You took my heart, could I please have it back?

[57] You took my heart, could I please have it back?

“Hakuna matata, what a wonderful phrase! It means no worries for the rest of your days, hakuna matata, it ain’t no passin’ craze! It’s our problem free philosophy, hakuna matata!”

Yeah, no worries.

This was our fourth rendition of the song, as if singing it would somehow mean we’d get rescued. That prospect was seeming more and more unlikely. It had been a long time, maybe twelve hours, since he’d told us, well, me about my mother. And still, no sign of hope.

Getting sick of the song, I tried to sing a different one but my voice died in my throat. My resolve was crumbling away, and with it, my passions. Either dad didn’t care, or he was out getting drunk (which, despite everything, was still a possibility), or he had been blackmailed, or he physically couldn’t, due to injuries or worse, death.

As for Lily’s parents, who knew? Or our friends? Surely Adrian didn’t know enough to silence them all...then again, his daughter went to the same school as us. What if she was spying for him while he plotted this all out?

Apparently, it was natural to be this pessimistic. That’s what I’d read in some horror book, anyway. When you get kidnapped, you always assume the worst. It wasn’t the most reliable source, but it explained why I was in such a pessimistic, foul mood anyway.

I didn’t usually like to call myself pessimistic, or optimistic for that matter. I was neither. I just tried to hope, hope for the situation to turn out for the best, hope that everything would be resolved. Like with my father, like with my little Alex/James dilemma, and now here, kidnapped, kept in my enemy’s cellar.

Now, it seemed there was no hope. Despite all those people that could have called us in missing, no one had. Something must have happened to them. Adrian might have blackmailed our parents into not telling anyone where we were, but they couldn’t lie forever. There was no plausible story for this.

“Liz, come on, let’s sing,” Lily’s voice dragged me out of my dark thoughts and I looked up at her tiredly.

“I can’t sing, Lily,” I whispered, dropping my gaze to the floor again. “I just...can’t,”

“Yes, you can. Come on. You’re a freaking musician! Sing one of the songs you sang at that concert,” she pleaded, and I sighed, trying to psych myself up for it.

Finally, I managed a few rusty notes.

It was James’ song, which I always found myself getting lost in, forgetting about my worries for the time that I sang it. James had, of course, written more songs since, but this was the first I heard and in my head it would always be James’ song.

I sang it, not once, not twice, but so many more, over and over, trying to keep the horrors away. My voice got stronger and louder and blocked out more and more thoughts as I concentrated on nothing but singing.

Then, the door suddenly opened with it’s horrible, scratchy creak and Adrian stormed down the stairs.

“Will you shut the fuck up with your stupid singing?!” he bellowed, and on the word ‘fuck’ slapped me hard round the face. I swallowed, forcing myself not to cry out. He was drunk and any loud noises would aggravate him more.

He stormed back up the stairs and slammed the door behind him. For a minute, I thought he’d left it unlocked and sprang excitedly to my feet, heart thumping at the thought of being free, but seconds later I heard the clunking and scraping of it turning.

Sighing, I sat back on the floor, my mood even more dismal than it was before.

I ended up humming it under my breath to stop myself going mad, and then Lily asked,