be able. Finally, realizing that the whole situation is hopeless, I let out a faint, low whimper.
“Enough of your self-pity, old man,” Roger says firmly. “This is all your fault.”
With that, he pulls me back and puts an arm around my throat, and then two of his associates come over and start punching me hard in the chest. The first few impacts send great, crashing jolts through my body, but then I feel myself starting to become limp. Held up for the beating, I can barely even let out a murmur as blood begins to run from my mouth, and with my remaining good eye I look up at the night sky and wait for the end.
And then, just as I think I’m about to die, I hear a lone voice cry out from nearby:
“Stop!”
Eight
As Roger and his friends let go of me, I slump down against the cold concrete. I’m too weak to support myself, so I simply roll onto my side and try to ignore the shimmering pain in my ribs.
“I’ll play for you!” the voice shouts nearby. “But only if you leave him alone!”
It’s Sarah.
“Don’t come any closer!” she continues. “I mean it, I’ll smash this thing if you do.”
“Do you even know how to play, little girl?” Roger asks.
Rolling onto my other side, I can just about make out the angry crowd edging closer to Sarah. She’s standing on the low wall that runs along the edge of the path, and she’s holding her guitar as if she’s about to start playing at any moment.