by Lauryn Dyan
She pauses to take in my reaction before going on. I remain stock still, gripping Rickly’s arm to steady myself. Whether to keep from passing out or lunging at her, I’m not sure.
“I’d worked so damn hard in the industry trying to find that type of talent,” she continues. “I’d found it and I wasn’t about to let you fuck it up.” Her use of the f-bomb makes me flinch. She’s never cursed in front of me before. It’s like hearing a parent swear for the first time. Under her perfectly manicured façade, this must be the real Samantha.
“Why? Why take the band from me? Why not let me crash and burn on my own, like you predicted, and then pick up the pieces and make your supergroup?”
She shrugs out of her wet jacket and takes a seat in front of me, laying the coat dripping in the chair beside her where I usually sit. Somehow, it makes me even more offended. She crosses her legs and her spike heel points at me like a vengeful weapon, ready to gouge us if we make a move for the door.
“That never works. You’d have let your frenzy build to a fever pitch, letting the fallout do so much damage to the band’s music and reputation, there’d be no fixing it. I needed you out before the next album. You weren’t writing any new material for me anyhow.”
Rickly shifts next to me, and I feel his arm moving slowly as his hand hidden behind us noiselessly gropes around on the desk. Probably searching for something to use to bludgeon her. I can’t believe we’re scared of this skinny, manipulative hag in front of us. We could definitely take her though it seems I have already underestimated her once and paid the price. Right now, I just want answers.
“Well, I’m sorry,” I spit. “Your victory is going to be short-lived. I’m getting out of this place and back to my band, and you can sure as hell bet your ass is fired and worse.”
She laughs, a real cackle, at my threat.
“Oh please. You exhibited psychotic tendencies when you were admitted. When I’m through with you, no one will believe your stories any more than they did the ones when you first got here.”
I bristle.
“How’d you do it? Make me so paranoid and crazy this was my only solution?”
“Honey, you are crazy. I merely found a way to capitalize on it. We never missed a chance to spiral you out of control. Especially when our handsome scapegoat next to you was conveniently at your side to eventually take the fall.”
I gulp as my blood runs cold at her sudden shift in pronouns.
“We?” I croak. Rickly stiffens. Had he not figured out this was a team effort?
Her words drip with disdain.
“Of course we. I’m not an idiot. I needed help slipping things in your drinks without raising suspicion. There was no way I was going to hang around you anymore than I had to to make it happen.” She reaches into her discarded coat’s pocket and pulls out her phone. “Good thing I snuck in an extra.” She smirks while typing a quick text and then stuffs the banned contraband into her silk, button-up shirt where it’s no longer easily accessible. “My accomplice has been patrolling the halls to make sure we aren’t disturbed and will be here momentarily.”
“You bitch,” I sneer, with all the venom I can muster. I grab Rickly’s arm ready to bash her over the head with my bare hands and make a break for it before her backup can arrive, but it’s too late. The door cracks open and a figure in black slides through.
Rickly says his name before it can reach my lips, the two syllables getting stuck in my throat.
“Davey.” The villain turns and shows his face.
***
I fall into the leather seat in the back of the car and crumple into a solid figure beside me. It takes me a moment to register it’s a person.
“Davey? Where did you come from?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m here to help.”
There’s a brief prick to my shoulder as the car pulls away from the venue into the rainy New York night, Davey’s cold hand resting on my arm.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Hi, Kennedy. Rickly.” Davey greets us with all the warmth of a warden addressing his charges. As his narrowed eyes drift from us downward, the scornful expression on his face disappears as he looks at Samantha. “Hey, baby. Did I miss anything?” He leans over and gives her a brief but loud kiss. Straightening, he places both hands on the back of her chair, squaring his shoulders and spreading his legs, as though he’s prepared to tackle us like a linebacker if we make the wrong move. While he’s not much bigger than Rickly, I’d bet he’d fight dirty. A cold sweat beads on my neck as I wonder how this will end. Can we avert whatever harm these psychos have planned? Who will believe our story if we do? I wish Craig videoed our damn sessions so there was a camera in here.
