If you want to know how this story started, you can read about it HERE.
“It’s easy, just put your lips together, and blow, the melody will follow in time,” he says with a smile, she looks up at him, as tears run down her face.
“Please, I-I-I can’t.”
“There’s no such word, as can’t,” he says as he slowly begins to sharpen his knife. “You see Helen, I’ve taught many a great, some of the finest players you would ever hear, and all them, at the beginning said the same things, and like you they all had talent, just no way of grabbing it by the balls, making it dance to their tune, I showed them how to take it and make it theirs. Each challenge is different, each student presents me with a different style, a different avenue to twist my skill into, and I pride myself that through all these years, none have failed to pass, that of course was before you came along, you, you Helen have skill, but you lack the basic skills that separate children from adults,” he says, letting his head drop, as he clutches his temple. “I find it impossible to understand how someone, thirty-seven years old, can lack basic social skills, my god even savants show greater social skills than you, so, you leave me little choice but to try a method that was abandoned long ago because of its brutality. All in all Helen, what this means for you my dear, is, if you don’t whistle me a tune, a tune I can recognize, I will cut you,” he says letting the knife shine in the light. “At first the cuts will be short, delicate, a nuisance more than pain, but, the longer you resist, the deeper the cuts will become, the more painful they will be, until, you do as I ask,” he says, turning, to the empty chair, he looks around the deserted room, the door open wide, he lets out a sigh of exhaustion, and gentley places the knife onto a table. “I don’t get paid enough for this, ” he hisses as he strides to the open doorway, “HELEN, there’s nowhere to go, we’re miles from anywhere and you’ve no way of escape! So, you either come back now and save us both a lot of huffing and puffing or, you’ll not only fail my class, but your inheritance will go to some snotty bullshit charity, as your parents laid out in their will,” he yells out, his eyes search the darkness, before she slowly walks out into the light, shoves her way past him and sits back down in the seat.
“Now,” he says, as he closes the door behind him, “whistle for me.”