“Good evening, Miss Walker, rest well, you are going to be sorely tested in the next few days,” Herr Platt says ominously.
We are back in the studio.
I am trying to avoid singing the song for as long as I can.
Lois took her leave, apparently, as she’s nowhere to be seen.
Herr Platt and the two goons escorted me here, and then plugged me into the consoles.
“Let us begin,” he says.
“Please sing some musical scales, in order that I may calibrate my instruments,” he orders.
“I am thirsty,” I say.
Hans moves to a cooler on the side of the studio, returning with a cool bottle of water.
“No beer? No colas? How about milk?” I ask, and turn the bottle around in my hand.
Maybe I can spill it on his equipment, and buy some time?
Herr Platt looks at me as if he’s reading my mind.
“The beer and cola contain depressant and stimulant compounds that will alter the purity of your delivery. Milk will coat your vocal cords to produce an unpleasant effect. Water is allowed. Do not attempt to pour it on the consoles or equipment,” he finishes, going back to whatever he’s doing.
“Why? It’ll wreck your shit, won’t it!” I cry, and try to pry off the cap.
Hans runs up and snatches it from me, scowling.
“This is all waterproof, Miss Walker. But, if you make a mess, I will be the one to have to clean it up. Don’t be so mean,” he says. He hands the bottle back to me.
For the first time in days, I burst out laughing. It feels good.
“Okay, Hans, you win!” I say, laughing so hard there are tears rolling down my cheeks.
“What about love?” I ask Herr Platt.
“Hmm?” he responds, his face buried in the glow of the instruments on the console.
“Didn’t you say my being in love will fuck up your project here?” I say, defiantly.
I smile at him.
He barely looks up.
“I can compensate for it. Mostly. It will require several iterations to isolate the proper combination of vectors, but I am confident it is a solvable problem,” he replies.
Son of a bitch is pretty arrogant. Then again, he does seem to know what he is doing.
Prick.
“Please sing the scales,” Herr Platt orders.
I clear my throat. Several times. Hum a bit.
Herr Platt takes off his headset. He pinches his nose, and walks over to me.
“Miss Walker. I am a professional musician, as well as being a member of this team, and a Great One,” he begins, as if speaking to a child.
I roll my eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know how that sounds. But, I’ve also had the privilege to work with many famous and talented people in the music industry. May I tell you something?” he asks, leaning closer.
I feel like biting his nose off, but I resist the temptation.
“Yes?” I answer.
“There is only one thing singer’s desire. Do you know what that is?” he whispers.
“Umm…to sing?” I say.
“Precisely. And, when I am done with processing your voice today, you will find that the end result is far superior to anything you have ever produced in your entire life to this point. Let me demonstrate,” he says.
“Hans!” he shouts.
Hans walks over to me, and puts on a headset.
He stands in front of a mike.
“Sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ bitte,” Herr Platt requests.
Hans breaks into a fairly decent rendition.
When he’s finished, Herr Platt goes to the console.
“Danke, Hans,” he says, absentmindedly, while he twists various knobs. He pushes a couple more buttons.
“Now, listen!” he commands.
Herr Platt presses the PLAY button.
A minute later, I am crying.
That was amazing! It was so beautiful! I couldn’t breathe, the sounds of Hans voice tore into my very soul! Every birthday I ever had came rushing into and through my brain, making me feel every emotion I’d ever had, for each one!
I remembered the disappointment, the gay pleasure of getting a favorite toy, the simple ease of being with Daddy and Mother, and the sad depths of loneliness when she wasn’t there any longer. I rock back on my legs, and realize I am kneeling, almost in prayer.
When Hans was singing, I felt – no, I knew, that he had once had a son. And, that the mother of that boy had left both Hans and the child, to follow a life of drugs. She’d died, and Hans had found the man who had sold her the fatal dose and simply strangled him in front of his gang. He’d fought valiantly, but in the end was imprisoned for twenty years.
By the time he’d emerged, his son had been put into foster care, and Hans had no means of finding him.
I didn’t know how I knew this. I only knew it to be true.
I wept for the man, and his wife, and his son.
My senses reeling, I compose myself, and take up my position in front of the microphone.
I place my headset over my ears, and begin singing scales.
Now I now the true meaning of singing, and beauty, and can appreciate the joy and sorrow of existence, of being – merely by hearing a coarse henchman sing an ode to his long-lost child.
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve just finished the calibration for Herr Platt’s instruments. He seems pleased.
I feel validated. I know that’s a funny thing to feel, but knowing that he can do what he did with Hans gave me a greater sense of purpose, as if I belonged to something much bigger than an entertainment industry.
It made me feel alive – connected to humanity in a way I never knew I could.
“Very good, Miss Walker. Now, I need to perform some additional tests. Could you please sing your song “Twilight with the Butterflies?”
That one was one of my favorites! I’d written it when I was only twenty, and it had made it all the way up the charts to a top ten position, before falling and settling on thirty for seventeen weeks!
I’d won a Country Western award for Best New Talent that year!
I clear my throat, and drink some water, testing the audio and the volume until it was just as I like it.
