Impossible Depths (Silver Lake series Book 2)

by McCallum, Coral

  When Jake walked into the rehearsal room the next day, Dan was sitting on the edge of the stage chatting on his phone. He looked up when he heard Jake’s footsteps on the concrete floor and waved. With a smile, Jake waved back and gestured that he was going through to warm up.

  A knock at the door half an hour later interrupted his well- practiced routine. The door opened and Dan came in to join him.

  “You good to start, Jake?”

  Seeing the Weigh Station front man under the bright lights in the small room, Jake noticed how pale the older man looked, noticed the blue tinge to his lips.

  “Sure,” he agreed, wishing silently that he could have finished his warm up routine. “You ok to sing today?”

  “Need to try,” sighed Dan. “Christ knows how this will sound. My breathing’s fucked, Jake. I’ve no idea how I’m going to do this in front of my boys never mind a sell-out fucking crowd.”

  “Want to try in here without an audience?” suggested Jake in an effort to be helpful.

  “I probably should,” admitted Dan. “But let’s get out there. I need to be with the boys.”

  “Your call.”

  The remaining members of Weigh Station were all milling about the stage, sipping mugs of tea and coffee. When they saw Dan and Jake approach, they dispatched one of the young technicians to fetch two more mugs. After a brief debate, they decided to split the set into sections and to start the rehearsal with the opening three numbers.

  “Dan, you take the opening number, then Jake can join you for Battle Scars,” suggested Mikey as he plugged in his guitar.

  Silently, Dan nodded.

  “Mr Power,” called out Mikey. “Want to play on this one? Would keep you on stage in case you need to step in on vocals.”

  “Sure,” agreed Jake, setting his mug down on a nearby table. “Give me five to get set up. What’s the tuning?”

  “Open G.”

  All of them were silently holding their breath as Dan stepped up to the mic. His own worry was etched into his furrowed brow, but, ever the professional, he powered his way through the first vocal. Without pausing, they launched straight into Battle Scars but, before he had sung the first verse, Dan started to cough. Putting his hand up to his mouth, he turned his back on the rest of the band. When the coughing fit subsided, Dan paused for a few deep breaths before turning round. From his position on the stage, Jake could see fresh blood on his idol’s lips.

  “Ok,” gasped Dan, trying to put a brave face on things. “Let’s try that fucker again from the top, boys.”

  Once again Weigh Station began the song; as before Dan failed to make it through the first verse before another coughing fit seized control. He dropped to his knees on the stage. Mikey rushed over instantly. Unsure as to what to do, Jake fetched a bottle of water and passed it to the guitarist, not wanting to interfere. After a few minutes and a few mouthfuls of water, Mikey helped Dan to his feet.

  “Mr Power,” he said, his voice husky. “You take this one and make it your own.”

  “You sure?”

  Dan nodded, gesticulating that they should all play on. He sat at the edge of the stage, listening and sipping on the water as Jake and Weigh Station ran through the song. When it was over, he said to Jake to sing the next one, which he accomplished flawlessly and then they were up to Sunset After The Storm on the set list. As the last notes of it faded out, Mikey asked, “Dan, you feeling up to trying Rock It Out On Fire?”

  “Let’s try something,” suggested the ailing singer. “Jake, you take the verses and I’ll come in on the chorus.”

  This time, they made it through the whole song with no interruptions. Jake fluffed one of the lines in the last verse, but the band played on; Dan’s voice held out. Over the next hour, they worked their way through another six songs, sticking to the same formula. After a short break, they regrouped to play the second half of the set. Feeling more confident, Dan said he would take the lead on the next song. It was one of their biggest hits and, in his heart, Dan didn’t want to let Jake sing this one. It was his song to own. Sensing he was surplus to requirements, Jake jumped off the stage and headed off to the men’s room. He could hear Weigh Station start the song as he opened the door to the restroom. When he came out again into the narrow corridor, all he could hear echoing round was coughing and retching. His heart sank, knowing that failing to make it through that particular song would destroy Dan and shatter his fragile faith in himself. Taking a deep breath, Jake walked back through to the rehearsal hall.

