by ML Hamilton
She could see his mother curl in on herself, shrink and wither at the thought that her son might be beyond her saving. “Are you saying he wants to die?”
Emily nodded. “He thinks he does. He’s so ashamed of the harm he’s done to his family, and now with the baby’s health in jeopardy…it’s more than he can bear.”
“But he knows we love him, he knows we couldn’t stand to lose him.”
Emily gave her a sympathetic look. “Not really. He doesn’t see how you could possibly love him anymore, not after what he’s put you through. To be blunt, you’re a constant reminder of how he’s failed.”
“What are you saying?” said Mary, her voice rising. “You don’t want us to be around him anymore?”
James tightened his hold.
“Not at all, you are essential to his wellbeing whether he knows it or not. I just want you to understand what he’s feeling. If you left now, he’d believe you abandoned him because he’s brought you so much shame, but conversely, it hurts him to have you around.” She grimaced as she realized it wasn’t coming out as she wanted. “He’s in a very confusing place right now and that makes the situation even more dangerous. He doesn’t feel like he has anything to live for.”
“You mean his family isn’t enough?” Mary said. The pain in her expression was stark. Emily could see how hard that might be for Joshua to face.
She gave her a sympathetic smile. “Not right now,” she said. “He loves you dearly, but…”
“But he thinks we only see what he became, not who he is, right?” offered James.
Emily nodded. “He told me that himself. He said that if he died, you’d just remember the good, but the way it is now, you only see the bad.”
“He’s my son. I adore him and I can’t stand to see him hurt so much.”
“I know,” placated Emily. “But right now, he needs something else to give him the will to live, something that can’t feel shame.”
Mary frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Emily shifted her gaze to James. “He needs to play music again.”
“What?” Mary said.
“He needs to be part of a band, composing, singing, performing.”
“Are you insane? That’s how he got into this mess to start with. I don’t want him anywhere near that again,” she said.
Emily leaned forward. “It wasn’t the music. He started taking drugs when he was making movies. For him, the music is pure, sacred.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Actually, she has a point,” offered James. “He hated that last track because he was high when we recorded it.”
Emily nodded. “Believe me, I know. Whenever I try to play it, he lapses into silence and I can’t bring him out of it.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” protested Mary.
Emily focused her attention on Mary. She understood what she was feeling. She would feel much the same way herself if it was her son, but she didn’t see the emptiness staring back at her the way Emily did.
“I think this is the only way we can save him,” she said frankly.
Mary turned to James, but James was staring at his hands. “James?”
James met his stepmother’s look. “I think she’s right.”
“Right?” Mary grabbed his arm. “If he goes back into that business, he’ll be exposed to drugs again.” She shifted and glared at Emily. “What kind of psychologist are you anyhow?”
Emily almost laughed, the statement was so like Joshua’s, even the disapproving look on her face was the duplicate of her son’s. “I’m the psychologist who doesn’t want to see this become any more tragic than it already has. When he sits in here, he drums on the arms of the chair – he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The nurses report that they catch him humming, and once one of them saw him playing the keyboard James brought him. It wasn’t turned on, but he was compressing the keys.” She leaned forward. “Do you ever see your son leaving this place, Mary?”
“Of course I do,” she answered, outraged.
“What do you see him doing? Surely you don’t see him sitting in your home day after day?”
“No.”
“Then what is he doing? What’s he equipped to do, Mary? Can he go to college? Is he the sort of person to sit in a classroom and listen to lectures? Can you see him doing that?”
Mary looked away.
“Then what else? Construction, auto mechanics? Would he be satisfied with any of those things? He has a baby to support now, and a child that may have special needs. Just how is he going to do that?”
“We’ll help him.”
“And he’ll be satisfied with that, Mary? He’ll be happy living at home, working odd jobs, and giving all of his pay to Terry?” She stared hard at the other woman. “What do you think the shame of that will do to him? What do you think inaction will do to a recovering drug addict, Mary?”
“Stop!” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. James put his arm around her again.
“I’m sorry,” said Emily. “I just want you to see it the way I do.”
“It seems so hopeless,” whispered Joshua’s mother. “I feel like I’m losing him every day.”
“I know, I know you do, but I think this is the answer. We’ve got to get him back doing what he loves. Even sick and high, he found a way to express himself through music. I’ve heard the CD. It’s brilliant, Mary. I know you don’t want to hear it and I know he hates it, but it’s brilliant, he’s brilliant. I really believe that music is the key to saving his life, and without it, I just don’t see any hope.”
Mary met Emily’s gaze and stared at her for a long time. Finally, she exhaled, a weary, wounded sound. “I don’t even know how we accomplish something like this.”
Emily sank back in her chair. “That’s why I asked James to come. I know that you’ve decided to leave the business and after all these months the other band members have moved on.”
“They didn’t have much choice. They’re also not equipped to do anything else.”