“You didn’t miss anything,” Samantha replies, gazing up at Davey. “I was just giving Kennedy a recap on how we landed her here. You executed things perfectly. Always managing to slip her drugs at the right time.”
“Thanks, sexy.” He tears his black eyes away from her to glower at me and my whole body grows hot with rage despite the cold of my sweat. “It wasn’t easy having to keep such close tabs on you. Getting entangled in your train wreck of a life. One night, I may have drank a little too much and scribbled some angry note in your bunk. I thought I’d given myself away, but you were too caught up in your own theories and drama to notice.”
The words maybe I hate you hanging over me flash through my mind. So, my memory of a dark shadow lurking around that night was true. It was Davey, waiting to sneak in and declare how he really felt about me. My anger gives way to a deeper sense of hurt as his insult stings anew.
“You were like a brother to me. I don’t understand why you did this.”
“For me. For our future. My future with Samantha, that is. She and I dated long before we were a band, but our relationship ended when I came to Arizona and she stayed in LA to manage another group. When Tracing Stars started playing live, she heard the buzz and came to see us. We needed a manager and you wanted so little to do with the business side of things, it was effortless to slip her in. It was while we were recording our first album that we got back together and realized what we needed to do to become this power rock star couple. You were in the way.”
My own heartbreak takes a temporary backseat as I picture Sonny. How she and Davey got so close to being together multiple times. In hindsight, it’s better she didn’t date this jackass, but my best friend loyalty still makes me pissed.
“And what about Sonny? Were you just playing her?” I ask.
He shrugs dismissively.
“Obviously I had access to you, but it was easier to stay close without seeming like a threat to Rickly if I was interested in Sonny. Perfect way to always be in your shadow and ensure a fall guy.”
“You evil bastard,” Rickly barks, breaking his silence.
“Now, now, I can’t take all the credit. It was Samantha’s idea. She brought me the meds, and let’s face it, Kennedy you were an easy target. I bet you would have ended up here even if we hadn’t intervened and sped things up.”
“I’m not so sure about that anymore,” I murmur, and it’s true. Like I said before, I probably could have used therapy in one way or another, but perhaps I didn’t have to make a spectacle of myself in front of an audience and be institutionalized to get the help I needed.
I don’t want to listen to any more details on how, and why, they did what they did on the road. Now that I have the foundation, I can fill in those blank tiles on my ceiling easily. I have more pressing questions. Thankfully, it’s not hard to keep them talking. They must enjoy bragging, sick fucks.
“So, how’d you know I was getting better?”
Samantha clasps her hands in front of her chest and fanes sincerity.
“I’m your manager. The label and I have a vested interest in your well-being. Your mother gave the doctors permission to provide me with updates on your progress. I may have donated money under Orphan’s name to ensure they were all the more willing to spill. No one’
s saying no to a major donor.”
She looks up lovingly at Davey behind her and I wonder if their feelings are real or a lie like everything else. If they are just using each other as a means to an end or if they truly are in love in their madness.
“I also had help on the inside,” she adds.
I take in Davey’s clothes for the first time. When he walked in, I assumed he was wearing his signature black per usual, but it’s not just a shirt and pants, it’s actually a midnight blue uniform.
“Part-time security guard, Ben here, to serve and protect,” he says with mock importance.
I recoil at the realization that none of my freaky asylum incidents were in my head. It’s vindicating to know I didn’t imagine the creepy whispers, late-night exchange with the nurse, or hate notes, but it’s equally disturbing how close he was to me this whole time. He was in my room for crying out loud stabbing that K in my ceiling.
“There’s one nurse in particular who has a thing for me and looked the other way when I needed a peek at confidential patient charts or a minute with the orderly cart. It was simple, in the beginning, to screw with your meds but they got harder to fuck with as they lowered your dosage and cut things out. That’s why we needed to come and end things. We were just waiting for the right cover.” He points a tattooed arm at the window and the waning storm. His star-ringed wrist draws my eye like a neon sign, and I want to singe the branded skin from his body.
