The warm stage lights gazed upon Oliver in glory as the velvety crimson curtains slid closed. Deafening roars of applause echoed within the grandeur of the Royal Albert Hall, empowering his value to the world before him. He had just performed his latest music hit, once again exceeding his fans' expectations. He had once felt insecure around people, hesitant to trust because of his tragic childhood. To some extent, he was still affected by his doubtful mindset, but he no longer had to carry the weight of his past alone. Eliza was the one who had opened his eyes for the first time since his parents took death's hand, putting the broken pieces of his heart back together when no one else offered a single glance.
He recalled losing his mother at the age of four, being helpless and unable to do anything as his father comforted him and pulled him away from her hospital bed. He also remembered when he returned home one day to find his father sprawled on the floor; he could barely answer the police officers' questions after discovering he was dead. Years later, he began to see that the uncle who had claimed to love him, had betrayed him by stealing his inheritance. He became destitute and homeless once he turned eighteen. Left with nothing but his voice, he sang his heart out for a living, and it was through that grief, that he discovered his talent.
The heavy door of his penthouse creaked open, letting a slither of faint evening light illuminate the otherwise dark living room. Eliza should've been home by then, but there was no trace of the warmth that usually greeted him. Oliver reassured himself that Eliza was probably still working in the kindergarten and would arrive home any minute. But then his eyes trailed to Eliza's almost unrecognisable iPhone – smashed to pieces with shards of glass glittering on the floor. Taking in the disorder of the living room, he knew that something was terribly wrong. He couldn't stop the feeling of dread sinking in his bones.
Oliver tiptoed to the master bedroom, finding the bedsheets neatly folded the way he had left them that morning. But then he noticed the brown envelope tucked under the vase on the bedside table.
The sound of paper being torn shattered the ominous silence of the room.
Every frenzied shred sent the drumming of his heart faster.
With one final tear, he seized the letter inside.
Dear Oliver Elsher,
I hope you remember the deal I mentioned when you left. I understand that you prefer doing the right thing by being a good boy, so I'm going to ask you nicely. I'm aware that you are now a celebrity capable of funding our family's beloved criminal organisation, Zenda.
Last time we met, you refused to take part in the organisation. I understand that you were merely 18 back then, but I hope that by now, you are no longer the naïve little boy scared of getting his hands dirty.
Know that I am already doing you a favour. All you need to do is bring the funds by dusk. The place is 168 Ending Road. I hope to see you there. Eliza is waiting for you.
Yours sincerely,
Hades Elsher
His expression darkened. Shoving it back in the envelope, he grabbed his car keys and bolted to the garage.
They've kidnapped you, but I will save you.
The traffic lights turned green. Pressing on the accelerator, the car pushed him back in his seat. As his surroundings blurred into palettes of greys and blues cast by the endless rows of concrete buildings, his mind spun into a complete mess. His breaths became shallow and laboured as he took a sharp turn - tyres skidding to an abrupt halt, before speeding up again. Even amongst all the inner chaos, just one name chanted in his mind like an endless metronome. Eliza...Eliza…
A bird suddenly collided with the windshield with a loud crack. It slid down the glass, gracelessly flapping its broken wings before slumping unconsciously on the hood. You won't die, Eliza. You're the strongest person I've ever met.
At last, the bright illuminated sign of the bank came into his view. The hypnotic ticking of the indicator seemed to soothe him as he waited by the turning lane, mentally debating whether he should inform the police or just draw the cash out, but he was too afraid to say no to his uncle's dangerous team. Shrouded in the luxury of darkness, he made his way to the ATM outside the bank and withdrew the amount they had requested. Recalling the last line of the letter, Oliver shuddered at the threat they had laid before him if he didn't comply with their rules. He hastily stuffed the cash into his empty suitcase, and after a quick assessment of the mostly vacant carpark, rushed to his car as quickly as he could without catching any unwanted attention.
Cold sweat trickled down his temple as he lunged at his car. It didn't help his anxious heart that he felt eyes watching him wherever he went.
