He gasped as her shoulder blades elongated, then unfolded into wings. Wings! Beautiful ivory-colored wings, with feathers so soft and delicate, he wanted to reach out and stroke them.
To his surprise, she turned to look at him, her face backlit by a glow that hid her features and outlined her body. He heard her voice, soft and gentle in his mind as she said, “Come to Havenwood Falls. Seek thy peace within its comforting embrace. You will find her there.”
She reached out a hand to him as if inviting him to join her, but he hesitated, and the moment was lost.
“Where? Who? Who will I find there?” his dream self answered her.
But she only smiled in response. Turning, she spread her wings, waving them back and forth like a newborn butterfly trying to dry them, but they didn’t appear wet at all. The breeze was a gentle caress on his tortured soul as she lifted effortlessly from the ground. He rose, arms outstretched as if to catch her, certain she would fall, but instead, she flew upward, disappearing into the sky overhead. He stood, bracing himself against the rock, searching for her, but she was gone.
Brett woke with a start, his mind still fuzzy and unclear. Where was Havenwood Falls? Who would be there waiting for him? What did this strange dream mean? He’d never dreamt of angels before. Was she his mother sending him a message? Or was she the result of too many tacos earlier?
Brett lost his grip on the dream as the voices of his bandmates entering the room brought him back to the present with a disorienting snap. He grabbed the sides of his head and rested his elbows on his knees as he regained control of his breathing.
Peter walked in, chatting excitedly to Cooly and Sticks about the concert. The three were unaware of Brett’s confused state until Cooly looked over at him, a frown on his face.
“Hey, man, you were inspired tonight,” Cooly said. He slapped his friend on the back and squeezed Brett’s shoulder for good measure before moving over to see if any of the pre-show snacks were left. The table was pretty bare of all but some celery sticks and dip. Making a face, Cooly took a bite before setting the rest of the celery back on the table.
Brett ignored him as he sat up straighter, the last vestiges of the dream slipping away, and the words Havenwood Falls echoing in his mind in a weird rhythm not unlike a lullaby. He tried to find the peace he’d held onto for all of twenty minutes, but it was gone. He couldn’t be mad for too long at Cooly, though. A lot of history was there between the two of them.
Cooly was, of course, his nickname. His real name was Edward Cole, and he was a classmate of Brett’s from Western Kentucky University, where both he and Brett had gone to college. Eddie was to become an accountant and Brett a teacher, but once they’d formed Pink Melon, neither had had the time to continue their education.
The band had become their future. They’d added two local guys, Peter “Sticks” Friend and Harry Williams, and the quartet had played local clubs in and around WKU until they’d struck fire with Brett’s original songs. The songs had earned them a record deal with a small independent studio out of Nashville, Tennessee, and the rest was history still being written.
While Harry and Sticks argued in a corner about the conquests they wanted for the evening, Cooly touched Brett on the arm to get his attention. “What’s up, Brett? And don’t tell me there’s nothing going on. I’ve known you too long to believe that, man.”
“Everything’s fine,” Brett reassured his friend. He lowered his eyes, blinking rapidly as he relived the dream. What did it mean?
“Now?” asked Peter. The three other band members were looking at each other guiltily, and Brett straightened slightly.
“Now, what?” Brett asked, an edge to his voice that surprised him. He was definitely more disturbed by the dream than he’d thought if he was talking in this tone to his friends.
None of the others appeared to want to be the first to speak. Their glances became more pointed until finally, with a deep sigh, Eddie spoke.
“Brett . . . I’ve been thinking . . . I mean we’ve been thinking . . . well, it’s just . . .” Eddie couldn’t get the words out.
“Spit it out, Cooly. What’s going on?”
“Listen, Brett, we all appreciate the way you’ve taken the band to where we are, heck, we’ve got a Grammy Award show to appear on in just a few days, but . . . well . . . ,” Peter said, faltering at the end.
“We want to take a break,” Harry finished.
Brett looked between his friends, confusion on his face.
