The heavy metal door creaked open and made a tremendous crash as it slammed shut again. The young man looked around, observing his stage. “Hello?” he whispered. “Hello!” he said, this time with more force. The sound of his voice reverberated stoically against the acoustics of the concrete room.

“Can I help you, son?” someone answered from above. The young man looked up, embarrassed, and replied sheepishly, “no, Sir. Sorry.” He quietly laid his case down on the floor and opened it. The time for his goodbye had arrived. The moment that he had diligently prepared for and worked towards was nigh. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the instrument of his goodbye from its case. Standing tall as he was taught, he laid the instrument under his chin. “Goodbye,” he whispered and pulled.

The narrow room was suddenly filled with the sound of the graceful notes he played. Looking up, it was as though he could hear his music floating through the air, along the maze of stairs, up and up, seeming to carry on infinitely. Closing his eyes, he let the bittersweet message flow through his fingertips and into the stairwell.

Throughout the building the music traveled. No floor was left untouched by the young man's goodbye. One by one, people made their way to watch the impromptu concert. All those present, friends and strangers alike, were touched by the silent words that rang throughout that concrete room. Soon each stair, each railing was taken up by a quiet observer. Tears were shed and voices were hushed, each person reveling in and absorbing the brave young man's message.

As he finished his unaccompanied concerto, he opened his eyes and looked up at his audience. He slowly pulled the violin from his chin and took a small, modest and unassuming bow. The seconds of silent uncertainty between himself and his audience felt like an eternity. Suddenly, one person's hands came together, then another, and another. The room exploded with such heartfelt applause that the young man's eyes filled with tears. They had heard.

His moment of fame was brief, lasting only a moment before the room emptied out and everyone returned to the monotony of their lives.

When he died, it was like the floor dropped out of underneath me.  I spent two weeks like that -- just floating.  Although our time together was limited, it was always quality.  When he was around, he was a second father to me.  He even looked like he could have been my father.

It wasn't until after the funeral that I felt my heart grow lighter.  His wife and I were sitting at the table together, both fighting the tears.  I forget who said it, but there it was: "Remember the time with the smiley faces?"  We both just broke out into hysterical laughter, tears of sadness turned to tears of nostalgia.  "I was so mad," she said.

I'll never forget that morning.  My dad and Cliff were sitting there at the table, that same look of mischief in their eyes.  Cindy was wandering around, half done with making her famous stuffed french toast, when she finally noticed what they had done.  Her happy corner filled with smiley faces had been tainted.  Each and every smiley face was desecrated with a red dot -- right between the eyes.  They left no smiley untouched.  Thousands and thousands of smiley faces had been shot point blank with a red sharpie.  Smileys on the wall, smileys on the desk, each and every smiley in the sticky note book had been brutally murdered with that sharpie.

Cindy, typically so happy-go-lucky, looked like her world had come crashing down.  She glared at Cliff, shocked at what he had done.  It started like a little ripple and gradually grew louder and louder.  Soon all of us were in stitches in this little kitchen.

To this day, no one will forget the Great Smiley Massacre.  Sometimes it takes the massacre of thousands to make the death of one seem a little less grave.

 Chapter 11

February 20, 2010

The only sound was the thudding of her own heart. Everything was black and she couldn't move. Her head was swimming and her legs could barely hold her own weight. Only the restraints kept her from falling. Not one muscle was spared the pain. Her mind was racing and empty at the same time. The thoughts would come but never manifested into anything substantial. She could feel herself slipping just from the humiliation of it all. She knew he was there, watching her, surveying her, preparing himself for the next onslaught.

It was then she heard it – a footstep. It was distant and quiet, but it was there, she was sure of it. The sound repeated, confirming what she had so desperately hoped for. She did her best to keep the silence that he expected, but her body betrayed her with a sharp intake of breath followed by a light moan. The footsteps stopped suddenly and the silence fell over her like a dense fog once again.

She had long since lost track of how long this had been going on. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. She just knew that she needed to feel his hands on her again, caressing her, hurting her. She needed to feel his lips touching the marks he had so carefully left, followed by his teeth grazing her skin. The aching need for the pleasure meticulously and haphazardly mingled with pain that he was so skilled at was burning more than any of the sores he had left behind. Her lips parted with anticipation and desire and brushed against the coarse texture of the mask he had put over her head. Although he couldn't see her face, she knew that he had noticed the slight movement. Nothing ever got past his shrewd gaze.

A chuckle sounded from across the room, both lighthearted and sadistic. His low voice resounded in the room, reaching her ears with no effort. “Ah my little pet, you didn't think I left you, did you?” The only sound that fell from her lips was a soft whimper. His voice had taken on that familiar tone, stern and derisive. “Now that's no way to address your Master, is it?”

“No Master,” she whispered through the haze.

“What was that, pet?,” softer this time.

“No Master,” she repeated, with more force.

“Good girl,” she could hear the smile in his voice. She knew it all too well. She had pleased him. In the end, that was all that mattered. “Now, pet, do you want more?”

“Yes Master,” she answered, gripping the chains over her head in preparation for the oncoming strikes so craved so much.

“That's my good girl,” was all he said before the paddle struck the back of her thigh.