Chapter 1 - Train Station

Like every friday I was at the train station playing songs with my saxophone. The saxophone case was in front of me with a few coins in it. Every time a passenger threw a coin in it, I would smile and bow my head as little gesture of gratitude.

I played already for a few hours, losing track of time. It was getting darker by every song I've played. I kept repeating to myself 'this is the last one'. Like when I'm eating chips, just can't stop.

While I played Billie Jean I heard some rumbling noises on the other side of the train rails in a small alley. Nosey me, did the sax in the case and swung it on my back. I followed the noises, trying to move silently. I didn't want to disturb whatever was going on. Just to be sure I reached to my phone in my jeans pocket. 'Cause you never know.

As soon as I've got a hold on my phone, I felt a grip on my whrist. I wanted to turn around and see what was going on. As I tried a second hand held my face firmly, with the hand on my mouth. My body pulled against the body of the person who was holding me. The case clattered on the ground. Tears popped up in the corners of my eyes. My heart rate was racing by now. I wanted to scream and call out for help, but a dark husky voice said in my ear: "Sst! Don't try anything funny now. You didn't see anything, right?" He wasn't fooling around. His arms felt strong, holding the grip so I couldn't move. As if I even dared to move. I nodded, didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to get on his bad side, so I stayed still, not moving any muscle like a statue.

When he noticed I wasn't trying anything to get out of his grip, he kind of loosened his hold. With his hand on my whrist he pushed the phone back in my pocket. Goosebumps appearing on my skin from his touch. "I want you to turn around and go home, play on your instrument if you want. Be a good girl and don't look back." I winced for a moment trying to look at the man, but he turned with me and pushed me back in the direction of the train station.

I stumbled like a giraffe trying to walk for the first time. 'Come on, Lilly', I said to myself. 'if you want to live a few days longer you better move your ass.' So I did.

My legs started moving. Faster than usual. Normally I walk a kind of slow walk. I really enjoy being outside, nose high in the air and smelling the flowers or freshly mowed grass. I talk to the fluttering butterflies passing by and sometimes wave at the birds. Guess it's unfortunate I was born in a major city.

In my left hand I hold the case with the sax, cause my right hand got a little shaky from his tight grip. I couldn't stop thinking about this man. A million questions rose in my head.

Who was this man? Why did he stop me and why did he let me go? What was going on in the small alley? Did he have something to do with the noise? Was he a criminal and were his friends braking in, stealing money from old people? Was his job to warn his colleagues criminals (what's the right term?) as the police showed up? And less important, but still I would've like to know: How did he know I played an instrument? He doesn't know what kind, but did it mean he had heard me play? It made me wonder if he travelled by train and perhaps even had threw some cash in the case. Quickly I made up the answer: ofcourse not. If he is a thief he doesn't move by train. He probably drives a black van with black windows and a lot of space in the back for diamonds and bags full of money.

My brain kept on repeating those million questions untill I've got home. While I opened my frontdoor I dared to look for the first time behind me. Nothing unusual. But he could've followed me, if he wanted to make sure I was going home and listened to him. Yes, why did he use the words 'be a good girl'? It made me crazy, I wasn't doing anything wrong by just walking in the street.

It made me feel like a little girl and remembered me of when my parents were still around. My dad used to call me his little girl or little one. At that time I hated it every time he said it, but now... I wished I could still hear him say it every day or even every minute. After the car crash, where both my parents died, I became very isolated. I did not want anybody to feel sorry for me.

But they did.Yeah, everyone did. I've got hundreds of cards (not like I counted them, but you know, a lot), phone calls and a few bouquets. The first few weeks I didn't even had to cook. Not cause I've ordered pizza or Chinese food, no the neighbours made me food. They learned very quickly that I didn't want to talk to anybody about it (except for my granny). Everyday they ringed the doorbell and placed the food on the doormat. Very kind, but I felt uncomfortable. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone. So I made a little note and placed it on my frontdoor saying:

Dear neighbours, thank you very much for all the delicious meals. I'm doing better each day. I have to move on and make my own meals. Thanks again, Lilly

I made sure I've placed the lock on my door and closed every window and curtain in my house. I really needed to sleep, I had to work the morning after at the small cafe around the corner of the street where I live. It was my second work weekend, so I still had to make a good impression. I couldn't afford to get fired.

Slowely I made my way over to my bedroom and searched for my pyjama's. After a few minutes I found my shirt under the bed and the little short under my pillow. Well, sometimes I think of myself as a magician. I can make everything disappear and I don't even need goofy magic words, just clumsy me is enough.

At night I couldn't sleep. My eyes were closed, but my brain was clearly awake. I even tried counting sheep, but nothing seemed to work.

I couldn't shake the scary feeling of the mystery man in the alley. Why did I have to be so nosey?