Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “Dude, she banged Connor Black,” Kip says.

  Koi looks disturbed. “Dude! She is my sister! I don’t want to hear that shit!”

  “I do. I want to hear all about it, but every time you would say ‘Connor,’ insert Kip,” Kip says.

  “I vomited in my mouth a little. Koi, I’m twenty-two years old. I have sex. I don’t make it as obvious as the rest of you,” I say.

  It is time I change into another outfit and head home. I hate when these guys treat me like I’m void of all things sexual. I’m a twenty-two year old woman with a healthy libido. Jagger mumbles something about killing a motherfucker and stomps out of the room in a temper tantrum. Why do all these men care so much about my vagina? That is a good question. Let me know if you figure out the answer before I do.

  Chapter 2

  I change out of the little black dress I performed in and then had sex in. We still have fans waiting for a meet and greet. I enjoy meeting my fans in a more intimate setting, but I’m ready to hit the road with Caleb.

  All members from both bands are from Macon, Georgia. It's a large city ninety miles south of Atlanta. Macon is so different from Atlanta. Whereas Atlanta is cultured and progressive, Macon is stuck in the 1960's. Apparently conservative Macon withstood the social revolutions of the decade. At some point in history, Macon had more churches per square mile than any other city in the country. This is the same city that claims Little Richard, Otis Redding, and The Allman Brothers Band. I’m sure the latter threw the conservatives off their rockers. Macon claimed the lives of Duane Allman and Berry Oakley, and their final resting places reside in Rose Hill Cemetery on Riverside Drive.

  Today, Macon has a mixed vibe. There is a great deal of inner city that come with its own set of problems, but nobody has given up on the city. During the warm months you can hang out with the hippies downtown, catch an outdoor movie, a festival, or a soap box Derby. The most beautiful part of Macon is her musical spirit. We don't forget to embrace our musicians and offer many venues in which you can find them. I’ve found amazing talent in my city.

  I grew up on the outskirts of town, and my grandfather's property has a large stocked pond. Caleb and I want to hit the road as soon as possible so we can fish until the sun rises. Night fishing is one of the best past times.

  I finally get to my dressing room, throw on blue jeans, chucks, and a tank so I can set out to find the guys. I locate them in a room designated for the meet and greet. The guys in Broken Access and Abandoned Shadow are already immersed in our fans. I gravitate towards a group of guys who appear to be waiting on me.

  I smile for the next hour. Being famous is a delicate balance. I was a guitar prodigy from the time I was twelve, and I live in a male-dominated industry in an almost exclusive male role as lead singer and lead guitarist. This makes men either deathly afraid of me or brave with their tongues.

  I spent an hour making light of blatant sexual advances, female fan self-esteem issues, and marriage proposals. I enjoy the fans that tell me how much they relate to my lyrics, but the most amazing part of doing what I do is to have a fan tell me what I wrote saved their life. That makes it worth all the bullshit this job entails.

  Once we sign autographs, take pictures with fans, and engage in small talk, we leave. We are surrounded by security as we are walked to the lot behind the venue. Caleb's Porsche is waiting on us. Jagger and Kip are also headed back to Macon, but the rest of the band will party all night in Atlanta.

  I give them each a hug, and the guys do the man hug thing. I’m jumping up and down in anticipation of going home. We haven't seen home in six months. Touring is grueling, and not a great deal of downtime. We have a month off and will spend it doing everything we miss, except sleeping. Hell, we can sleep on tour.

  Caleb drives through the lot and security opens a gate for him. He cranks the stereo up to drown out the screaming fans on the other side of the gate, and once we escape unscathed the volume dulls. We burst into laughter at the extent fans go to see us for a moment. Caleb finds interstate 75 South and we are Macon bound. My grandfather will wait for us. He loves night fishing too. Caleb is rambling on about two girls who spent their time in the front row flashing him. He grins his best boyish grin. He loves being a musician.

  I tease him about me catching the most fish last time we were home. Of course, he says I cheated.

  "Oh yeah? Then put your money where your mouth is big boy,” I say.

  "Name it."

  "Hmm, how about you wear a thong bikini for the next six shows? I think hot pink will work."

  "I will take that deal. If I catch the most, then you have to wear a thong bikini for the next six shows. Cherry red though,” he gambles.