“The death of your mom hit you hard, man,” Cooly said softly, touching Brett on the arm. “We all get that, but the band is going places we don’t want to go. We thought maybe after the Grammys appearance, we could just take a break. It’s nothing personal. We just . . .” His voice trailed off at the end as he raised his hands in defeat.
“You want to break up the band?” Brett stared at them all in disbelief.
“No, no, not at all,” all three jumped in to reassure Brett.
“We just want to take a breather. Gather our thoughts and all that,” Cooly said.
“Told you he’d freak,” Peter muttered.
“I’m not freaking,” Brett said coldly. He stood and paced in front of his friends, disbelief on his face. “But I gotta say this has hit me out of the blue. I mean, we’re finally at the place we always wanted to be. We have a hit song, a couple Grammy nominations. We’re living the dream, man, and you want to call it quits? I don’t get it.” Brett was warming up to his anger.
Cooly grabbed Brett’s arm and spun him around to face him. “We’re not splitting up the band. We just need a break. We need to regroup, figure out where we want the band to go. We can’t do that if we are constantly traveling. Some of us”—he pointed to Peter and Harry—“have other plans for the band. We need to find our direction.”
“Bands that go on ‘hiatus’ don’t usually come back,” Brett said coldly.
“We know,” muttered Peter. “But honestly, Brett, that’s not what we want.”
Brett glared at them all. “So, who will go solo first?” he spat out, not keeping the anger out of his tone.
“No one. I’m planning to go chase some waves,” Peter said. “I haven’t surfed in a couple years. I just want a life, Brett. Surely you do, too? Especially since your mother’s death . . .”
Brett raised a hand. “Don’t you dare drag my mother’s death into this. Jesus Christ, I didn’t even get to go to her funeral because we were on the road.”
“We know,” said Cooly with a calmness that just made Brett angrier. “But that was what got us all thinking about what we were giving up. Harry is trying to get back together with Tony, but being on the road is making that hard. I have family I haven’t seen in weeks, and Skype conversations don’t cut it anymore. We just want a life again. Don’t you?”
Brett’s shoulders slumped. One of the prices of success was that you had to dedicate yourself totally to the project you were on or it wouldn’t work. Rock ’n’ roll was a hard business, and would suck you dry if you let it.
Looking at his three friends, he could see their distress. They were exhausted. They wanted—no, they deserved—a break.
Slumping into a chair, he nodded.
“I get it. So we do the Grammys and then we’re off for a bit?”
Everyone grinned and nodded, knowing they’d won the battle.
“So what do you think you’re going to do, Brett?” Cooly asked him later as they packed up to head out.
“Maybe go skiing. There’s this place I heard of, Havenwood Falls; guess I might see about going there.”
“Never heard of it,” Cooly said. “Where is it?”
“No clue,” Brett admitted, “but maybe I can go there to forget about all this.”
With that cryptic comment, he got into his car, slammed the door, and drove off without a backward glance.
An hour later when he arrived home, Brett climbed the stairs to his house and gathered up his mail.
A small glossy broch
ure fell to the floor at his feet. Bending down to pick it up, he stared in shock when he saw the words Havenwood Falls in large font across the front. Skiers, tall paper cups of coffee in their hands, invited him to enjoy the magic of Colorado. There was a phone number on the bottom of the brochure for a place to rent cabins.
“That’s . . . weird,” he thought as he tossed the flyer on the island and went to the fridge, where he pulled out a large beer, popped the cap, and chugged the contents. As he wiped his mouth, his eyes fell on the brochure again. Picking it up, he studied it for a minute before shaking his head.
Even though he’d told Cooly he was thinking about going there, he’d only been joking. Now though, staring at the brochure, he wasn’t so sure the joke wasn’t on him.