  Still coughing, Dan was on his hands and knees, struggling for breath, in the middle of the stage. In front of him was a pool of blood stained vomit.

  “Jake!” yelled Mikey sharply. “Go and find Peter. The driver guy. We need to get Dan home.”

  “Sure. He’s in the office,” replied Jake, turning on his heel.

  After Dan had left, Weigh Station called a halt to the rehearsal. From the anxious looks on their faces, Jake knew they all shared his concern about where this was heading. In two days’ time the band were scheduled to play to a sell-out crowd at Wembley Arena and, from where he was standing, things were suddenly looking pretty bleak.

  “Jake,” began Mikey calmly. “What’s your thoughts here? Can you carry him through the set?”

  For a fleeting moment, Jake was transported back to his bedroom as a teenager, when he would be singing along to his Weigh Station records, dreaming of one day seeing them live on stage. Now, twenty years down the line, he was being asked to carry the show. Running his hand nervously through his hair, Jake nodded, “If that’s what you need me to do then that’s what we do. I am going to need a few runs through this full set though. I don’t want to fuck up here on your big night.”

  “And if Dan can’t do any of it?” asked Phil, the drummer, his voice barely above a whisper, as he voiced what they all feared.

  “Then you guys make the call as to whether to cancel or not,” stated Jake bluntly. “It’s your party, not mine.”

  “Hopefully that’s a call we won’t have to make,” sighed Mikey as he checked the time on his watch. “It’s just gone five. Let’s run through the full set once, then call it a day.”

  It was after nine o’clock before Jake stepped out of the taxi in front of the hotel. He had had to borrow some English money from the band to cover the fare, promising to repay them in the morning. With a heavy heart, he made his way through the foyer and up to the room. He had called Lori while he was in the elevator and, as he walked along the corridor, he could see her standing in the doorway waiting for him. When he reached her and she saw the strained look on his face, she wrapped her arms around him. Burying his face in her hair, he held her tight, feeling the tension slide from his body as he breathed in her signature floral perfume.

  “You look wiped out, rock star,” she said as they stepped into the room together, closing the door on the rest of the world.

  “I feel wiped out,” sighed Jake as he slipped off his leather jacket, tossing it over the back of the chair. “It’s been a tough day, li’l lady.”

  “Bad rehearsal?”

  Silently, Jake nodded, then sank down onto the chair.

  “Have you eaten yet?” asked Lori softly. “I didn’t know what to do about dinner.”

  “No,” answered Jake, trying to stifle a yawn. “Have you?”

  “I had a snack about five, but I waited to have dinner with you,” she confessed. “I’m starving. What do you fancy?”

  “I can’t face a restaurant tonight,” admitted Jake wearily. “How about we order room service?”

  “Suits me,” she agreed. “But what do you want?”

  “Pasta. Surprise me,” stated Jake. “And I need a shower too.”

  “You jump in the shower and I’ll order dinner.”

  The aroma of Bolognese filled Jake’s nostrils as he came out of the bathroom, wearing one of the hotel’s towelling robes. Smelling food, he suddenly realised he was ravenous. Lori was sitting on the couch with their m
eal laid out on the coffee table in front of her. An open bottle of wine sat beside two glasses.

  “Perfect timing,” she declared, pouring the wine. “I ordered Bolognese and carbonara. Which would you prefer?”

  “Bolognese,” said Jake, sitting beside her and reaching for the TV remote. Flicking channels, he added, “I’m in the mood for a movie too.”

  Soon they had found an action thriller to watch and were swiftly engrossed in the plot as they enjoyed their late supper. Gradually, the strained look disappeared from Jake’s face and, when their meal was over, Lori finally risked asking, “How bad was rehearsal?”

  “It wasn’t so much bad as tragic,” revealed her fiancé with a weary sigh. “I can’t see any way that Dan can do this show. He was coughing his guts up as soon as he tried to sing. It was heart breaking to watch.”