“Okay, I am ready,” I say.
Just as I begin, the doors to the room buckle inward.
Somebody is using a ram to shove them off their hinges.
I see Brad, carrying a large gun, and Chad, right behind him.
“Don’t shoot!” yells Herr Platt.
Hans and Wolfgang put their hands up.
About a dozen men come running in after them, including a big Jamaican bruiser.
“Hey, guys! Sit down! I’m just getting ready to sing a song for my new friends here!” I say, smiling.
They look at each other as if I’m crazy!
What’s up with that?
Chapter Fourteen
“What do you remember, Cheryl?” asks Brad.
We’re sitting on the deck of some kind of yacht. It’s really big. I think it’s probably Noah or Brett’s.
I sip at my hot tea. It’s chamomile. I don’t really like chamomile.
In fact, I hate it. Why am I drinking it?
I make a face, and dump the tea on the deck.
The twins look at each other, then at me.
“Let’s take her below, and see if we can get Herr Asshole to explain some things,” Chad says.
I get up, and notice the sky is so very blue. It’s almost like magic.
When I look at Chad, I see an aura around him!
I giggle.
“What is it, Cheryl?” Brad asks.
“You don’t have an au-rah! You don’t have an au-rah!” I sing.
For some reason, they frown.
I’m listening to Herr Platt. He’s not really making any sense to me.
I like his voice. It’s funny and old, and sounds like my old school teacher, Mr. Hand.
“So, is this a permanent condition?
” Chad asks Herr Platt.
“Unknown. My experiments have not included time studies. I know the effects are valuable to inculcate a certain, optimistic attitude. However, some people are more susceptible than others to this. Miss Walker seems to be handling the situation admirably,” he says.
Chad looks angry. Boo! Chad! Cool down, bro!
I giggle.
Brad comes over to me.
He stares into my eyes. We have a staring contest.
I lose, because I start giggling again.
He and his brother look funny!
They are wearing these black clothes, and guns, and …
Wait.
Why do they have guns? Guns aren’t fun. They make people run. In the sun. From the gun. I don’t have one.
Oh, I am rhyming again.
I don’t mind. It’s just Brad and Chad are kind. I want some orange rind.
Wait.
Why am I rhyming? Some thing. I must bring. To an end…
“Brad, am I okay? I seem to be making no sense?” I ask, suddenly afraid.
Chad comes and stands next to me, and bends down. His aura is much smaller.
His eyes are glowing.
I reach up and take his hair in my hands, running my fingers through it. It’s blonde, but short. His stubble is scratchy.
“Bro, what are you doing?” Brad asks.
Chad leans forward and gently kisses me on the lips.
My entire body explodes in flame, and I scream, and then all is black.
Chapter Fifteen
Holy shit! What just happened?
I’m lying on a couch in the main stateroom on a yacht.
I feel like my head is going to sail away, up into the air.
The last thing I remember is hearing Hans sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and something about kissing Chad.
Chad! He and Brad are staring at me, with worried looks in their eyes.
“Are you okay, Cheryl?” Chad asks.
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a stagecoach, and an entire herd of cattle, but I guess I’ve been worse,” I reply.
I groan, and hold my head.
“What the fuck is going on, guys?” I say.
The two men start laughing.
“What’s so fucking funny, you clown shoes?” I say, now getting my ire up. I sit up, then stand.
I am a bit wobbly, so Brad takes my elbow.
I shove his hand away.
“I’m fine! Where’s Lois? And that creepy guy, Plattypus or whatever his name is?” I ask.
“Sit down, we need to ask some questions, and we have a medic on board who is going to run a couple of quick tests,” Chad says. He nods behind him.
“This is Walt. He’s going to give you an examination. He’s an M.D. Okay, Cheryl?” Chad asks.
I nod.
The others leave me with Walt.
What is happening?
“Do you feel any pain, Miss Walker?” Walt asks me.
I nod.
“My head, some pain in my left hand. Oh, and every other part of me,” I grumble.
That’s not really true. I feel wrung out, like after I’ve climaxed.
I am not sure I want to tell that to old Walt, thought.
What happened with Chad? I seem to recall him kissing me, then I blacked out.
I am seriously getting fed up with all this passing out!
“Do you remember what happened to make you faint this time?” Walt asks.
“I… think… Chad kissed me. On the lips,” I whisper.
Walt doesn’t react.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Have you ever had any history of epilepsy, or stroke, or other seizures? Any neurological conditions? Hearing issues? Balance? Anything at all like that?” he recites.
“No. Nothing. Am I sick?” I ask, suddenly worried.
Walt smiles.
“No, I don’t think so, Miss Walker,” he says.
“Call me Cheryl, if you like,” I tell him.
“Well, Cheryl, I think what happened was that you were exposed to an intense barrage of an inflammatory aural and visual stimulation, that messed with your amygdala,” he says, matter-of-factly, as if I can understand anything at all of what he is saying.
“Wait, what, now?” I stammer.
“You know how a bell sounds when it’s hit with a hammer, Cheryl?” he says.
“Yes?” I answer slowly.
