My Favorite Band Does Not Exist

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Idea looked from one stranger to the other, then returned his gaze to the barrel of the rifle. The old man was absolutely right about all this being a surprise.

  When he'd entered the bathroom, he hadn't expected to end up at gunpoint. But while walking out the door, he'd found the rifle barrel waiting for him, forcing him to back up.

  In a way, it wasn't such a bad place to be, given that he was starting to feel like he might throw up soon. His stomach was churning with fear ... and the onset of Deity Syndrome. The arrival of the gunman was just the kind of out-of-left-field plot twist that brought it on like an avalanche.

  The old man closed and locked the bathroom door, then hobbled over to glare up at him. "Hey, moron." He smacked Idea's chest with the coil of rope. "Guess how we found you?" He pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his gray flannel shirt and shook it open. Idea saw it was an advertisement for the Youforia show in Maysville.

  "Idiot," said the grinning muscleman.

  "Looks like you might miss the first number," said the bearded man.

  "And the second and the third and the fourth," said the old man.

  "Duuuuh!" The muscleman screwed up his features in an expression of mocking stupidity. "I don't want my family to know where I am, so I'll put these fliers all over the place. They'll never find me now!"

  The old man pressed his shriveled face so close to Idea's that Idea could smell his rancid breath. "What's that ya say, boy? You'd like nothin' better than goin' home to work the dairy farm?"

  "Now, that's nice of you." The bearded man smiled and nodded.

  "Selfless," added the muscleman.

  "Now you done it. I'm gonna cry." The old man pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, then threw himself forward and hugged Idea.

  "Why'd you go and do that for?" said the bearded man. "Now I'm gettin' choked up, too." With that, he loudly hawked up phlegm and spat it across the bathroom.

  "I love ya, son." The old man pulled back from his embrace. "Now turn around so I can tie you up."

  Finally Idea spoke. "You have me mistaken for someone else."

  The old man looked at the other two men and they all grinned broadly.

  "That's a good one," said the bearded man.

  "Hi-larious," the muscleman chimed in.

  "No, no." The old man shook his head. "Let's play along, boys. Why don't you introduce yourselves to this 'stranger'?"

  "All right," said the bearded man. "My name is Planter, and I'm your brother."

  "My name is Lifter," said the muscleman. "And I'm your cousin."

  "I'm Daddy Naysayer," said the old man. "That just leaves you." He hobbled around behind Idea and spoke over his shoulder in a high-pitched voice, like a ventriloquist putting words in Idea's mouth. "Hello, Planter. Hello, Lifter. Pleased to meet you all. My name is Reacher. Reacher Mirage."

  REACHER would have been better off if Sundra had listened to his directions. After she'd raced down the shoulder and off an exit in search of a shortcut to the concert, he had tried to give her the worst directions he could imagine.

  Unfortunately, Sundra had a GPS app on her phone. The GPS had given perfect directions, and Reacher had gotten to Stowe Amphitheater in nothing flat.

  After which, he'd walked right into his second abduction in twenty-four hours.

  A yellow-T-shirted security guard with "Hector" on his nametag had snagged Reacher and the others at a checkpoint outside the amphitheater. Hector's yellow-shirted buddies had taken Eurydice and Sundra elsewhere, while Hector had led him straight to a huge white trailer.

  As Reacher approached the trailer, he got the impression that the sky had shifted from green to blue, but he didn't dwell on it.

  Hector ushered him inside, and a middle-aged woman with silver hair and a pink and black dress walked over to meet him. She wore a nametag that read "Loving Deity." "Idea! I was so worried!" She pecked him on the cheek. "I thought something awful had happened to my little boy."

  "Idea?" Reacher frowned. Was she talking about the guy who'd been outing the band's secrets online and claimed to have created Youforia?

  Suddenly a middle-aged man in a black suit with red pinstripes and tie charged into the room from the back of the trailer. "All is forgiven!" Smiling, he hurried over and extended a hand. When Reacher didn't respond right away, the man grabbed his hand and shook it hard. "Glad you could join us, son." He had a neat black mustache and goatee, and his salt-and-pepper hair was tied back in a ponytail. His nametag read "Vengeful Deity."

