by Lauryn Dyan
“Fine,” I finally concede. “But if shit goes south, you can take the blame.”
She unclenches her jaw but says nothing as she turns to lead me outside.
***
I wake with a start as a loud clap of thunder shakes the building to its foundation. I fell asleep writing and my pen rolls off my bed and clanks to the floor as I jerk upright.
“Kix! Kix! Kix!” My neighbor shrieks. Great, I was right about not having any peace and quiet tonight.
Stretching, I glance out my window to see the worst of the rain has yet to hit. A few droplets streak the window pane, but the ominous thunder tells me the true torrent isn’t far off. Let it come, I say. I’m ready.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and lean down to grab my fallen pen. As my hand reaches toward the ground, this overpowering déjà vu hits me. I slow my movement and, as my fingers brush the barrel of the pen, a drumstick flashes through my mind. I scoop it up and grip it tightly as lightning illuminates the room, my reality and history swapping interchangeably before me from a pen to a drumstick and back as the light comes and goes.
***
“Whoa there, Oli! Watch the sticks!” I joke into the mic, as the crowd hoots and cackles. I bend toward the stage and snatch up the stray drumstick that slipped through his hands. It came within an inch or two of hitting me in the head and my delicate, mental state is thankful he missed. I barely kept my paranoia in check at our radio interview and I can feel it ready to burst out of my chest and overtake me here and now. If he’d nicked me, it would have set me off.
I turn back to the crowd and plaster on my best faux smile as I toss the drumstick into the contorting swarm of fans. It’s instantly lost in the chaos.
***
I blink away the image of the writhing audience as I set the pen on the nightstand knowing this is only the beginning. I need to summon the rest of that memory, but as I sit stiffly on my bed, waiting with eyes closed, nothing comes. A roar of thunder spooks them open just in time to catch the lights flickering as another lightning bolt flashes. The rain is picking up momentum and my heartbeat thumps louder and louder in time to the pounding of the drops.
As the lights on my wall sputter once more, another piece of my last show on tour springs to life.
***
“I...I...I forgot the words!” I say, as I fake a laugh. The band keeps playing but the bright stage lights dim quickly as I walk to Sonny’s keyboard to pull myself together. I greedily chug her water though I’d rather pour it on my face.
“Are you ok?” She mouths. I shake my head.
I lost part of the show again. My chest heaves and I fight off the panic trying to consume my body like a forest fire. I concentrate on the music, letting the melody guide me back to my place on center stage. The lights come back up as I take the mic, but their illumination does no good as blackness returns to drag me under.
***
Fuck. Parts of these memories I remember vaguely, but that embarrassing incident on stage, where I forgot my lyrics, was definitely the last time I was aware that night. This is building up to my final moments in New York. Where I finally broke and it was decided I needed to go. To come here. My heart breaks anew as I anticipate seeing my demise.
The lights flicker. My neighbor is practically screaming now.
“Cap-unch! Cap-unch!”
I think she’s trying to say Captain Crunch. There’s added commotion next door and I hope, for her sake, the orderlies are coming in to sedate her. Personally, I am over being knocked out. I want to be aware as much as possible but for her, it might be the best way to get her through this.
My own anxiety has not dissipated, so I perch on the edge of my bed with my hand on my chest working to control my breathing. Sonny got me to try yoga for a hot minute on tour and I hated it, but the breathing techniques are serving me well. I focus on the air.
“In and out, in and out.”
The rain is coming down in sheets now, the drops hitting as hard as marbles. Another thunder roll erupts and the lights finally relent and flip off. I sputter on an inhale, waiting for the backup power to eradicate the dark. After about thirty seconds, the lights in the hall switch on, but not the one in my room. Only certain essentials must be powered by the backup generators.
The shadows envelop me and I debate if I should stay here and wait it out, or go into the hall and find a common room that’s illuminated. People shuffle past the window in my door having made the latter decision.
The blackness, the rain, the murmur of people. I brace my hands on the bed as the potent mix brings another piece of the lost past flooding back.