  "Fine. But if you get lucky and win, Koi will throttle you," I laugh.

  "Then we shouldn't warn him. You just strut your hot little ass on stage and let him brood the entire show. That will be fun to watch from the stage when his ass can't do a damn thing about it for two hours,” he roars in laughter.

  I notice a slight bump from the rear of the car, so I turn towards Caleb. His smile drops, and his eyes are locked on the rear view mirror. In one second, I see utter horror spread over his face. He reaches for my hand and holds tight.

  "Henley!" He screams.

  He throws his upper body over mine and pushes me against the seat. I brave a look out the front glass to see what's happening, but the world is turning upside down and then it rights itself for a moment before it turns again. Each time the small car flips on its roof my head hits the top, and the seat belt grabs my torso and digs into my shoulder blade.

  Then it all stops. I’m floating. At least it feels like I’m floating. I don't hurt or ache. I float in darkness. Why is it so fucking dark? There are muffled screams. Where am I? Who is screaming? I can't seem to form words or open my eyes. I panic. Am I dead? I can't die yet! I’m twenty-two years old, please don't let me die! Whatever entity or Creator or spirit is out there, please don't let this be it. Shit, you have to at least let me make it to the 27 club.

  I hear a cough, and then I realize I felt the cough. That must be me. Then my eyes open. The screams are still muffled, and my vision is blurry. I can't see who is screaming. Where is Caleb? I look to my left and don't see him. My body is hanging upside down, and Caleb is screaming because I’m still trapped. My vision clears up little by little, and then it’s as if someone increases the volume. The urgency I hear in the screams is amplified by actual screams.

  "Are you awake? Can you hear me? I see someone!"

  My voice won’t work, but I can see. The seatbelt is holding me in place, so I try to find the release with my left hand but my arm isn't working properly. Placing my feet straight down for leverage and reaching across my body with my right hand, I have to move my body to the left a good bit to reach the release. It doesn’t want to let go. Shit. Closing my eyes, I take deep breath. Please let go. I try a few more times before the buckle finally releases. I have to find a way out of this little tin can of a car. Most of my window is smashed and is lying on the ground, completely blocked by concrete.

  The driver side window is crushed. How did Caleb get out? I lie down I can get a view of the windshield. Glass presses into my skin, and I let out a whimper. The voices outside become shriller when my voice reaches them, but I can't focus on those people. I have to get out of here. I see an opening big enough for my petite body to fit through, but sharp glass is still jutting from the rubber molding. I kick the glass the best I can and turn my face away to avoid getting glass in my eyes.

  I get most of the glass out, but I have to position my body in a painful and unusual position to crawl out. As I place my left arm down for balance, a vicious pain runs from the tip of my fingers to my shoulder blade. I scream in agony.

  The people outside are telling me to be still. They promise help is on the way. I don't know these people.

  "Caleb!" I scream. “Caleb!”

  “Henley!” I hear Ja
gger. He sounds panicked. “Henley, tell me what hurts.”

  “Goddamnit Jagger! I can’t get out of here! Please help me!” I plead through sobs I’m trying my best to hold back.

  “Can you fit through the opening in the front?”

  “I already tried. I can’t put any weight on my left arm,” I say.

  “Motherfucker!” Jagger screams.

  My heart takes over all other sounds. It flips and flops in my chest, and the feeling is odd. Jagger's voice is tuning out as the thumping takes over my body. Lightheadedness overcomes me, and I realize the blackness is trying to take over again. I need to fight it if I want a chance of surviving. I take a deep breath and shake my head through to consciousness. Jagger's screams slowly grow louder.

  "Don't do this baby. Please say something. Henley!" he cries.

  "I’m still here."

  "Oh, thank God. How are you doing in there?" his voice quivers.

  "I need to get free, Jag,” I plead.

  "I want you to push and then turn yourself into the opening. We found a towel to place over the broken glass. Turn until you can place your right arm out of the opening first, but the front of your body needs to face toward me. Okay?"

  "Okay,” I agree.

  I used my right arm to pull myself up to a squatting position. It takes a minute but I turn myself around in the car. I peer back at the opening, and then I stick my right arm through, where someone grabs my hand.

