Teardrops and Melody

She sat on the cold stone floor, back against the unyielding wall, hugging her knees tightly around her chest as a gleaming teardrop slid down her dirt-smeared cheek. To Anna, there was not the pale silver moonlight shining through the small window in the basement. To her half-consciousness it was only darkness. And the memories...

She so clearly remembered that afternoon... was it a Tuesday? She had her cello strapped to her back while she walked home, dreaming of a life without the burdens of homework. A light breeze lifted strands of her light brown hair and tickled the back of her neck. The flowers beside the road were just beginning to open their buds, and insects buzzed impatiently beside them, restlessly awaiting the sweet nectar. It was the perfect spring day, not hot, but just beginning to warm up.

She wasn’t sure when she noticed it, but at one point she saw the perfectly clean white van slowly trailing beside her. Probably a maintenance crew, she thought as she studied the van. She didn’t mean to but as she looked up, her eyes met those of the driver.

As if that were a signal, everything happened all at once. The driver shoved open his door and gagged her with a thick, muddy rag, his movements so quick it was a blur.The man on the passenger side ripped the Vera Bradley and cello off her back, stuffing them into the back of the truck like they were mere bags of garbage. The two then shoved a kicking and clawing Anna into the truck. Anna hadn’t cared about the Vera Bradley bag, or even herself at that moment, but she had screamed, or tried to with the gag on, when she saw how roughly the man was handling the cello. Do you have ANY idea how much that cello means to me?!

~~~~~

The cello was a plain, ancient-looking dark brown one with the slightest tint of mahogany. There were small white marks on the neck, which was worn smooth by practice, that displayed the countless times she’d shifted in any piece of music. The delicate tan scroll and dark pegs were slightly chipped. The cello didn’t look special, but it was to Anna.

Anna could recall how she’d tried almost every cello in the shop. None of them had seemed right - either the body was too big, the bridge felt strangely shaped, or something was wrong. Seeing that Anna had already tried over twenty cellos (none of which were perfect) the man at the store had gone to the back and retrieved a dark brown cello with a distinctive light mark next to the bridge. At the time, Anna had highly doubted that this particular cello would be any different from the twenty-some others. She’d selected a fine bow and placed it reluctantly on the strings, already beginning to think she should look in a different store.

And then.... As Anna began to play Salut D’Amour, she was pleasantly startled by the cello. Every single note flowed out beautifully, sweet and smooth like melting chocolate, and faded away in a reverberating echo long after its release. What was more, Anna felt like the cello had been custom made for her. For the first time in her nine years of experience, she had found the perfect cello. There was no other word to describe it.

When she told her dad that this was the one she wanted, something strange had flickered in his eyes. But it was gone the next moment.
Anna was too happy to consider it though. She had her cello now.

~~~~~

The perfect cello for her, and these brutes were no handling it like crap! Anna simply couldn’t bear it. All her rage and shock were channeled into one furious scream for help.

But no one heard her.

The driver banged the door shut, and her pleas for help were never heard. It was dark inside, and Anna feared she would either die of lack of oxygen or continuously smelling the unpleasant aroma of whatever sticky semisolid was on the floor beside her. The truck coughed to life, and sped off carelessly into the distance. In the rough driving, Anna’s head banged carefully against a hard object, and as she sank into darkness, one last thought ran through her head: This can’t be happening...

~~~~~

Hours later, she woke to dark, cold surroundings. She could hear, and smell, the men at the door. “SHE’S AWAKE,” the chubby one whispered unnecessarily. Well that’s totally a whisper, Anna thought as she studied the two silhouettes that formed long shadows against the unnatural yellow light streaming through the door. When they’d captured her, it had happened so quickly she wasn’t able to clearly see their features. Now she took the chance to observe that the driver was tall though rather stick-like, with deceivingly neat hair and a crisp brown suit, as if he were talking to the CEO of a company, or he WAS the CEO. The man standing next to him was more rotund and short, with crumpled and grubby clothes.

“Shut up Quix,” the driver hissed in a barely audible voice. He then addressed Anna, disgust written across his face. “You could say we’re your jail keepers.” His voice was surprisingly and nastily rough, given his fancy attire. He didn’t bother to explain further, just stood there with his arms crossed, watching her carefully.

“Then why am I here?” Anna asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know, why is she here?” the bald, round man asked quietly.

“Quix Otik, let me do the talking,” the tall man snapped. Quix Otik... quixotic? Anna thought. It was definitely a good description.

“But Manici...” Quix whined. Manici ignored him and sneered. “You think we would tell you? Our purposes are not ones you should know.” With those words, he strolled casually, though his stride somehow carried an edge, out of the small basement Anna was in. The chubby man followed, waving back cheerfully. Yes, definitely strange... Anna thought. She heard the door slam, and turned back to face the dusty walls, staring out of that tiny barred window in the corner.

Only then did she notice that her cello was gone.

~~~~~

And now, in the same dark basement months later, Anna could feel the memories and her consciousness sinking into darkness, and her hopes with them too.

Dahlia Styrn sat in the cold kitchen, a lukewarm mug of coffee resting in her hands. She stared off into space, the dim kitchen light in the distance barely illuminating her features. Anna, my daughter, where are you?

She remembered that day. It was already 3:45, yet no familiar knock on the door, no cheerful Anna waiting for her there. She’d pushed down the flutter of worry in her chest then, but as time passed, the flutter multiplied like bacteria. 4:00... 4:30... To Dahlia it seemed like there was something wrong with the clock; it ran too fast... and still no Anna. The sun sank, and Mr. Styrn returned and asked where Anna was. Dahlia had had to turn to him with a look of despair. “I don’t know...”

They called the police, who promised to do their best. But they days passed and their hope dwindled...

Dahlia got up not and poured the remains of the fragrant, now cooling coffee down the sink, unable to drink it anymore. Trembling, she walked slowly toward her bedroom.

God, please bring my Anna back safely...