Ransom

by Rachel Schurig

  Someone starts a rhythmic clapping at the back of the theater. “Ran-som! Ran-som! Ran-som!” The chanting and clapping spreads until the noise is deafening.

  The little hairs on the back of my neck stand. Even if I didn’t know the boys, even if my only connection to this band was as a fan, I’m pretty sure I would feel the same way—happy, excited, overwhelmed, anxious. A delicious shiver runs down my spine.

  “This is it!” Paige yells.

  She has the same wild look, the same uncontrollable grin on her face that I know I do. On her other side, Karen is leaning over the balcony rail, screaming along with the crowd. In this moment, I’m so grateful to be here with these two girls, so thankful that Paige went out of her way to pluck me from my loneliness and obscurity.

  For the second time today, I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Here we go!”

  The music starts before the lights come up, a sudden loud, thudding pound of Reed’s bass drum that sends goose bumps up and down my arms. The screaming reaches a fever pitch as Cash comes in on guitar with a steady strumming chord that hits me right in the chest. Then the lights suddenly blaze, illuminating the stage.

  And there they are, the Ransome boys, my oldest friends in the world. Lennon’s head is bent over his bass, his long brown hair covering his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere. Cash stands front and center, grinning lazily out at the crowd, the ease of his face not matching the intensity with which he’s hitting his chords.

  The piano bench is empty, and Daltrey is nowhere in sight. Lennon and Cash step up to their mikes and begin to croon in perfect harmony. Their melodic “Ooh-la-ooh-la” causes a lump to form in my throat. The opening of “Heartache” always got to me, from the first moment they played it for me in their garage.

  Daltrey appears, walking across the stage as if he owns the place. The crowd goes insane. I thought they were loud before, but now I realize that I never really understood what loud could be because the noise level is out of control. Daltrey’s face is closed, seemingly unaffected, as he sits down in front of his piano. For one brief moment, the drums, guitars, and backing vocals cut out, the band silent. He places his fingers on the keys then looks up to scan the balcony. Just as his eyes meet mine, he starts to play.

  “Lonely, lost, and broken, babe,

  I’m looking only for your face, babe.

  You are my heartache. This is my heartbreak.”

  I know these words by heart, could sing them in my sleep, but never have they gotten into my heart the way they do right now, staring down at Daltrey, watching the entire theater adoring him, knowing he’s made his dreams come true. Am I imagining the pain in his voice? The intensity of his gaze in my direction? Everyone else fades away, just for that brief moment. It’s just the two of us, and he’s telling me something so true and vital.

  Then the band kicks back in, and Daltrey looks down at his piano, his hands flying across the keys as the drums and guitar ramp up behind him. Karen and Paige are screaming next to me, their voices melding with those of the other fans around us.

  Ransom goes straight into their next hit, “Sunshine Girl,” without pause.

  “How are you not screaming?” Paige asks, clutching my arm. “They’re fucking incredible!”

  I can only nod. I’m too busy drinking them in, and I want to hear every note, watch every action on stage. By the third song, I realize that this concert is going to blow all the other performances I’ve seen out of the water. The boys are putting on an amazing show, better than I’ve ever seen them. I can’t tell if they’ve gotten exponentially better in the months I’ve been away, or if the adoring crowds push them to new heights. Daltrey alternates between his piano and guitar, sometimes abandoning both to stride across the stage with only a microphone, his voice so perfect it’s almost painful. Reed is a mad man behind his drum kit, his arms flailing so fast they’re little more than a blur. Lennon keeps his head down a lot, but every time he looks up, a huge grin stretches across his face; whether at the sight of the crowd or from the sheer enjoyment of playing, I don’t know. And Cash, gorgeous, cocky Cash, is a veritable sex god singing soulfully to the crowd, driving the girls wild. I can only laugh when I look at him doing his thing. This is the boy I once teased mercilessly for still sleeping with a teddy bear at age twelve.

