by Nathan Roden
“Absolutely,” he said.
“I’m not joking.”
“I’m not, either,” Chris said. “I don’t have one with me.”
Chris took out his phone. He touched it, and a second later he said,
“Run with it.”
I heard someone coming. It was Nate and Bo. They were carrying more beer. That’s not all that surprising. Nate and I have a “cosmic connection”.
They said “hi” and sat at the gazebo. Even in the dim light, I could tell by Nate’s expression that he knew what had happened tonight.
“Uh, we saw the whole thing,” Nate said. “In a bar at the Arena.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What do we do now?”
“Well, apparently I was really sick,” I said.
“Huh?”
Chris recounted the whole story for Nate.
Nate stared into the fire and nodded.
He looked up at me. His eyes had hurt in them.
“What about…Holly?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m…I’m afraid to call. What do I say?”
“What are we talking about now?” Chris asked.
“Oh, no,” Veronica had taken a beer from Nate. She put it down and covered her mouth.
“Holly—she’s the girl in Branson, the one who was almost kidnapped—she’s your girlfriend.”
I nodded.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Wylie,” Veronica looked like she was about to cry.
“Don’t—” I said. “Look. Our ‘story’ will be everywhere in the morning, right? Let’s ride it out—and see what happens.”
My cell phone rang. It was Quentin. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I wanted to stare at the fire, drink beer, and sleep. But I couldn’t do that to Quentin.
I excused myself and walked around the building.
“Hello,” I said.
“Talk to me,” Q said. “What in the world happened?”
“I don’t know, Q. The whole thing blindsided me. Skyler’s been acting really weird lately. She’s having a hard time with her vocals, for the first time in her life, and she’s having some anxiety issues.”
I recapped the “official” explanation that was headed out over the media wires, even as we spoke.
“That’s…not a bad explanation, I guess. I don’t know how it will play here, though.”
“How bad was it?”
“Well, I invited over a room full of people—I catered in some barbecue. I won’t sugar-coat it for you, Wylie. She’s hurt. She’s hurt, bad. She was sitting in a room full of people; sitting right there between her parents. She’s been watching some of Skyler’s concert footage lately. I mean, you can’t blame her for being a little intimidated. The girl is a knockout; she’s talented, and she has thousands of adoring fans. The girls in her audience are crying, Wylie—she has that kind of effect on her fans. Even some of the boys.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to do, Q,” I said. “The tour starts in six days. I can’t leave—unless it’s for good. And that would effectively throw the last shovelful of dirt on my career.”
“I know. I’ll get up early and memorize the story that the media reports. I’ll try to talk to Holly.”
“Thank you, Q. I don’t know what I would do without you, you know.”
“I know you had nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Q said. “Because that would make you crazy; or the most sadistic person I’ve ever met. But I’ll tell you one thing—for someone who is pretty much always innocent, you get into some of the most messed up situations I can think of.”
“So, Manager, are you tendering your resignation? I wouldn’t blame you.”
I heard him sigh.
“No. We need each other.”
“I hope it works both ways. We’re starting to feel a little lopsided.”
“Remember,” Q said. “Grammy Awards. Center table. Close to the stage. Stretch limo.”
“Wow,” I said. “I think the stakes have increased.”
“They have. If the drama doesn’t slow down, you’ll have to dedicate the Grammy to me. Your speech will be about nothing but me and your first-born will be named Quentin James—even if it’s a girl.”
“Consider it done.”
“Hey.”
I heard a familiar voice behind me. A voice I didn’t want to hear.
Crap. I was too close to the gym door—again.
I didn’t even turn around. I just kept walking. Until Apollo wound up in front of me. I balled my hands into fists.
“What the hell happened in there?” he asked.
“You’ve got eyes. What do you think happened?”
“I dunno. Maybe you have enough brain cells left to leave Skyler alone. Or maybe you’re gay.”
“I’m not gay.”
Apollo shrugged.
“Maybe you just want to live a little longer.”
“More threats. That’s great. Why don’t you write them all down, so I can refer to them when you’re not around?”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” he said.
“Right. And I can’t sing, either.”
Apollo offered me some suggestions on how to spend the rest of my evening. He walked away, toweling off his endless supply of sweat.
Twenty-Four
Wylie Westerhouse
St. Louis, Missouri
I took the opportunity to use the gym. My brain was still moving too fast, and I knew sleep wouldn’t come for a while yet.
I had just finished with some bench presses when I heard the entry door bells.
It was Skyler.
I sat up.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
She ran her hand along a row of dumbbells.
“I’m so sorry, Wylie.”
“It’s all behind us, Sky. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It happens to a lot of people. It’s not the end of the world.”
She covered her face with her hands, and then pulled down on her cheeks.