As he drove, he voiced the address of his uncle's criminal headquarters from the letter to Siri, hoping it would register the right location for the car. He had trouble trusting everything, from people to technology. He wished Eliza was by his side, calming him and driving away the fog of doubts clouding his mind. Usually, her presence was enough to soothe him, but right now he was on his own, and she desperately needed him.
In an attempt to slow his heart rate, Oliver played some mournful tunes in his car, and before long, he was singing soulful notes. Subconsciously, tears trickled down his face, dropping in his lap to form concentric circles on his jeans. They darkened the fabric, spreading out from the capillary effect, and added to the sombre atmosphere in the small, confined space within the car. Knowing the next destination, his mind became eroded with sorrow, grief, and hurt. His insides became hollow, and nothing could stop the long, sad notes that came from his soft mouth.
Meeting the end of an abandoned street, Oliver killed the engine and sighed breathlessly. He unseeingly stared into the expanse of blackness outside his window, contemplating whether it was time to change his mind and ring the police. Don't be silly…you're no hero. They won't believe you. Just get Eliza out and go. Shaking his head, he refused to let fear engulf him in its ravenous clutches. He was no longer that little boy huddling in the dark with no one to hold on to. Not anymore. He was now an influencer – the epitome of success in the twenty-first century!
Embracing the situation, Oliver took a deep breath and left the safety of his car. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he began to see the worn-down brick buildings, boarded-up windows and cracks overgrown with weeds. This was where the criminal underworld of London had its secret hideouts.
Tentatively inching forward, the singer searched for company in the eerily quiet shadows. Just as he was about to tell himself he was being paranoid, barks rattled the silence, sending him scrambling back to his car, but when his startled yelp cut through the air, the barking ceased. Dumbstruck, with his back pressed to the car, Oliver attempted to set a rhythm with his erratic breaths. The dog, miraculously, stayed silent.
"Oliver Elsher, didn't expect you to be late." The familiar menacing voice, followed by the form of a large body emerged from the darkest depths of the shadows.
"Uncle—" Oliver squeaked.
"The letter said we want your money by sunset." The voice remained unnervingly calm.
"I've got the money." Oliver's eyes darted to the car as he spoke. "I can get it for you right now."
Now wasn't the time to mess everything up.
"I'm afraid it's too late."
"Please," Oliver implored. Unable to contain his worries, he asked, "Where is Eliza? Is she hurt? May I see her?"
An exchange of hushed whispers came from behind him before someone flung Oliver's car door open to find the money. The next few seconds became a blur as he clung desperately to the tiny glimmer of hope that something would change his uncle's mind.
"Boss, he has the cash." A new voice came from the dark.
"Get the girl."
And he waited. One second, two seconds, three… Oliver flinched at the sound of a body being pushed into his car.
"You may go. Remember, you must never take your phone out on our grounds. No photos, no videos, no…"
But those words fell on deaf ears. He had to make sure Eliza was the one in the car.
Doubt and fear took over.
In an instant, Oliver had fished out his phone and flicked on its flashlight. His pupils constricted as they struggled to adjust to the sudden lighting. His brain had barely registered the contour of Eliza's face before an overwhelming noise blasted his eardrums. In the eerie silence that followed, he almost forgot to breathe, but the metallic stench of blood was unmistakable. No…
The young singer collapsed on the car seat where the lifeless body of his beloved partner lay. With trembling hands, he gently caressed her face, knowing that the warmth that greeted his fingertips would leave him soon. A heart-breaking realisation dawned upon him – if love could pull the loose strings of his life together, it was equally capable of destroying him. Hesitantly, the young man pressed his lips to hers for the last time, willing himself to wake up from the barbarous nightmare. Except it wasn't a nightmare. Eliza had been shot, and she was now dead.
A silent scream only Oliver could hear resounded in the deathly quiet night. The night was young, but it had already claimed an innocent life. As his eyes glazed over, he lifted his head to gaze up at the stars. Blinking, they twinkled back at him, reminding him of the night he met Eliza under the stars. "Be confident," she said, "never give in to your doubts and fears."