  They complete three full sets and an encore before the lights go up for good. Karen and Paige, along with the rest of the crowd, are still screaming. They’ve been dancing and jumping around for most of the night and look slightly disheveled and sweaty. Somehow, it only adds to their beauty. They look happy, energized, and a little bit wild.

  “That was amazing!” Paige yells, grabbing Karen’s arm. “I can’t believe how good they are!”

  The crowd finally starts to disperse as the roadies hit the stage to break down the equipment. I feel a brief dip in my stomach as I realize Levi is not with them. Does that mean he’s coming to get us?

  I wait for the nerves to set in. I’m going to be seeing the Ransome boys up close, probably any minute now. But the nerves don’t come, even when I see Levi smiling and waving as he makes his way across the balcony.

  I picture Daltrey on stage, the haunting sound of his voice, the flash of blond hair as he ducked his head over the piano, the lithe movement of his body as he played, the energy as he joined Cash at his microphone, the two of them jumping in tandem, huge, goofy grins on their faces. Then I picture the look in his eyes when they locked with mine before he started playing.

  I’m not afraid. I’m not scared or anxious. All I feel is desire, deep and strong. I’m going to see Daltrey again. And I can hardly wait.

  ***

  “Well if it isn’t Miss Daisy Harris.” Cash accosts me first, picking me straight up off the ground in a huge bear hug.

  “You’re all sweaty!” I squeal, forgetting for a moment that he’s now an internationally known rock star and not just my slightly annoying but totally loveable next-door neighbor. “Cash!”

  When I start to hit his shoulders, he puts me down, laughing. “My brother said you might be here. What the hell, Daisy? Where have you been?”

  I remember where we are and that Paige and Karen are next to me, their eyes bugging out of their heads. “I’ve been busy,” I say, feeling stupid.

  He’s watching my face too closely. Was he hurt, too, when I disappeared from their lives? Were the rest of them?

  “Too busy for family?” he asks, his voice a little sharp.

  I hear Karen’s intake of breath next to me and realize how serious his words must make our relationship seem to her—more serious, probably, than I had let on. I need to figure out how to lighten this up.

  “Well, yeah,” I say, flashing him a smile. “I’ve been way too busy to follow a bunch of sweaty, stinky boys around the country.”

  His eyes are intent on mine, as if searching for something. Drop it, I beg in my mind.

  After an awkward moment, he smiles again. “Fair enough. Get in here.” He starts to move back into the dressing room when he realizes I’m not alone. His eyes flick across the girls, and his grin grows more sincere. “And who would this be?”

  I try not to roll my eyes. He’s always been such a player. “Cash, this is my friend Karen. And this is my friend Paige.”

  It’s kind of hilarious, watching them react to him. They are both wide eyed, their mouths slightly gaping, as he leans in to kiss them each on the check. When he pulls back, I’m pretty sure Paige is about to have a heart attack. I can practically hear the words screaming in her head: Cash Ransome kissed me!

  “Go on inside, Daisy,” Cash says, moving to stand between my friends. He offers them each an arm, which they take eagerly. “Go say hi to the boys. I’ll make sure your lovely friends get to meet everyone.”

  I hesitate, not knowing if I should leave them. Then I remember that this is Cash, and there’s no way anything bad will happen to either of them with him. Besides, neither of them is complaining in the slightest. I give them a q
uick wave and step into the dressing room.

  “Daisy!” Lennon is lounging on one of the couches, a beer in one hand and the other raised in welcome. “Is that you? Get over here.”

  He stands as I walk over, holding out his arms for a hug. I step into them wordlessly, suddenly feeling as if I might cry. I’ve always loved Lennon in a slightly different way from his brothers. He was the quietest of the Ransome boys, and probably the most sensitive. He was the brother I went to when I wanted some calm, a listening ear, or just someone to be with.

  In his arms, I immediately feel that same calm. I clutch his shoulders tightly, wishing I’d found a way to let him know what was happening with me.