***
“Kennedy! Wait! Wait!” Jack yells, as he chases me guitar still around his waist, as I flee the spotlight. Backstage roadies, managers and members of the other bands freeze in jaw-dropping confusion as I whiz by entirely too early for my set to be over. It takes a minute for them to process the scene before a commotion erupts and they frantically join in trying to stop me. The boos from the crowd echoing behind me catch me first.
My feet pound across the unforgiving floor as I continue forward through the shadowy maze of people and gear. The exit is nowhere to be found, but I won’t stop moving. I refuse. I need to get out. To get air. The paranoia and panic have won. I have to escape the darkness.
Ace is next in my line of sight, and as I charge past him, he reaches for my arm, horror and concern twisting his features. I swerve in time to miss his touch and dodge a roadie who is the only person around oblivious to my antics. The storm outside beckons, thunder rumbling. I sense I’m getting close to my freedom as the sound of rain becomes more and more pronounced. I spot the heavy metal door. Just a few more steps.
***
I stand, unable to bear my gloomy room any longer. I’m thankful the memories are coming back, but the isolation is making them feel too real, my t-shirt sticking to my sweaty back like they’re happening all over again. Maybe if I hole up in a corner of the common room with other people about I can watch the terrifying past while knowing I’m still secure in the present. It’s worth a shot.
I grab the door handle prepared to leave and, in the same instant, a shadow passes over the square window before me.
***
I lean forward, hands on my knees, and breathe deep inhaling the cold, damp New York air as the rain pours over my head, soaking me to the bone. Straightening, I run my hands through my wet hair, sweeping it off my face. I let my hands rest on my head, unsure what to do now. Where to go that’s safe.
Behind me, the door swings open with a violent push. Someone from the tour has caught up to me. A strong hand grasps my raised arm and swings me around.
There he is, right in front of me. Rickly.
***
I’ve already turned the knob before I snap out of my memory and realize the shadow isn’t leaving. I open the door and there he is in front of me. Rickly.
***
My screams reverberate both through the past and the present.
“Kennedy, no please, it’s me. I’m not here to hurt you. Please, stop screaming. Please!” Rickly’s eyes dart around the asylum as he grips both my arms in the same way he did that night back in New York. He’s trying to calm me down, but the fear is overwhelming. Was I right the first time? Has it been him all along?
People stream past us, but with all the commotion of patients leaving their rooms, or in some cases, losing their shit, no one gives us a double take. Realizing screaming is useless, I quiet myself and shut my eyes unsure what I should do next. On the dark of my lids, I see a flash of people pouring out of the venue doors, around Rickly and me, after I abandoned my show. They’re gaping at the crazy rock star and her possibly psychotic boyfriend. Everything feels so similar, I’m wondering if what’s happening in the institution right now is real or a memory come to life.
The thunder and rumble of bodies create a chaotic symphony. I let the sound drown me in my darkness, but then his voice breaks through
the din. The voice that makes my heart flutter.
“Kennedy, please. I need you to come with me. Trust me, you’re not safe. I’m here to protect you.”
I open my eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rickly has me by the hand leading me down the hall but I’m not paying attention to where we’re going. All I can concentrate on is our intertwined fingers. The cherry blossom tendrils of his long, winding tattoo reaching down his forearm to grasp the stars around my wrist. I picture the vines writhing to encircle each of the hollow stars, the points becoming lodged in the blooming plant, forever binding us together.
“Kennedy,” Rickly calls, not turning around. “You have to guide me. We need to find an exit.”
Reluctantly, I look away from our hands to face the surrounding reality. I still feel like I’m reliving a memory or locked in a dream. Having him here, the intensity around us, the threat of danger, whether from him or someone else, it’s surreal. Like I’m not really living this moment here and now. It’s a once was or is to be. Not the present.
I’m sane enough to realize that’s not the case. This is happening and, one way or another, I will get some damn answers.