“I’m not a psycho. I want you to know that. It’s just that…we’ve been working so closely together—every day.”
I could tell that this was hard for her. I kept my mouth shut and waited.
“I don’t have many close friends,” she said.
“I am your friend, Skyler. I just can’t be…more than that. You have your whole life in front of you. You’ll meet your Mr. Right if that’s what you want—it just might take some more time. You know, maybe the time will come when you can take your foot off the gas a little. Maybe, you could travel and spend more time just goofing off. That would be a much better environment to meet someone—and get to know them. And chances are, whoever you meet won’t come with nearly as much baggage as I have.”
“Everybody has baggage,” she said. “In fact, baggage makes you what you are.”
I stood up and wiped off my paltry bit of sweat. I kissed Skyler’s cheek.
“See? You’re not only beautiful and talented. You’re wise beyond your years.”
Skyler looked away.
“Do you love her? Like, forever, love her?”
“Yes. Since the first time I saw her.”
Skyler looked at me and smiled sadly.
“I know what that’s like.”
I called Holly the next morning. I checked with Quentin first. He told me that he had made sure that Holly saw the news reports; the news reports giving the authorized explanation of what had happened at the press conference.
“Hello, Holly,” I said.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “According to what they’re saying on the tellie, you’re sick enough to be in the hospital.”
“Well, it was rough going there for a while,” I lied. “I’ve had about a gallon of orange juice. They were going to put me on an IV, but my fever came down. It was some kind of short-term bug, I guess.”
“I’m glad you’re all right,” she said.
“Yeah. The show must go on
, they say.”
“Who says that?” she asked.
“Well, they—I don’t know. It’s just something Americans say.”
“In other words, your tour schedule remains unchanged.”
“Exactly. There are more moving parts to this thing than you can imagine. Did you know that they have something called a Seasonal Allergy Map?”
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Holly said.
“Okay. Remember, I’ll have tickets here for everyone for Saturday night. Front row.”
“It should be fun,” Holly said.
“Okay. Great. Well, I have to get to rehearsal. They’re driving us like rented mules these last few days.”
“All right,” Holly said. “Take care of yourself.”
“I love you,” I said.
But she was already gone.
Twenty-Five
Sebastian Wellmore
Wellmore Village, Scotland
Sebastian Wellmore snatched open the cellar door. He stomped down the steps, unlocked the dungeon door and shoved it open. He shone his flashlight on his pathway to the middle of the floor.
“Show yourself, Reygar!”
Sebastian noticed movement. He shone the light upwards. He saw the same type of swirling smoke that he had seen in the antique shop. He heard faint, distant voices fade in and out.
“I said show yourse—”
Sebastian saw nothing else, but he heard the sound of satisfied laughter.
Reygar’s laughter.
“Ah, Wellmore,” the voice said. “I sense...I sense death. Have you been participating in sport—when you should be FINDING THE GIRL?”
“Show yourself, coward!” Sebastian screamed, spit flying from his lips.
Sebastian saw nothing, but he heard the Red Beast’s voice close to his face, and yet distant.
“Coward? I am not capable of fear, puny human!”
“I want out,” Sebastian said.
The laughter sounded again.
“Out? You want out? There is no out, you fool!”
Sebastian held up his hand, where his destroyed finger was taped to its neighbor.
“You risk nothing!” I had one key accomplice! One long-established connection to the criminal underworld! And I just left him dead in the back of his own shop! Someone got to him—the man was trying to set me up! Scotland Yard could be after me at this very moment. You risk nothing, while you expect me to chase down that psychotic little witch!”
“You have come so far, Heir of Wellmore,” the voice continued, calmly. “You cannot yet see me, yet you can hear my voice! You must not stop now—when we are so close to achieving all that we have dreamed of. Remember that young boy—the helpless boy who stood in the same place where you stand now.”
Sebastian stood still, while he heard his own voice echo off of the walls—his voice as a child.
“On the day that I can see you for who you are—I will know who I am, and you will belong to ME!”
“That boy was a pampered brat!” Sebastian spat.
“I have killed. I have murdered to preserve our common destiny. All that I have known within these walls is hatred and anger—and what has that gained me? The threat of prison, or death, or mutilation by a…by a child! I have been a fool! I have been your fool!
“But no more!”
“Hear me, now, Sebastian,” the beast said. “I will rise from this place, with or without you. If you attempt to walk away now, you will suffer more than you could ever imagine.”
“As long as you are confined to this place, your words are empty,” Sebastian said.
The Beast roared, and Sebastian saw a flicker of light rush toward him. He raised his arm in defense. He felt a blast of cold pass through him. And he heard nothing more.
Sebastian walked to the door. He passed through it and left it open.