“So, what makes that sound is a vibration. Now, there are a multitude of other vibrations that comprise the ringing of a bell. There’s the visible spectrum, the frequencies that are produced as the vibrations are passing through the air, and even heat given off from friction…” he states, as my eye glaze over. He must sense I am lost.
“What happened to you is a neurological phenomenon that sent a bunch of information to your brain, that it couldn’t process properly. I am not at all sure of the cause or mechanism, but I suspect that you may be susceptible due to hormonal or other biological factors. I can run more tests, later,” he says.
“No! No, I’m sorry, Walt, but I don’t want to do any tests! I’ve got concerts to perform…” and I stop.
He looks perplexed.
“Ah. About that. Mr. Stone has cancelled the tour, for the present. Due to the unforeseen circumstances of your abduction,” Walt tells me.
I am devastated!
What am I going to do? All those people, all those preparations!
Oh, fuck! Is Noah Stone going to sue me for breach of contract?
I begin to cry, pretty loudly.
Walt seems unable to do anything other than watch, and then Chad and Brad come into the room.
I see someone behind them.
Noah Stone!
Oh, I am definitely fired!
I wail louder, and Chad comes over and hugs me. Brad, too.
I cry and bury my snotty nose in Brad’s black shirt, while Chad strokes my hair.
I don’t see any auras.
I don’t feel like rhyming.
I just feel all alone and like shit, and oh, God, Noah is going to kill me!
We are all sitting on deck again, and Noah and this other handsome man, who looks like a Viking, are speaking about boats.
“Well, I’ve got to leave soon. Bone and Stephan are expecting me, and I need to get back out to sea. I like your yacht, Mr. Stone,” the Viking says.
“I am sure you recognize the design?” Noah grins.
“Sarastar Yacht, a sixty-meter beast named ‘Elena,’ I checked the registry when my crew and I boarded,” Karl Jaeger smiles. I know that’s who he is. I remember the television shows from when I was a teenager.
“Call me Noah, Karl. I must admit to being a huge fan of your seagoing exploits. The Miss T is quite a ship, as well! Those shows you did for National Geographic made me a real fan,” Noah grins.
“You should come aboard some time, soon. We can explore this island off the Galapagos Island chain. Or, if you’re more Atlantically inclined, we can go the Dry Tortugas,” Karl laughs.
He’s a huge, brawny bear of a man. I recognize him from the dinner where the incident occurred. I’d seen him in the company of the man with the black Drover’s hat. Mitchell? Mitchum? Kevin Mitchum, that was it.
Noah was laughing at something Karl had said.
“Well, I’d be delighted to have you and Tinsley with us in recreating one or two of those missions, Noah. Have your people call me, and I’ll let you know the itinerary. I think they’ve scheduled us for next August. Which is, by the way, the best time to traverse that part of the world!” Karl says, winking.
A beautiful blonde woman with enormous boobs and a tiny waist comes up and takes Karl’s arm. Karl gives her a deep kiss, shamelessly.
Then, he turns to all of us.
“Olga, you know Mr. Stone, uh, Noah?” Karl smiles.
“I am of course knowing the infamous Lion of Stone!” she smiles. She gives Noah a look of pure sensual enjoyme
nt. It’s a good thing Tinsley isn’t here to see it. She’d probably scratch this Olga’s eyes out! I know I would…
Noah Stone laughs heartily, and rises, to shake hands with Karl.
“This is Cheryl Walker, the country music star, and the others you know from Black Dog, right?” Karl says.
“Gut to meet you, Miss Walker. I love ze zongs you write and sing. Such a vunderful voice and talent you hef!” she says in a lilting voice.
She leans close and kisses me lightly on the mouth.
“It is custom in my country,” she whispers.
I smile back.
“Why, thank you, Olga,” I say. I can taste Karl’s scent on her mouth. And hers. It’s oddly exciting!
Karl says a few goodbyes to the rest of the crew, and Olga tugs at him.
I think it won’t be too long until they are fucking each other’s brains out…
Noah Stone shakes his hand firmly, one final time.
“Farewell, son, and may the wind always be at your back!” he says.
“Smooth sailing, Noah!” Karl grins. And then, he and Olga go aft.
There are a few moments where we are all chatting about recent events, when I hear the engines of a helicopter starting. In a few moments, it lifts off from the stern, taking Karl and Olga off on their own adventures.
I watch it fade to nothing as it rises higher into the sky, and I get the feeling I will never see Olga ever again.
It’s a weird feeling, and I shudder.
Brad hugs me to him.
“You okay, Cheryl?” he asks.
I like his blue eyes, and the way he smiles. And, his strong arms. He smells fresh and clean, and I sniff the air around him.
Chad and Walt are discussing my symptoms.
“Alpha Team has taken Herr Platt and those other two off to Honolulu. Seeing as how we are about two days sailing from there, I suppose we can all just relax until we get there. The captain has set the course,” Noah Stone says.
“Where are we, then?” I ask. I have no idea. Ever since I was kidnapped, no one ever let me know!
Bodyguards: A Twin Menage Romance (Mandarin Connection Book 9) Page 8