  “Poor Dan. He lives for his boys. If he can’t sing….”

  “I know,” interrupted Jake, running his hand nervously through his damp hair. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about all of this.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Lori, snuggling in closer to him. “Will they cancel?”

  “I honestly don’t know," he replied, putting his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. “Plan for tomorrow, as far as I know, is for me to run through the full set a few times. Make sure I know the lyrics. Refresh my playing on some of the guitar parts, then pray.”

  “Would it help if I came with you tomorrow?”

  Shaking his head, Jake said, “I don’t think so, li’l lady. Thanks for the offer. I appreciate the support, but I’ll muddle through this somehow.”

  Next day Jake was the first to arrive at the rehearsal warehouse. Weigh Station’s guitar and drum techs were working on the small stage when he walked in. They greeted him warmly, then Razor, Mikey’s guitar tech called out, “Boss is running late. He called a few minutes ago. He’ll be about an hour.”

  “Alright,” acknowledged Jake with a glance at the time. “I’ll go through the back and warm up while we’re waiting.”

  Alone in the small soundproof room, Jake worked his way through his standard vocal warm up routine, wishing that he had allowed Lori to come with him.

  Back at the hotel, Lori was trying to focus on completing her jewellery designs for the next LH collection. While Jake had been busy with the Weigh Station rehearsals, she had devoted her time to the designs. She was attempting to build on the success of the previous collections, but also to find a new influence to add to it. Several walks around London had provided some inspiration, but she was finding it a challenge to translate the ideas she had into the intricate designs that the collection demanded.

  The page in front of her was covered with doodles of potential designs; the entire notebook was filled with doodles. Deciding to adopt a different approach, Lori tore all the pages out of the book and spread them out on the bed. There were twelve pages and they covered the duvet like graffiti. A glance at her watch told her that it was almost three – time for a break. Quickly she made herself a coffee, lifted one of the small packets of chocolate chip cookies from the basket beside the coffee maker then limped back over to the bed. As she sipped her drink and nibbled on the cookies, she studied the potential designs from all angles. Seeing them all spread out in front of her made it easier to spot trends and similarity of patterns emerge. With a flash of inspiration, Lori set the mug down on the nightstand and fetched her coloured pencils. Using a different colour for each theme, she circled the doodles that linked together. A few minutes later, with the coffee long forgotten, Lori had twelve sheets of potential designs covered in a rainbow of circles, but she also had the basics of her collection in front of her.

  Taking a fresh sketchpad from the pocket at the back of her suitcase, Lori then gathered up the loose sheets and settled herself at the desk to work her way through each coloured “set”, colour by colour. Engrossed in her work, she soon lost all track of time.

  Rehearsals out at Weigh Station’s warehouse studio ran smoothly once the band arrived. By the time Jake had finished his warm up, the three members of Weigh Station were gathered in front of the stage watching YouTube videos while they waited for him. Song by song, they ran through the entire set. Now that he was more familiar with the songs and less self-conscious among his idols, Jake allowed himself to relax. His usual stage confidence began to shine through. The three older musicians noticed the subtle change in their guest vocalist and they too began to relax a little more in his company.

  By four o’clock there was still no sign of Dan.

  While they took a short break, Mikey tried to call him, but the call went straight to voice mail. The ailing singer’s non-appearance was bothering all of them.

  “I’m calling Laughlan,” stated Mikey. “I’ve got a bad feeling here.”

  Laughlan had been mysteriously absent all day too. Every other day, the band’s burly Scottish manager had been in the office or had listened in on part of the rehearsal. No one had seen and or heard from him all day either.

  “Fucking voice mail,” muttered Mikey, ramming his phone back into his pocket. “Right, let’s get back to work, boys.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Laughlan came striding in. One look at his sombre face alerted them all to the fact that all was not well.

  “Boys, I need a word,” he stated, his voice sounding strained and unnatural.

  “What’s up?” called Steve, the bass player.

  “Sit down,” suggested the manager solemnly.