“I, um, I’ve never actually left since I got here but we can go out to the yard.” I shudder wondering if that’s a good idea as another peel of thunder explodes and an older gentleman who just walked out of his room jumps in surprise. The storm is raging. Is what’s in here that much worse than what’s out there?
“I’m guessing they’ve got that secured so people can’t escape, right?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “No, we’ll go through the lobby. With all the chaos, I’m hoping we can slip out.”
I don’t comment as he pulls me toward the entrance of the building. I’d have to imagine, at a time like this, they aren’t going to let people waltz out the front door but we don’t have a lot of options. If anything, he can leave and, with my conflicted emotions at his sudden arrival, that may not be so bad.
We round a corner and head down a long hall I don’t remember. I was probably only here after I was admitted and I was in no state to notice details at that time. There’s not much to see anyhow. The walls are as epically boring as everywhere else though they did try to liven it up with a pale, green stripe down the middle of the ivory canvas.
The babble of voices becomes fainter and fainter as we move away from the rest of the patients. The sudden quiet, rain, and dimmed lights from the generators’ meager dose of power create an eerie atmosphere. Despite my mistrust of Rickly’s timing, I find myself gripping his hand tighter as the dreamlike atmosphere of this moment segues into total, gut-clenching fear. I need to resolve my inner turmoil about him quickly so I know what to do when we get to the lobby. If I decide he’s here to harm me, I’ll go ape-shit and make sure they escort him out as fast as he appeared. If I conclude he’s here to help then I will put my faith in him and let him try to keep me safe.
I focus on the back of his beautiful blonde head, willing myself to decide. After everything I’ve been through, all that I’ve remembered, is he actually the hero not a victim or a villain?
“I think we’re almost there. I remember this area,” he murmurs, lowering his voice so as not to draw attention. It’s surprising no one has come to question us but I guess they’ve got their hands full elsewhere. To the outsider, we must appear to be walking with purpose rather than wandering aimlessly like the other crazy pants.
As we turn another corner, it seems our luck may have run out. There’s a guard with his back to us talking to a silhouette ready to be buzzed in outside the double glass doors that divide the asylum from the lobby.
“Oh fuck,” Rickly whispers, halting and using his back to push me and our still locked hands behind the corner where we just were. “We need to find another room to hunker down in until the storm passes and this place is in order again. They can protect you once they’ve got everything under control, but not now. You’re too exposed.”
“Too exposed to what?” I ask, unable to move my feet despite his forceful pushing.
“To her,” he whispers, turning to face me. “She’s coming. She knows you’re getting better, so she’s here to make sure you don’t recover. To make sure you never get out.”
“Her?” The shock hits me like a lightning bolt. Who the fuck is it? Sonny, Trecia, Samantha, my mom, my sister, Lita? I rattle off all the females who have been a part of my life the last six months and my head is spinning faster than a cyclone.
Rickly doesn’t answer, he’s using his free hand to continue pushing me back the way we came as I mumble ‘her’ over and over. My steps are clumsy and his face is scrunched in frustration, but I’m too shaken to find my footing.
“Yes, her!” he hisses. “I will tell you everything but we have to move. Now. Lead me to a room where we can lock the door or something. Unless you want her to finish scrambling your brain.”
That does it. I snap out of my daze and let my flight instincts take over. I hear footsteps I didn’t notice before. The clickity-clack of high heels approaching. I go to grab Rickly’s hand but realize he’s still gripping mine, so I swiftly turn and pull us back toward the chaos in the main part of the asylum.
The areas I’ve been to are limited, so it doesn’t take long for me to run down our options. The only place accessible I know with a lock is Craig’s office. I pick up the pace as I select our destination and we return to a familiar hall. There are people all about. Orderlies trying to calm anxious patients. One girl screaming in short, angry bursts. Other inmates mill around unsure what to do. Most of them turn to watch us charging past, but the orderlies are too preoccupied to stop us. Honestly, I’m not sure if their interference would help, or harm, our situation but the last thing I need is to end up restrained to my bed like a sitting duck.