“I understand that, but what about another band? Are there any bands you know who would like to have his talent, his charisma? There must be some way you can get him an audition. There must be a band somewhere that needs a lead singer.”
James shook his head. “Do you know how difficult that’s going to be? His drug rehab has been posted all over the web and the news.”
Emily opened her desk drawer and reached for the CD. She tossed it onto the blotter in front of James. “I understand that, but we’ve got this. If you can get them to listen, they might take a chance on him.”
James reached for the CD and curled his fingers around it. “You might be right, but you’ve forgotten something else. Joshua isn’t going to go along. I don’t know how you’re going to get him to agree.”
“I’ll work on him,” she said with false brightness. She really had no idea how she was going to get him to agree either, but she’d figure out a way.
* * *
Joshua watched the swans meander lazily around the small pond. The last time he’d sat here was weeks and weeks ago before Terry had told him about the baby and he’d tried to kill himself. He turned his wrists over, pushed back his sleeves, and studied the raised, newly healed pink scars. When the shadow fell over him, he crossed his arms, hiding them, and leaned back on the bench.
“Hey, Josh,” said James.
Joshua blinked up into the sun, seeing his brother’s silhouette and that of Dr. Staddler. A touch of anger snaked through him and he wondered what secrets she’d been divulging to his family now.
“Can we talk to you for a minute, Joshua?” asked Dr. Staddler.
Joshua sighed. He was beginning to hate it when people said those words to him. There was no way it was good news. As if she guessed the direction of his thoughts, she hunkered down out of the sunlight and gave him a tight smile.
“We have some good news,” she said with false brightness.
He narrowed his e
yes on her, but didn’t respond. No matter how hard he tried to dislike her, her perpetual cheer and genuine good will slipped under his defenses.
“Go on, James,” she said, squinting up at him.
James also hunkered down in front of him. Joshua frowned at him, pressing back into the bench. They were both acting so odd, he knew he wasn’t going to like what they said.
“I found a band in San Francisco. Four players right now – guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. They’re really good. Cool bluesy sound and some raw vocals. They’ve been playing some fairly large clubs and they just got a record deal.”
“I thought you were going into the police academy?”
James gave a jerky nod. “Yeah, next month. Anyway, the record company signed them with one stipulation. They had to get a defining sound for the band, one unifying voice…” He paused and glanced at the psychologist. “So they’ve been looking for a lead singer.”
Joshua was up and moving before James’ voice trailed away. He stepped between the two of them and started back for the hospital.
“Don’t walk away, Joshua,” said Dr. Staddler, but Joshua didn’t hesitate.
He’d just reached the steps when James said the one thing that could bring him back around. “They were really impressed with the Blazes CD. Actually, they were impressed with you – your voice.”
Joshua came to a halt and curled his hands into fists. He whirled around and advanced on his brother again. “You gave them that CD? You let them listen to it?”
James nodded. “They were impressed.”
“I hate that CD and you know it. How could you betray me like this?”
James flinched, but Dr. Staddler moved to his side. “I told him to do it. I gave it to him. Blame me.”
Joshua glared at her. “I’m not going to blame you. You got your bubblegum degree by collecting box tops, you don’t know anything.” She placed her hands on her hips in outrage, but he ignored her, focusing on his brother. “But you, you knew how I felt about this. How could you do this to me?”
“Because you need to get back into the music, Josh.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. It’s inside of you. Nothing else is going to make you happy. Nothing else has such meaning for you.”
Joshua went toe to toe with his brother. “You’re wrong. Nothing has meaning. Nothing has purpose. I ruined it all – even the music.”
“That’s not true, Josh. Listen to the CD. You’ll see what everyone else sees…hears. It was still there, even then, it was there.”
“Stop saying that! It was an addict’s nightmare. I don’t even remember doing half of it.” He took a step back and exhaled. “I can’t do it again. I can’t chance it again.”
“What’s there to chance? You know the music. You know how to create and play and perform.”
“Only when I’m high.”
“No, Josh, you did it for years before that. You can find that purity again. And this time, it can be better. You’ve got more experience, more knowledge, more maturity.” He came forward and grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “You can be in control, Josh, just like you’ve always wanted.”
“Besides,” said Dr. Staddler, “you now have a baby to support. How are you going to do that, Joshua?”
Joshua recoiled. He hadn’t thought about that. He tried to think of all the things he was good at and nothing came to mind. He’d never been a very good student, he couldn’t sit still in the desks, and he hated manual labor. The only thing he’d been good at was music. It was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever known.
“They’ve agreed to meet with you at the beginning of next week,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm. He knew she did it to ground him, but this time he didn’t focus on her. He was still trying to figure out what he could do for a living. “Just you and James will go. What do you say?”
Finally Joshua looked at her. He didn’t know what to say. He was too confused.
* * *
“They’ve got this really raw sound, Josh, pure, untamed.” James winked at him. “Not commercial in any way.”