  “You okay?” he whispers in my ear. No accusations, no anger. Just Lennon, being his sweet self.

  I nod against his chest, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Please tell me if I can help you at all, okay? I’ve missed you, Daisy.”

  Thinking I really might cry now, I pull back, not meeting his eyes. I should have known he’d realize there was something really wrong.

  “I mean it.” His voice is still soft as he lifts my chin with one finger, making me look up at him. “Don’t disappear again. Just talk to me.”

  I nod, wiping at my eyes.

  “Why are you making her cry?” Reed asks, coming up behind Lennon. He pushes his brother out of the way and gives me a hug. “Glad you’re back, baby girl. I have a song I’m having some trouble with. I could really use your ear sometime soon, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He looks at Lennon. “God, I hope this means our little brother will stop moping around.”

  Lennon rolls his eyes. “Leave her alone, Reed.”

  “Are you talking about… is Daltrey moping?” I can’t picture it. Daltrey has never been one for moping or feeling sorry for himself. He’s too busy, too full of energy and big plans for that.

  “God, yes,” Reed says, ignoring the glare from Lennon. “He’s been like a pissy little girl—no offense, Dais. It’s really getting old.”

  I meet Lennon’s eyes, but he just shrugs. “Do you know where he is?” I ask.

  He nods to the other side of the room, and I turn. Daltrey is standing against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand, watching me. My breath hitches, my legs suddenly heavy. I should go to him, say hello properly, but part of me just wants to stand there all night, drinking him in.

  Reed laughs. “Oh, God.”

  His words hardly register. All I can focus on is Daltrey. I’m halfway across the room before I realize I’m walking.

  I stop a foot away from him. His eyes are locked on mine, unreadable.

  “Hi,” I whisper, doubting he can hear me over the noise of the room. It’s pretty full, mostly with people I’ve never seen before. I don’t spare them a second thought, though, because Daltrey steps forward and pulls me into a hug.

  It doesn’t feel like a hug from one of his brothers, though. It feels one hundred percent like Daltrey. Before he even touches me, I know what his arms will feel like, how his chest will feel against my cheek. I know what he’ll smell like, how his heartbeat will feel, where his hands will clutch me on my lower back. Hugging Daltrey isn’t like hugging anyone else. It’s like finally coming home.

  The tears that have threatened are coming now, fast and uncontrolled down my checks. “I need—” I gasp, fearing this might get bad. “Dalt, I need out of here.”

  He seems to understand without asking. He pulls me quickly under one arm, my face toward his chest, and guides me to a door on the back wall. I barely have the chance to silently pray no one will notice before he has me through the door, away from the crowd, into an empty, quiet side room.

  “It’s okay,” he says softly, pulling me back into a hug. “It’s okay, Daisy. I’m not mad. We’re okay.”

  I cry into his chest, wishing it were that simple.

  “Come on,” he says, rubbing my back. “You know I hate it when you cry.”

  “Sorry.” I pull back so I can wipe my eyes then give him a watery smile. “I probably got your shirt all wet.”

  He’s changed clothes since the show. His white shirt is clean and dry, except for the small wet patch from my tears. His hair is wet, and I realize with a dip of my stomach that he took a shower. Did he get cleaned up for me?

  Don’t be such a loser. He just performed for two hours. Of course he wanted a shower.

  Realizing he’s watching me intently, I look away, feeling uncomfortable about my outburst. I turn and check out the room. It’s a lot smaller than the one we just left, consisting of only one couch and a small table. “Where are we?”

  “We change back here,” he says, gesturing to a second door. “There’s a shower in there. It’s a little more private than the main dressing room.”

  I don’t know what to do with my hands. I feel awkward and clumsy suddenly.

  “Come here,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to the couch.

  I sit next to him, looking at his feet. He’s wearing worn black Vans, and I’m pretty sure they’re the same pair he had when he left last winter.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You seem like… scared of me or something.”