“We’re going to write your second record and go on tour with Davey as lead singer,” Samantha chimes in. “It’s taken some convincing, but everyone’s on board. As soon as poor, love-sick Sonny gave in, the rest buckled.
“Davey can’t be picking up random shifts to keep your pathetic ass in here. Tonight, we will make sure we give you a dose you can’t recover from.” She nearly rubs her hands together in excitement as she reaches over to pull a steel box from her other coat pocket. She opens it to reveal a small vial filled with a light-colored liquid and syringe.
“Rickly, you are an added treat,” she continues. “We weren’t planning on taking you down but it’s poetic to have you two reunited just in time to slip into oblivion together. There should be enough here for you both. Splitting it will ensure I don’t kill Kennedy, not that I’d mind.”
I grip Rickly’s arm tighter as she flips the vial upside-down and punctures it with the needle, a distant rumble of thunder adding to the ominous scene taking shape. We need to make our move. It’s now or never.
***
Sunlight awakens me though I don’t remember falling asleep in the town car last night. I huddle in the back as we idle, ready to pull away from a curb to take me to Newark airport to fly to California. Canada’s canceled. I’m going to an institution. I vaguely recall Samantha explaining it even though the memory is hazy. Like I heard her through a cloud of fog. She perches in the passenger seat now next to the driver and gives a signal with her hand it’s time to go.
Through the window, the rest of the band watches like the end scene of a tragic movie. The somber faces of those I love most separated from me by a pane of glass that feels infinitely thick. Jack, Oli, Davey. I linger on Sonny’s small frame standing in the front as we pull away, her expression a haunting mask of disappointment, worry, and despair.
***
“Don’t even try,” Davey warns, as I shift forward away from Craig’s desk. Davey reaches behind his back quickly and my grip tightens on Rickly’s arm as I wait for him to pull a weapon out but, instead, it’s a walkie-talkie. He turns the knob so a steady hiss of static pours through and then presses a button with his thumb. Samantha ignores him, focused on filling the syringe halfway in the dim lighting. “Officer Nolan, this is Ben. I have a code seven with a hostile patient and visitor in one of the doctor’s offices. Requesting backup.” The walkie gives a beep as he releases the button.
So, that’s their plan. They knew we’d put up a fight so they’re going to use that to their advantage. When those other guards burst in here, they’ll either find us passed out or me trying to claw Sam’s eyes out. Either way, the two real villains come out the victor and everyone will buy their story. All Samantha has to do is slip us her meds before, or even during, the chaos.
A fuzzy voice blares through.
“Roger, Ben. Sending backup. Do you know which office you’re in?”
He glances at Sam as she stashes the box back in her coat and stands to tuck the vial in her jean’s pocket. She holds the ready syringe straight up in her hand.
“Negative,” he replies, into the speaker. “In the East Wing, in an office overlooking the yard. I’m having a difficult time restraining them. There’s another visitor here caught in the crosshairs.”
“Help!” Samantha cries, for dramatic effect.
“Roger, on our way.”
“There,” Davey says, replacing the walkie-talkie in the back of his belt. “That should buy us a few minutes as they check the other couple offices down the hall. Let’s get this over with.” He reaches down again and the weapon I feared appears. It’s one of those nightsticks security guards carry on TV. I guess those are legit. It’s not as intimidating as a taser or gun, but it adds to our growing deficit. They have a needle filled with something awful, a club, and backup charging our way. We’re becoming desperately outmatched.
I turn to Rickly who has been unnervingly quiet and find there is a firm set to his jaw and his blue eyes blaze with fury. While I have no idea what his plan is, his expression tells me he’s not going down without a fight. I prepare to follow his lead as Samantha takes a step forward and Davey approaches from behind her chair, nightstick raised.