“Cross this threshold, if you are able!” he said.
He heard a roar from the middle of the room.
The roar faded away—echoing into silence.
Twenty-Six
Holly McFadden
Branson, Missouri
Quentin heard Holly’s phone ring, and he saw her walk out onto the patio outside of the office. He tried not to stare, but he knew that the conversation was important.
Quentin crossed his fingers beneath his desk as he muttered a silent prayer.
He believed Wylie’s story. He knew that Skyler KwyK was a beautiful and talented young lady. But he had spent enough time around Wylie to know that Wylie was in love with Holly McFadden. Working with Skyler KwyK might be the ultimate temptation for him, but Quentin had no doubt that Wylie was innocent.
Quentin had not had a close friend in a lot of years. He did not make friends easily. But he placed a great deal of trust in Wylie, even though he was barely old enough to be considered an adult. Quentin had never believed that character had anything to do with age. He believed that it had to do with how a person dealt with hardship.
Wylie Westerhouse had dealt with more challenges and pain than most people would endure in a lifetime.
Quentin busied himself at his desk and tried to avoid looking out of the window.
Holly came through the door moments later. She went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
“Was that Wylie?” Q asked.
“Yes.”
“I talked to him earlier. It sounded like he had a virus or something.”
“That’s what he told me,” Holly said. “A twenty-four-hour bug or something like that.”
“The KwyK ranch is like its own little city,” Q said. “They have a nurse on their staff. They had a doctor there within minutes.”
“Yeah, he was lucky, that’s for sure,” Holly said. “He even had that pretty young girl right there—looking out for him.”
Quentin squirmed in his seat.
“Yes. Well, I met Skyler. She seems to be a caring, sensitive young lady.”
“I have no doubt,” Holly said.
“She’s done a world of good for Wylie’s career,” Q said. “And it’s already paying off—for both of them. Their singles are—”
“I’m sure that all is well between the two of them, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not sure how much you understand about the music business.”
“It’s a complete mystery to me, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. “Right this moment, I only understand one thing.”
A lump formed in Quentin Lynchburg’s throat.
“What’s that?”
“He’s lying.”
Twenty-Seven
Wylie Westerhouse
St. Louis, Missouri
The next five days were a blur—and exhausting.
Skyler’s album debuted at number one in the nation. The same day, my album climbed two notches, to number four. The buzz was incredible. We had hit albums and hit singles on the eve of the first night of our tour.
I had mixed feelings about starting the tour right there in St. Louis. It made a lot of sense—it was Skyler’s hometown, where she was universally loved. It was likely that her opening act would be treated with some respect. That was the hope and the plan, anyway. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it was possible that I could walk out onstage and be seen as a needless delay. A speed-bump in the way of what the audience had come for—the Skyler KwyK experience.
I had seen it before, at a couple of concerts in Boston. I had seen bands booed. I had seen some receive a sea of “thumbs down” salutes. I saw one band receive so many middle-finger salutes that I felt sorry for them. Maybe the worst thing I had ever seen was when the audience completely ignored the opening band. I always hated to see that happen. Nobody wants to be those guys.
It was midnight of the night before our first show. Skyler, me, and our bands loaded up into big, black vans with dark windows. Chris and Skip thought it would be a good idea if we stayed the night at a hotel near the arena. They
said that it would help to put us into a “tour-ready” state of mind.
But, Skyler told me that there was another reason. Chris and Skip worried that there would be a wall of people outside the gates of the KwyK ranch on concert day.
I was beginning to get really nervous.
It was one-thirty in the morning. I lay on the king-sized bed with the heavenly mattress, but my brain was racing. I turned on the television, tuned it to a station that ran ancient sit-coms, and turned the volume low.
I took out my stage diagrams. I had diagrams for each of the nine songs on my set list. These diagrams had marks in the same locations as the stage. I had rehearsed my marks until I saw them in my sleep, but I was still obsessed with them.
I rubbed my eyes. I threw the diagrams on the floor.
There was no sense driving myself crazy—here in this strange, five-star room. Tomorrow night was going to come soon enough, and I was as ready as I was going to get.
I said my first of many little prayers.
Please, let me not screw this up.
I don’t know how long I slept. When the alarm clock sounded at nine-thirty, I would guess that I had been asleep for maybe three hours.
We would have a long sound check that first day since it was the first show of the tour. Of course, the sound check was mainly for Skyler’s set. The sound check for my set would be only a small part of that. That’s just the way it works—the way it has always been.
There were a lot of introductions made to many of the wealthy and influential from around the city and state. Many of these people were the reason that I couldn’t good seats for my friends from Branson on opening night. I didn’t feel one way or the other about that. I was going to be enough of a nervous wreck for the first show, anyway.