The party had finally wound down and the sun was beginning to break the horizon. Heather couldn’t stand looking at the old dusty baby grand another moment without letting her itchy fingers lay themselves upon the ivory.

She placed her hands gently on the protective lid, closing her eyes, saying a silent prayer to the piano gods that the keys were still in good shape before lifting the covering. Opening one at a time, her lips spread in a smile. Not even a speck had touched their perfect whiteness in God knew how many years.

She peer around the sleeping bodies haphazardly splayed about the room. She decided the alcohol induced torpor would not be interrupted by a few notes pecked out quietly.

Sitting down on the ancient stool, she flexed her fingers and started coaxing the music held captive by the instrument. At first, it was reluctant to give up its hostage as if begging a higher ransom. She pressed harder, forcing the old one to give up the note.

Movement in the shadows froze her fingers midstroke.