“Don’t,” I whisper, unable to speak more loudly. “Run.”
“I’ll play,” she says firmly, “if you all swear that you’ll never touch Derek again.”
“We promise,” Roger replies, “but you’re going to have to come up with the goods. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re not in the mood to get bluffed.”
“If you could play,” one of the women adds, “you’d have done it by now. There’s no—”
Suddenly Sarah plays a few chords, causing an audible gasp to rise from the crowd. I must admit that even I find myself transfixed as I hear proper music for the first time in a week.
Almost immediately, however, Sarah stops.
“Carry on!” a voice calls out. “You have to!”
“I want you to promise me two things,” Sarah replies. “First, you’ll leave Derek alone and never hurt him again.”
“We promise!” all the voices shout.
“And secondly,” she continues, “you’ll actually listen, and you’ll try to remember it, because I don’t know how long I can play for. Do you understand?”
“Get on with it!”
“Just play, please!” another voice yells. “What are you waiting for?”
Everyone’s shouting now, their voices drowning one another out. After a moment, however, I start to realize that I can hear guitar music playing, and slowly the voices begin to fade away until finally the entire crowd is standing in silence.
After a week with no music, I must admit that Sarah’s playing makes me want to weep with joy. She’s good, better than I remembered, and she makes no mistakes as she seamlessly moves from one piece to the next. I start to slowly sit up, and eventually I’m able to ignore the pain in my body and focus instead on the sheer beauty of the music.
It seems that I’m not the only one, either.
Every single member of the crowd seems lost in the moment. They’re staring at her, as if the sound is making them almost catatonic. Indeed, they appear almost zombie-like as the minutes pass, and I swear that not one of them has spoken a single word since they began to hear Sarah’s playing. Despite the pain that’s filling my body, I listen to the music and feel as if there’s still hope in the world, and for ten, maybe fifteen minutes this perfect moment continues.
Finally, however, Sarah makes a mistake.
Then another.
And another.
At first, these are just small, isolated errors, but over the next few minutes they start to become both more frequent and more obvious. I try to tell myself that such errors are perfectly natural, that the girl has never really performed in public before, but gradually I begun to realize that something else is happening here. As the mistakes pile up and begin to disrupt the piece that she’s playing, I start to understand that it sounds as if she’s slowly but surely losing the ability to play.
As if, for her too, the music is finally starting to ‘run out’.
Still she plays on, forcing herself to somehow keep going. I can hear her faltering more and more, and after a few more seconds there are faint murmuring and grumbles starting to rise up from the crowd.
And the mistakes are becoming more and more frequent.
“Play properly!” a voice calls out, and this seems to embolden the rest of the crowd.
“Why are you screwing it up so much?” another voice shouts.
“Come on, do it properly!”
“Get out of here,” I gasp, unable to raise my voice above a whisper, due to the pain in my side. “Sarah, run.”
She doesn’t run. She continues to play, even when it’s clear that she’s no longer pleasing the crowd. I hear her calling out, telling them to be patient, but the crowd has begun to surround her now.
Angry voices are rising into the air, and finally Sarah’s playing stops completely.
“More!” several people yell. “Bring it back!”
“I can’t!” Sarah gasps from somewhere in the crowd, although I can no longer see her. “That’s all I could do! I’m sorry!”
That’s not enough! I hear shouts and curses, and it’s clear that people are starting to grab at Sarah in an attempt to force her to continue. I hear her voice, too, calling out to them and trying to make them understand.
“Stop!” I try to shout, as I stumble to my feet, only to slip and fall back down. “Leave her alone! She’s done enough!”
The roar of the crowd is getting louder, and I’m barely able to crawl closer on my hand and knees. I know I have to stop them, that I have to somehow rescue Sarah, but my battered body is unable to support me. By the time I reach the very edge of the crowd, I can hear ferocious voices shouting ahead and – beyond that – the most awful scream.
“Stop this!” I gasp, reaching out and grabbing the leg of the nearest woman. “Stop it at once!”
Ignoring me, the woman presses deeper into the crowd, and I swiftly find that I have no chance of penetrating any deeper into this mass of people. I try as hard as I can, but I’m beaten back as the cries and screams rise higher into the night sky. For a moment, it’s as if all I hear are the cries of wild animals, and then finally – as if all are suddenly agreed- they begin to wander away.
They all look so exhausted now as they wander back to their apartments. Dazed, they seem almost to shuffle.
Roger stops and glances at me, and for a few seconds I wonder whether he’s going to come over and finish me off. Then, as if he’s too tired and he supposes I’m not worth the effort, he turns and heads back into the building.
Slowly, I turn to look at Sarah, and I feel an instant burst of horror in my chest as I see what they have done to her.
Nine
“No!” I sob, crawling as fast as I can to the spot where her crumpled body has been abandoned. “What’s wrong with you people?”
As soon as I saw her, I knew she was no more. Now that I’m closer, I am able to make out the true nature of her injuries. I would say that she has been trampled to death, except I am not sure that this description is adequate. Instead, as I crawl closer and reach out to touch her shoulder, I find that she appears to have been torn apart.
Her left arm has been wrenched from its socket, with thick strands of muscle bulging from beneath the sleeve of her t-shirt. Her neck has been twisted ninety degree to one side, and her eyes are bulging from their sockets. She has been almost completely ripped apart at the waist.
Nearby, her guitar has been trampled and destroyed.
“Why did you do that?” I whimper, with tears running down my face. “I’m an old man, you should have left me to die. Why did you throw your life away like that?”
Slamming the remains of Sarah’s guitar down onto the desk in my front room, I stop for a moment and try to work out what I should do next.
I’m filled with rage, and it’s the rage that is allowing me to keep going. Despite the pain in my body, and the fact that I have numerous broken bones all over, sheer rage is allowing me to get about. I was unable to actually dig a grave for poor Sarah, but I dragged her into a bush and left her there, while telling myself that I can return later to give her a proper burial. Now I’m starting to realize that this might be impossible, and it’s clear to me now that there’s no honor or decency left in this world.
“Barbarians,” I mutter, before taking my mobile telephone and trying yet again to call the police.
I need to report this murder, but so far tonight nobody has picked up at the station. Indeed, before the news broadcasts stopped there was talk of officers abandoning their posts. All across the world, people seem to be forgetting their responsibilities and wandering off into the streets. I let the call ring for a few more seconds, and then I set my phone down while muttering a few disgust-laden curse words.