  "Thanks." Looking from one to the other, Reacher tried to figure out what was happening. Some kind of joke, maybe? Or did this Idea guy's mother and father really think he was their son? How was that even possible?

  Just then, another man walked in from a doorway in the front section of the trailer. "I knew we'd catch up to you sooner or later." He had oily black hair, brown skin, and a huge hawk-like nose. "You led us on quite a chase, though." His nametag read "Bulab." Reacher thought he looked and sounded as if he was from India.

  "A-minus." Yet another man emerged from the doorway up front, this one tall and silver-haired, with prominent cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and "Scholar" on his nametag. "You threw us off your trail back at the mall, but you posted on YoFace and Yapper that this was where you were headed. All we had to do was wait for you."

  Vengeful shook his head and smiled. "Your mother and I would give you an A-plus, Idea."

  "Absolutely," said Loving. "Not only did you stay a step ahead of Bulab and Scholar, but you turned that make-believe band of yours into a sensation at the same time."

  Reacher stared at her. "Make-believe band?"

  "Youforia, of course," said Loving. "You did such an incredible job marketing a nonexistent musical group that thousands of people have come to see them play!"

  "Might have been nice to get a financial piece of all that." Vengeful said it offhandedly, then shrugged. "Still, you've accomplished something wonderful here."

  "Thanks." Now that Reacher realized who the strangers thought he was, he decided it would be smart to play along and learn more. Maybe they could even lead him to the real Idea Deity.

  "As a matter of fact, we'd like to propose something to you," said Loving. "Scholar?"

  Scholar pressed a button on a remote control and a screen slid down from a slot in the ceiling. Bulab flipped open a laptop on a table and switched on a projector beside it.

  "We propose that you harness the popular support you've created," Idea's mother continued. "And use it to spawn a grass-roots political organization."

  Scholar touched a button on the remote control and a slide appeared on the screen. The slide featured a multicolored bar graph with the title "Youforia Party Projected Growth."

  "A viable third political party is possible," said Vengeful. "And we would be in the driver's seat. Just look at this projected growth rate."

  "Next slide," said Loving. The image on the screen changed to a single-panel cartoon that showed two men sitting at a bar with drinks in front of them. The caption under the cartoon read "Is it possible for a never-was to become a has-been?"

  "You've brought us around, son," she said. "Your running away was the best thing that ever happened to us."

  "You don't want to end up like this." Vengeful pointed to the cartoon on the screen. "I say take this bull by the horns and put it to work for you."

  "You have a ready-made audience pouring in to see your make-believe band," said Loving.

  "Why not give them a real band?" Vengeful adjusted his ponytail. "You could adopt the identity of the lead singer, Reacher Mirage."

  "We'll buy the other musicians you need," Loving added. "And we'll handle sign-ups for the Youforia Party."

  Reacher stared at them, dumbfounded. If he understood correctly, they wanted him to pose as their son, Idea, posing as himself, Reacher Mirage.

  "Next," said Loving. The new slide featured a pyramid emblazoned with the words top of mind balanced precariously atop the head of a grinn
ing cartoon man. "Getting to the top of someone's mind can take a tremendous amount of work."

  "But you've already achieved it," Vengeful went on. "Now is the time to turn that market penetration into a fledgling power structure."

  "Bulab!" called Loving. "Show him the costume!"

  Bulab lifted a garment bag from the back of a chair. He unzipped the bag and peeled it away, revealing its contents.

  Vengeful walked over and threw an arm around Reacher's shoulders. "Now that's a rock 'n' roll suit!"

  Reacher rubbed the white stubble on his scalp as he stared at the glittering multicolored outfit that Bulab was holding up for him to see. It was a jumpsuit with white fur trim and a neckline that looked as if it would plunge all the way to his navel. It was striped with every color in the rainbow and looked skintight except for the super-flared trouser legs.

  "It comes with white boots!" said Bulab.

  "And a red satin cape," added Vengeful.

  "Try it on," urged Loving.

  Just then, a knock on the trailer door got everyone's attention. Reacher sighed with relief.