  All of them sat perched on the edge of the stage, staring at the large Scotsman.

  “There’s no easy way to say this,” he began, his Glasgow accent echoing round the room. “Dan’s been found dead at his flat. His cleaner found him a few hours ago.”

  The blood drained from the faces of all four musicians.

  “Dead?” echoed Mikey disbelievingly.

  Nodding, Laughlan continued, “I’ve been there all day. Been with the police. Looks like he took his own life. He was found in his music room. There’s pills everywhere and a couple of empty whisky bottles. There’s to be a post mortem, of course. It looked pretty obvious to me though.”

  “After the state he was in when he left here yesterday, I’m not surprised,” commented Phil, the band’s drummer, fighting back tears.

  “But to end it all,” began Steve, his voice thick with emotion. “To be on his own in that frame of mind.”

  “I should go,” suggested Jake awkwardly. “You guys should be together just now. I’m intruding.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Mikey sharply. “He’s left us all in this shit together. I can’t fucking believe the selfish bastard’s done this!”

  The angry outburst hung in the air.

  “His flat’s been sealed off,” restarted Laughlan quietly. “But the police let me take these.”

  He produced some envelopes from his inside jacket pocket and passed one to Mikey before handing another to Jake. The rest he returned to his pocket.

  With trembling hands, Jake ripped open the pale cream envelope and removed a single folded sheet of paper. A small, folded up sheet fluttered down, landing at his feet. When he reached down, he saw the note was addressed to Lori. Without unfolding it, Jake slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. Carefully, he unfolded the other sheet of paper, silently marvelling at the neatness of Dan’s meticulous handwriting.

  “Jake, the reins are yours now. In my heart, I think I’ve always known I wouldn’t make this show. There’s no one else I’d rather see out on a stage belting out my songs. Make them your own. Stick with my boys. The anniversary show has to happen. The boys need it to. Don’t mourn me. Celebrate the life I’ve lived. It’s been a hell of a party. Dan

  P.S. If you fuck up my lyrics, I’ll come back to haunt you! D”

  Jake re-read the note and smiled.

  Beside him, Mikey had opened his letter and was now attempting to read it through a curtain of tears.

  “Here, Jake,” said the
grief stricken guitarist, choking back a sob. “Read this out.”

  “You sure?”

  The Weigh Station guitarist nodded.

  “Mikey, I can hear you yelling about what a selfish bastard I’m being but I can’t take this pain anymore. Today showed me that all that I live for is gone. If I can’t stand on that stage beside you boys and sing for the fans then I don’t have a life left that’s worth living. My time was going to be short anyway. Now is the right time to bring down the final curtain.

  The anniversary show has to go on as planned. I’m leaving you in very capable, younger, Power-ful hands. Use and abuse that kid! He’s your future. Rock that joint to the rafters on Thursday night, then party till dawn. If you can’t do it for yourselves, do it for the fans. Do it for me.

  I love you like family. All of you. Look out for my girls. Dan,” read Jake, his voice remarkably calm, but with trembling hands.

  Silence echoed round the rehearsal room as they all sat lost in their own thoughts and grief. Weigh Station’s manager was the first to speak, “We need to cancel, of course.”

  “No!” growled Mikey, Steve and Phil in harmony. Glaring at Laughlan, Mikey added, “We go ahead as planned.”

  “You don’t seriously want to go out there tomorrow night, do you?”

  “We owe it to him,” stated Mikey flatly. “It’s all we know how to do. Assuming, that is, that Jake here’s up for it.”

  “If it’s what you want. What Dan wanted, then we play,” agreed Jake, feeling his stomach lurch at the commitment he had just voiced.

  “Well, if you’re all sure,” began Laughlan hesitantly. “I’ll prepare a press statement. The media are sure to pick up on the news tonight.”

  “Can you do a video release?” suggested Jake, remembering the video message he had recorded after Gary’s death. “Make it more personal for your fans rather than a paper statement?”

  “Not a bad idea, Mr Power,” approved Mikey, wiping a stray tear from his rugged cheek.