We reach Craig’s office and I fumble with the door handle and by some miracle, it’s unlocked. My mother would thank God right now but I decide I’ll wait to see if we make it through this before I sing his praises. I’m hardly out of harm’s way and, for all I know, this could be a trap.
I slip inside first, Rickly on my heels, and we quietly squeeze the door shut and turn the simplistic lock. What I wouldn’t give for a freaking deadbolt. The room is masked in near darkness so I reach for the light switch, but Rickly gently pushes my hand down and shakes his head. He’s right, probably better no one knows we’re in here yet. Still holding my hand he leads me over to Craig’s desk that provides the only cover from the door. I am momentarily mesmerized by the storm still visibly raging through the open slates in the blinds on the solitary window. In our frantic flight around the institution, I nearly forgot about the show nature’s putting on tonight. There’s another crack of lightning that brightens the room but the rumble of thunder is a few seconds behind, signaling the worst has passed. Is it the same for us?
After Rickly checks the desk phone…out of service…we both slump against the pale wall catching our breath. I haven’t run in a long time. The most exercise I ever got on the road was either performing or, well, getting kinky with the guy right next to me. I casually lean forward to take in his appearance. Now that the shock of his presence has settled I find he looks the same but worn. There are dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there before, and his unruly hair is even longer and more disheveled, like he hasn’t had a cut since long before I last saw him. The nails on his fingers that interlace mine are chewed to the quick. Obviously, my time away hasn’t been easy on him either. For a second, my doubt flares as I wonder if his state is a result of guilt but my intuition says that’s not true. That confidence in his innocence I had, not hours earlier, resurfaces and softens me. He’s here. My Rickly. My love. I’m the one who should feel guilty for ever suspecting him.
As his breathing slows, he raises his eyes to mine. My nonchalant glances have turned to staring, but I’m not embarrassed.
“Kennedy,” he whispers, tenderly. My vision blurs with tears and, while I can’t be s
ure if it’s just that or the poor lighting, I swear they’re glimmering in his perfect blues too.
“I know,” I murmur back, though I’m not sure what I’m admitting. Maybe that I was wrong. Maybe that I sense he still loves me. There are so many things I want to say and questions swelling up inside me, but I find myself tongue-tied, wanting to absorb this moment alone with him before its back to reality. To be consumed by his presence and let myself hope for a reconciliation. He rests his head on mine and we silently hold each other up as the storm dwindles on.
Slowly I pull back. I have to know the truth. “Who?” I begin. “How?” Another one-word question is bubbling up, but I suppress it.
“It took me a while to figure out,” he says. “But, eventually, I realized...” Click click. The sudden turn of a key in the metal lock interrupts. I suck in a breath as he peers over the top of the desk and a figure steps in. He stiffens and stands, but I stay rooted to the floor, unable to move until I hear my answer.
“It was Samantha,” he finishes, as the door gently closes. I stand and face the bitch that ruined my life.
***
“Come with me, Kennedy.” Samantha hovers in front of me in the pouring rain, her black umbrella protecting her from the sleet that pounds my body. “You were right, it’s time we get you help,” she says, in her most soothing voice as she leads me away from a distraught and angry Rickly outside the venue door. I follow blindly to a waiting town car.
***
“What. The. Fuck. It was you?” My voice is filled with anger, hurt, and confusion. She doesn’t respond right away but instead let’s a devilish smirk creep across her face. The faint light from the window casts shadows that make her look even more malevolent and I cringe into Rickly’s side. Evil witch.
“Yes, my poor, oblivious, Kennedy. I hate to tell you, but I wanted you out the second we met. The day I first watched Tracing Stars play live, I knew there was potential for the next great rock band. A band that would usher in a new wave of music, like The Ramones, Nirvana, My Chemical Romance, The Black Keys and so on. But not with you. You were so self-destructive. The band would never make it under your leadership. You’d burn bright and beautiful and then explode, long before you ever saw that type of success.”