The Unexpectedness of You
(Pink Melon: One Time More)
Written and sung by Brett Rhys-Falwyck
Life is full of the surprises that bring light to day
We hope for secrets
but we get truth instead
I run in circles, worry about the nonsense
You bring an anchor to my journey
I let you go
I let you go
The unexpectedness of you was always the way
You could walk in a room, filling it with laughter
and leave me with nothing but tears
but I would wish for nothing less
All the agony, the pain, are worth your kisses
I let you go
I let you go
If I ever have the chance to love that way again
I hope it is with you
Chapter 2
Cecelia Eurydice Amundson set the sheet music on the counter and sighed. Yawning deeply, she closed her eyes and fought the urge to close the shop and go back to bed. Running Havenwood Falls Music & More was a labor of love most days, but lately she found herself tired and wishing for sleep, something angels rarely needed.
The dreams had been coming more and more frequently lately, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. The man in her dreams was usually lost in shadow and darkness, but he didn’t feel threatening, just watching and waiting. He also felt familiar, but she couldn’t place who he was, or where she might have seen him before. She was certain he had not been to Havenwood Falls before, though. With his long dark hair, rock-hard body, and sensual mouth, she was sure she would remember him if she’d ever met him before.
His lean body was always poised as if to reach out for her, long fingers and strong hands stretching toward her in a silent plea. There was an aura around him that spoke of pain and a deep agony that made him vulnerable to darkness, but she didn’t feel any evil around him, just a gray cloud of regret and guilt. And hopelessness. It was that despair, she was certain, that called him to her in her dreams.
She needed to analyze the dreams, but life seemed to be on a whirlwind pace, leaving her with no available free time. She ignored the itch in the middle of her back, well aware that now was not the time to sneak away and take flight. Usually when she was troubled by something, she would head up to the mountains near the cabins Melissa Richter rented, but right now, Cecelia knew, was not the time to go up there. Although she could be there and back again in less than an hour, Cecelia sighed and turned back to the paperwork in front of her instead of running up the mountain.
Even though it was early, she had come down to the shop from her apartment upstairs to put away the new sheet music and unpack some of the boxes of instruments, CDs, DVDs, and other items she needed to restock the shelves of her small shop before the store opened in an hour.
Once the sheet music was displayed, she reached into the box of CDs and froze. Staring at the sexy smirk of the dark-haired rock star on the cover of the CD she held in her suddenly shaking fingers, she took a deep breath to still her rapidly beating heart.
This was him.
This was the man who was haunting her dreams. His face, concealed between shadow and light, now jumped out at her as if he’d always been visible. She turned the plastic case over and read the back of the Pink Melon CD.
“Brett Rhys-Falwyck. Well, hello, dream lover.” She breathed out his name, surprised at how easily it rolled off her tongue. Her breath created a fog on the CD cover, temporarily covering his face in mist. His eyes bored into hers through her breath, and she shivered slightly at the unreasonable connection she felt with him.
“I hate when you do that,” she whispered. Looking up as if she expected some form of response, she shook her head in resignation. Signs were everywhere, she knew this, but this one was just a little too theatrical for her taste.
“What do you want me to do about it?” she asked softly. She looked down into the sad, tortured eyes of the man who made millions of women swoon with the sound of his voice, and shivered. Something told her they were about to meet, and that it would be sooner rather than later.
She fingered the delicate silver cross she always wore around her neck, a habit of reassuring herself it was still there. Saving souls was part of her job, and the cross was her tool for doing so. A vessel, of a sort, for capturing dying souls before the underworld did.
“Do about what, boss?”
“Oh. Hi, Glenn. Just looking at the new stock. Not sure where to put it.” Cece smoothly covered her mumblings.
Glenn Johnson was a local high school senior who worked at the shop in between school, practice with his guitar (he played at the local church on Sundays and for special events), and dating. Glenn, who didn’t play sports, had a quarterback’s lean physique and rock star good looks, but was quiet and humble in spite of it.
“I unlocked the door,” Glenn said.
“Where’s Meghan?” Cece teased as she set the CD down on the counter.
“I sent her off to Coffee Haven to get us three something to drink.”
Meghan Gonzalez was his newest girlfriend. She was a pretty girl who attended the local high school and was one year behind him in school. The two had been dating for a few months.