  "Go ahead." Vengeful nodded at Hector the security guard. "See who it is."

  Hector gave Vengeful a disgruntled look, then turned and opened the trailer door. "Yeah?" He blocked Reacher's view with his broad back.

  "Stage manager." The voice was that of a young woman. "We're trying to find the band's lead singer."

  "You're in luck!" said Vengeful. "Let her in, Hector."

  Hector moved aside, and the young woman stepped up into the trailer. "Thank you."

  As soon as he saw her, Reacher thought she was beautiful. She had big blue eyes, an upturned nose, and chest-length blond hair with a single braid running through alternating black and white beads. Her smile was crooked and smirky, but good-natured. "Like I said, we're looking for the lead singer." She carried a clipboard and wore a headset and microphone wired to a box clipped to her belt. "You seen him?"

  Reacher shook his head, but Loving and Vengeful both nodded on either side of him. "You've come to the right place," said Vengeful.

  The longer Reacher looked at the stage manager, the more familiar she seemed. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that he'd seen her somewhere before.

  "We've got his costume right here." Loving waved at Bulab, who held up the rock star suit.

  The stage manager turned to look at the outfit. It was then that Reacher realized why she looked so familiar.

  Another face was tattooed on the back of her head, framed by black hair instead of blond. The backside of her outfit looked like a second front half; her blouse was white on the front side and black on the back, while her pants were black on the front and white on the back.

  "That's quite a costume," said the stage manager.

  "Excuse me, dear," interrupted Loving. "What did you say your name was?"

  The stage manager reached out to shake hands. Her fingernails were painted with black and white yin-yang symbols. "Eunice," she said. "Eunice Truant."

  "I'M telling you," said Idea. "I'm not Reacher Mirage."

  Behind him, Daddy Naysayer went right on wrapping his wrists with rope. "Oh, we believe you, we believe you. This just happens to be how we treat all complete strangers."

  "Reacher Mirage doesn't even exist," Idea insisted. "He's nothing but a fictional character."

  "An objectionable character, is more like it," said Lifter Mirage.

  "An idiot character," added Planter Mirage. He and Lifter shared a laugh, though the rifle barrel Planter was aiming at Idea's face never wavered.

  "Get the truck," Daddy said sternly, looking at Lifter. "Back it right up to the door."

  "Okey-doke." Turning, Lifter pulled open the men's room door and strolled outside.

  Idea's stomach twisted, and chills coursed through him. Once again he thought he could see the hand of a malevolent author at work, manipulating him with implausible plot twists. A full-blown Deity Syndrome relapse was under way.

  "There's some guy pretending to be Reacher Mirage," he offered. "Maybe that's who you're looking for."

  "There's some guy pretending to be me, too," said Daddy. "He's the one out lookin' for the guy pretending to be you."

  Planter snickered and kept the gun level.

  As he looked at it, Idea wondered if he'd reached the end of his story. Was this the chapter he'd been dreading, the one he'd seen predicted in omens revolving around the number 64? It certainly seemed his death was imminent.

  If so, he had nothing to lose. He decided it was time to play the one card he had left up his sleeve.

  "My family has a lot of money," he said. "One phone call would get you whatever you need."

  "Maybe the family in your head has money," scoffed Daddy. "But the family pointin' a gun at your head is another story."

  Idea felt sweat rolling down his sides and back. "My name is Idea Deity. I made up Reacher and the band for a hoax website. Maybe that's why you think I'm him."

  "Nice try, boy." Daddy gave a last tug on Idea's bonds and walked around in front of him, snickering. "You wish you were somebody else."

  Just then, the door swung open. Planter quickly lowered the rifle, and everyone turned to see who was there.

  The young woman in the doorway had narrow green eyes and a thin, sharp face. Her full lips were painted bright red, and braids of jet black hair fell to her shoulders.

  She wore a brown smock with the gas station's emblem on the chest. She leaned on the handle of a mop in a wheeled bucket of water.

  As soon as Idea saw her, he thought she looked familiar, though he couldn't quite place her.