***
Samantha takes a step off the airport curb toward the open car door, hand outstretched. She’s ready to take me away from it all.
***
Time. All we need is to buy ourselves some time. The guards are on their way but, as long as we can keep that poisonous needle from piercing our skin, we have a chance. I’m not sure how we’ll convince everyone who truly is crazy here, but that’s a battle for another day. Now is about preserving our minds so we don’t get turned into drooling vegetables who can’t tell the story.
Rickly must have the same idea because, instead of lunging at Davey and Samantha, he shuffles around the desk away from them, towing me along. My fingers are so embedded in his skin, I’m sure he’ll have deep purple marks there tomorrow. I’m not letting go though, not now, and not ever if I can help it. I can’t believe I ever doubted him.
Samantha sighs in exasperation as we shirk along. “Seriously, there’s nowhere for you to run. You’re literally backing yourselves into a corner. Take the drugs like a good boy and girl. It’ll dissipate all this fear and unpleasantness.” She’s talking down to me again like she’s my mom, and bile rises in my throat remembering each time she tried to play that role. It was just a façade. She was the doting parent by day, wicked stepmother by night scheming to send me off to an orphanage.
Rickly finally speaks.
“You’re not getting to Kennedy. Not this time. I should have seen through your bullshit long ago and I didn’t. Now, I’m going to get in your fucking way.” He pushes me behind him, and while I want to protest, I’m not sure what good it will do. There’s a hard resolve to his voice and stance that’s almost as menacing as Davey’s vicious gaze and raised club. Almost.
“You can try,” Samantha says, with a devious smile.
Bam! I jump as a door slams distantly down the hall followed by a clamor of voices. The other guards must be checking the first office. They’ll be here soon. Just a few more minutes. I’m tempted to scream to draw their attention sooner, but I want that needle taken out of play before more people walk in to restrain me.
Davey and Samantha have indeed backed us into a corner. I’m wedged between the wall and a short filing cabinet, Rickly splayed in front of me in an attempt to be my human shield. It’s a valiant effort, but futile.
Suddenly, Davey growls as he leaps from
beside Samantha and dashes Rickly’s left arm with the nightstick as hard as he can. There’s a sickening crack as Rickly doubles over onto that side. He whimpers but doesn’t cry out. My startled gasp is louder than his strangled sound. His hunched frame is still blocking me, his curved back like a table between me and the two assailants. Davey lets out a chuckle of satisfaction at his handiwork. He raises his club once more, prepared to hit him if he tries to stop Samantha who is jolting forward with the syringe.
The next part happens so quickly, I almost can’t process what I’m seeing. As Samantha leans in to prick Rickly’s right arm, he lurches up swinging. There’s something heavy in his hand. A paperweight he swiped off Craig’s desk? The object connects with Samantha’s chin so hard it knocks her clean off her feet and she rolls backwards.
“Asshole!” Davey reacts, instantly, slamming the club down into Rickly’s still raised limb, another deafening crunch making my own bones hurt in sympathy.
I’m still pinned in the corner, but I see my chance as Samantha flails on the floor. I shove poor Rickly out of my way ready to dive for the needle in her hand. Somehow, the determined bitch held onto it when she hit the ground. Another door slams much closer this time and the guards are right next door. Any moment they’ll charge in here. Our best chance is to destroy the syringe and detangle ourselves from Davey and Samantha so it doesn’t look like we’re the ones attacking them. Easier said than done. I can make out Davey and Rickly’s now wrestling forms out of my peripheral vision. Neither of them is backing down.
I jump forward and close half the gap between us as Samantha, now on her knees, shakes her head to clear the blow. My movement draws her attention. If I tackle her and miss grabbing her hand or wrist, she’ll definitely be able to plunge that needle into me on impact. She smirks at my hesitation, sensing I’m not going to make another move. That’s when she makes hers. But, instead of going for me, she throws herself at Rickly, stabbing the needle into his neck as Davey gains the advantage and pins his hurt arms to his sides.