  I look up into his familiar blue eyes. “No! Of course I’m not, Dalt. I’m just… I don’t know. Feeling bad. I missed you.”

  “But you’re here.” He smiles. “So nothing to miss now, right?”

  I giggle. “True.”

  “So I’m freaking out here a little bit, Dais. You haven’t seen us perform in more than a year, and after your first concert, you burst into tears as soon as you see me. How should I take that?”

  I laugh heartily. “I was just slightly horrified that you played that cover of ‘Long Train Running.’ I mean, the Doobie Brothers, Daltrey? Seriously?”

  He smacks my knee. “We kicked ass on that cover.”

  I shrug, nonchalantly looking at my fingernails. “If you say so.”

  “Come on, Daisy,” he says, his tone mock-serious. “Tell me you loved our show, or I’m going to have to go cry into my beer.”

  “You were… okay. I guess.”

  He throws his hands over his heart and grimaces. “You are cruel, woman.”

  I grab his hands, laughing. “You were insane! Seriously, Dalt, I’ve never heard you guys like that before. How’d you get so good?”

  His whole face lights up, making him look a lot more like his fourteen-year-old self. “You liked it? Really?”

  “Of course I liked it! I’m serious. You guys have improved like crazy. What, are you taking some kind of musician steroids or something?”

  He chuckles. “I think we learned a lot from Grey Skies. And it helps to have better equipment and sound systems, you know? Things weren’t really top of the line back when we played at Dave’s Bar and Billiards Emporium.”

  I smile at the memory of the dingy little dive the boys had played in Stubenville. It seems like ages ago. “It was more than that. More than just better sound quality. You guys were tighter. More energetic. There was just something… more.”

  He looks a little shy. “I think the audience does something to us. Amps us up or something. I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels better up there, you know? And tonight…”

  “What about tonight?”

  He meets my eye. “Tonight was our best show in ages. Maybe the whole tour.”

  I laugh a little. “Well, then, I guess I got lucky when the girls picked the dates they wanted to—”

  “No, Daisy. It was better because you were there. I was better. Because I knew you were up there. I mean that.”

  Heat rushes to my face. He’s looking at me so intently. It makes me feel scared, deep in my chest, but it’s an entirely different kind of fear than I usually feel when someone is looking at me. I get the feeling that he’s trying to tell me something, something really important. I can only stare back, frozen in the power of his gaze.

  “What happened to you, Daisy?” he whispers
. “Where’d you go?”

  “Things got bad, Daltrey. After you left.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him this. I was planning on putting it off for as long as possible. But in this moment, I feel I owe him at least some small part of the truth.

  His eyebrows pull together in a frown, and I can’t help but notice the little scar above his eye. I’m tempted to reach out and rub it with my finger, the way I did with the magazine photo.

  Instead, I close my eyes and blurt, “People started talking shit about me. I know that doesn’t sound like all that big of a deal, but… it got really bad. I couldn’t go online, couldn’t answer my phone. It was constant.” I hear him release a sharp breath and open my eyes.

  His face is tight with anger. “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t.”

  I shake my head. “Please, Daltrey. Let me just tell you what happened, okay?”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you anything because I knew you would come back, and I couldn’t do that to you. But it got… it messed me up. I started to have a really hard time when people would look at me. Or talk to me. I was nervous all the time. Really weird and anxious about stuff. I had to… I had to leave school before graduation.”

  He jumps to his feet. “I want to know who did this, Daisy. Who the fuck… what, bullied you? Who was so bad you had to leave school?”

  “Daltrey—”

  “No, don’t try to calm me down. This is a really big deal.”

  I almost laugh at that. As if I don’t know how big of a deal it was. “Dalt, please sit down. I’m not done yet.” I grab his hand, tugging until he sits down again. “My dad got me into therapy, and it really helped. I decided to go to school somewhere far away, someplace where no one knew me. That helped, too. I’m feeling much better now, and I would honestly rather just try to forget about it, okay?”