  "'Scuse me," she said. "Are you guys about done in there? I gotta clean, y'know."

  "In a minute." Planter held the rifle behind him, concealed along the length of his leg.

  The woman rolled her eyes. She was chewing a piece of gum, and she cracked it three times. "Look. You've been in there forever. The manager said find another gas station."

  Daddy was standing in front of Idea, trying to keep the woman from seeing he was tied up. "What's your name, miss?"

  "Eurydice Tarantella," said the woman.

  "Miss Tarantella," said Daddy. "Have you ever heard of a shovel-feel-like?"

  Eurydice blew a bubble. It burst, and she drew it back into her mouth. "What the heck's a shovel-feel-like?"

  Daddy chuckled. "You're about to find out."

  "Behind you!" Idea shouted as he spotted Lifter running up behind Eurydice, a shovel poised like a baseball bat on his shoulder.

  In that instant, as Eurydice turned around, Idea recognized her. He recognized the face that was tattooed on the back of her head, that is.

  It was framed by long blond hair. A single braid descended from one temple, threaded through beads of alternating black and white.

  REACHER felt like a clown as Eunice Truant led him away from the trailer in the skintight rainbow-striped white-fur-trimmed rock star jumpsuit.

  He was sure he looked ridiculous, although no one in the parade behind him seemed to notice. Loving and Vengeful chattered about business, followed by Bulab, who mumbled in a foreign language to Scholar. Hector, the yellow-shirted security guard, said nothing.

  "Right this way, folks," Eunice said over her shoulder as she briskly walked along. "We only have an hour and a half until showtime."

  The group passed other trailers and trucks parked in the concourse under the vast bowl supporting the amphitheater's seating. Roadies shouted and hauled equipment on carts, cutting back and forth across the access lane in front of them.

  As Eunice hurried forward, Reacher leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. "Eurydice? Is that you?"

  "It's Eunice, honey." She smiled. "Rhymes with 'newness.'" She looked away, but Reacher kept studying her features. Her face, with its blue eyes, dimples, and blond hair, resembled the face tattooed on the back of Eurydice's head. In turn, the face on the back of Eunice's head, with its green eyes, sharp nose, and black hair, remind
ed him of Eurydice's.

  Eunice turned the group down a short tunnel leading to the field in the heart of the amphitheater. They emerged in open sunlight behind the stage, blinking up at the mountains of speakers and the huge scaffolding on which the lights and video screens were hung.

  Reacher gazed at the scene in wonder, but not because of the stage setup. The blue sky was far more amazing to him, so different from the green sky he was used to.

  "Here we are, superstars," said Eunice. "Welcome to the debut concert of the world's best-known unknown band, Youforia!"

  "Not bad." Vengeful stepped past Eunice for a closer look at the speaker equipment.

  "Excuse me." Loving also pushed forward, pointing at the nearest tower of scaffolding. "Why don't we put some banners up there for the show?"

  "Not sure, Mrs. Deity," Eunice replied. "But I can find out."

  "Would you, dear?"

  Vengeful marched off along the edge of the stage. "Could you also look into the pyrotechnical situation? I don't see enough flash pots up front."

  "Just a minute, please," called Eunice. "I have a question first."

  Vengeful stopped and turned impatiently. "What's that?"

  "How would you like to be backup singers tonight?"

  Idea's father grinned and hurried back. "Are you kidding?"

  "Not at all," said Eunice. "We've had a hard enough time tracking down the band and lead singer. Now we need backup vocalists."

  "I was in a garage band as a kid." Vengeful smoothed his ponytail. "I kind of had a Morrison-Plant-Daltrey thing going."

  Eunice raised her clipboard. "What's your name again?"

  "Vengeful Deity. Do you need me to spell that?"

  "Nope." Eunice scribbled on her clipboard. "What about you, ma'am?"

  Loving shrugged and shuffled her feet. "Oh, I couldn't. I'm not qualified at all."

  "Okey-doke." Eunice turned to Bulab. "What about—"

  "Unless you count being lead soprano soloist at state chorus in high school four years running," said Loving. "And my lead roles in twelve professional opera productions starting at the age of seventeen."