“Perfect,” Cece said with a sigh. She loved coffee, something she should probably stay away from, as it was such a human beverage and she had no need to eat or drink anyway. But she loved the smell of it, and the taste of it was the closest she’d come to heaven here on earth. Her friend Sherry Grimes, girlfriend of local resident Rusty Higgins, said coffee was the nectar of the gods, and who was she to argue with that? Sherry was her dearest friend in town and was quite wise when it came to coffee.
“. . . name’s Brett Rhys-Falwyck, from the band, Pink Melon.” Glenn was tapping the CD she’d just set down.
“Sorry,” Cece apologized, “what were you saying?”
“I was saying this is the lead singer from the band Pink Melon. His name’s Brett Rhys-Falwyck. Some British guy who went to school here in the States. All my friends—the female ones, that is—are gaga over him. They think he’s hot. Not sure what they see in him,” Glenn continued as he examined the CD cover.
Cece laughed. Glenn was pretty oblivious sometimes, so for him not to understand what was making the girls all “gaga” over this guy wasn’t too surprising. To Glenn, this Brett guy was just another rocker. Girls were part of the atmosphere, he’d told her once.
Cece chuckled, ignoring Glenn’s confused look.
“How about we put up the new stock? Can you handle the CDs?” she asked, covering the awkward moment with business.
Glenn nodded. Moving toward the back of the store with the box, he glanced out the window and smiled. Cece followed his gaze and saw Meghan carefully making her way to the shop with three coffees in a cardboard cup holder. Glenn hurried toward the door to open it for her. He held it for the three other customers who walked into the shop with her. Glenn was stuck holding the door and smiling for the elderly couple and young man before he could help Meghan with the coffee distribution, but his attention was immediately taken by a question from the elderly couple, whom he ushered to the appropriate section.
With a backward glance
toward Meghan and Cece, he helped them find their selections. Cece was amused to see his eyes never left the front, where she and Meghan were, for more than a few seconds.
Meghan came up to the counter, smiling shyly at Cece as she handed the store owner a cardboard cup shielded by a sleeve to protect the holder from getting burned by the hot contents. Cece accepted the cup, her fingers brushing Meghan’s as she did so. Cece nearly dropped the coffee at the mental image that light touch produced.
Trying to keep her smile, Cece took a deep breath, pretending to breathe in the coffee instead of reaching out to touch Meghan again. The image was one that disturbed and alarmed Cece, but she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
One of her abilities since coming to Havenwood Falls allowed Cece to see impressions of people—things most people preferred to keep hidden were revealed to her. But most of the images were vague and open to interpretation. In this case, the image came very clearly. Meghan was in danger.
But what kind of danger?
Cece’s view had been of the girl with blood and a panicked expression on her face. Nothing else.
Meghan was wearing clothes similar to the ones she had on now, which were the usual teen attire of jeans and T-shirt and her winter jacket. Not much help in deciding when the vision would come to pass. If it even did in the way it was broadcast to her. Sometimes the visions she thought were dangerous ended up being nothing. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon, of that Cece was certain. What she wasn’t as clear about was what she was going to do about it. She wasn’t here to be involved directly with anything going on in Havenwood Falls. She was only to observe the humans, not interfere, unless specifically instructed to.
Between the visions she was having lately and the dreams of this rock star, she wasn’t sure what was going on.
There was a shift in the atmosphere around the town, too. Maybe she was just acting under a heightened awareness due to her being an angel, but the goose bumps on her flesh refused to be calmed. Ever since that girl had gone missing a few months ago, she’d felt an uncomfortable weight in the air. Nothing she could put a finger on, just a feeling that something was wrong. Usually she could shake off those feelings, but not lately. The image of the rock star on the mountain briefly entered her vision and then was gone as quickly as it came, and she wasn’t sure if she’d conjured him, or if his appearance in her thoughts was intentional.
Rock Me Gently_A Havenwood Falls Novel Page 2