Tall, grey buildings filled the street around them. Fog crept between them, sliding past like an ethereal snake. Joshua could smell the ocean, the salty tang and the unmistakable odor of seafood. He felt as if the fog closed him off, hid his anxiety from his brother and himself. He liked the anonymity of it.
“I think it’s your sort of sound.”
Joshua wanted to say he didn’t have a sound, not anymore, but that seemed too melodramatic and he was tired of being tragic. Still he couldn’t match his brother’s rabid enthusiasm. He was afraid.
He hadn’t played in so many months and he didn’t dare sing. Not a word, not a note. What if he couldn’t anymore? What if his voice wasn’t there? It had been so natural before, but he’d damaged so much in his body. What if he’d lost that too?
He rubbed a thumb across the raised scar on his wrist, then stopped when James’ gaze focused on it. Looking around, he let his brother’s prattle lull him into a hypnotic calm. He was a little surprised when James stopped at a non-descript door and reached for the knob.
“…and the guitarist is something, better than I ever dreamed of being…”
“James?”
James stopped talking and gave him a quizzical look.
“What the hell is this place?” he asked, looking up at the bland façade, the grey siding and the utility windows overhead. “It looks like a warehouse.”
“It is. This is where Avalanche practices.”
Joshua quirked a brow. “In a warehouse?”
James laughed. “They haven’t cut the record deal yet, Josh.” He shrugged. “It’s better than practicing in our parents’ basement.”
Joshua made a face. “If you say so?”
James laughed again and pulled open the door. They stepped through into a room that was only marginally brighter than the foggy day outside. A makeshift stage dominated the room and a few folding chairs were strung out before it. Joshua caught sight of the guitarist and bassist before two men approached them.
One moved faster than the others – a stout man with curly brown hair. He beamed at James and reached out, shaking his hand. “You must be James Connor, right?”
“Yeah,” said James, accepting the vigorous handshake. “And you’re David?”
“Sure am.” David’s eyes cut to Joshua. “And you’re Joshua Ravensong.”
Joshua accepted the hand offered to him, but he couldn’t speak. In fact, he couldn’t make himself move farther into the warehouse. James must have seen that he was ready to bolt because he put his arm around Joshua’s shoulder and pulled him to his side.
David motioned the second man forward. “This is my assistant manager, Julian Howard.”
Julian didn’t offer a hand. He ignored James and looked Joshua up and down over the rim of his glasses. “You’ve got the looks, all right, but can you duplicate the sound that we heard on the CD?”
Joshua flinched. He didn’t want to talk about the CD. James’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “I think my brother’s voice is an excellent match to your band.”
Julian finally looked at him, raising his brows.
David smiled. “I think so too. Come, meet the band,” he said, motioning toward the stage.
Joshua felt panic begin to edge toward the surface. He couldn’t make his legs move, and he folded his arms across his chest to hide the sudden trembling in his hands. This was too fast. He couldn’t do this, not like this. He was used to playing with his brother. He couldn’t even think about venturing out on his own, not now.
James could feel the tension in his body and David marked the panic in his eyes. He looked to James for help. James gave a forced laugh. “Maybe we can hear them perform first? Ease our way into this?”
David nodded. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted at the band to play something. He continued to beam good cheer on both of them as they watched the band take p
osition. Joshua felt Julian’s speculative gaze on him, but he refused to meet the challenge.
Then the music started. At first, all Joshua could think about was the desire to flee, but gradually the pulsing rhythm of the song seeped into his body and forced him to relax. He lost himself in the pleasure of it.
Sure, there were rough spots that could be smoothed out – he’d already decided what had to be done with that, and that guitar was badly in need of a tuning, but that didn’t negate the guitarist’s talent. He liked the harmonizing they did on the vocals, but he could see that they needed a lead singer, one dynamic voice to unify the varying threads. They hovered on the edge of brilliance. A small adjustment here and there, and they’d achieve it – especially if that guitar was in tune.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he realized that for the first time in months, he felt calm. He didn’t feel the undercurrent of hunger that always lay beneath the surface, the constant itching of need for the drug. For a brief, beautiful moment, he felt whole again and sane. So damn sane.
Then they stopped.
“Take a break,” David said, turning to James, who gushed profusely at the performance.
Joshua hardly heard them, he was focused on the guitarist. While the others had disappeared toward a table covered in sweets and drinks, he’d taken a seat on a stool and was messing with the guitar. He’d turned the amplifier down low, but Joshua could feel the vibration of it from where he stood.
He moved toward him, drawn by the music, unable to stop himself. He climbed up the steps onto the stage and stopped before him. The guitarist looked up and smiled. He had shaggy brown hair and a wicked grin. With one hand, he gripped the neck of the guitar and offered the other to Joshua.
“Elliot Evans,” he said.
Joshua gave him his own hand. “Joshua Ravensong.”
“I know,” he remarked with another wicked smile. He released Joshua and plucked a few strings on the guitar.