  "Henley, I need to pull you by your arm until I can grab you under your arms. Tell me when to stop. Tell me if I hurt you. You have to push your body with your feet while I pull, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Jagger grabs my hand and begins to pull me from the car. It doesn't hurt, nor is it pleasant. I push my feet against what was before the passenger seat. My body glides through the small opening. As my back slides over the towel a sharp stab courses through my back. Glass! I let out a yell, and Kip begs him to stop pulling me.

  "No keep going. We can't fix it until I’m out of this damn thing,” I say.

  Jagger grabs me under both my arms and pulls me through the opening. When I see his face, I feel calmer. He sets me down on the ground and assesses me. Kip yells at a group of people about a towel. Jagger looks panicked.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  "Look at me. Keep your eyes on mine and do not move. Please listen, Hen."

  He doesn’t want me to see my injuries. Kip runs back to us with a towel in hand, and I break eye contact with Jagger. When my eyes find Kip's, I see his fear. He eyes move to my left side, and my gaze follows his. Jagger grabs my chin before I can see the reason behind his panic.

  "Keep your eyes on me, Hen. Your arm is broken. You shouldn’t see it. There is a lot of blood, but we’re going to fix it. Kip will wrap the towel around your arm and then tape it. It might hurt but he has to stop the bleeding and keep anything else from getting in it. Hold on, and you scream and swear if you need to, just please don't move your arm." Jagger turns to Kip. "Wrap it as tight as you can, man."

  "I can't do this,” Kip declares. It must be bad.

  "You’ll have to wrap it, man,” Jagger pleads.

  "No. I’ll hold her. I can't hurt her,” Kip replies.

  My eyes stay on Jagger, afraid to see the damage to my arm. He walks to my left, and Kip stands in front of me. He pulls me to his chest. Jagger picks my arm up by my hand and an excruciating pain screams through every cell in my body. I quell my scream into a whimper, but when the towel tightens around my arm, the pain becomes unbearable. As Jagger places the last of the tape around my arm, a young guy around twenty-five approaches to my left and he looks glum.

  "They found him. He was thrown across the interstate,” he says.

  I follow his eyes across the interstate to where I know Caleb lies. Without thinking about it, my legs take over, and I sprint across the lanes as quickly as my body can move. I push through the people hovered around Caleb and start my prayers. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay. I find Caleb lying on grass, his eyes closed. I fall to my knees and place my ear on his chest. There aren’t any breath sounds. I can't hear his heartbeat. Okay. It's okay. I took CPR in high school. Remember Henley. It's.... um... it's… thirty compressions, two breaths, and repeat until help arrives.

  I tilt his head back and open his mouth to clear his airway. I count thirty compressions, and my arm screams with every single push. I lean down and give Caleb two breaths and then begin my compressions again. Come on Caleb, open your eyes. I continue ten sets of compressions and breaths when I see Kip lower himself to the ground beside me. When I catch his movement out of my peripheral vision, I turn and nod. I need to concentrate on the count, so I turn back to Caleb and count. Jagger lowers himself to his knees on the other side of Caleb. I don’t take my eyes off Caleb though.

  Please Caleb. Please breathe for me. I need you to open your eyes. I don’t know how much longer I can do this with my arm. Please be okay. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you. Where is the fucking ambulance? It should be here by now. I just need to continue CPR until they get here. They will take him to the hospital and fix him. God, they have to fix him. He will be fine. When he gets out of the hospital we will fish every day for a damn month. Come on Caleb! Fight for me, please! Fight for your parents, our fans, our friends! I can’t fight by myself.

  Movement catches my attention out of my peripheral vision again. A man with salt and pepper hair lowers himself in front of Caleb’s head. He gives me a sad little smile. He has on a uniform, but I can’t keep count of compressions and figure out who in the hell he is. Shouldn’t he be jumping in now?

  “Kip, can you please count the compressions?” I ask.

  Kip counts. I keep pushing on Caleb’s chest and giving two breaths at a time. I can finally give the man beside me a little of my attention. He is just sitting, watching me intently. The patch on the side of his uniform shirt says “EMT,” he should help Caleb.

  “Why aren’t you helping him?” I snarl.

  “What’s your name?” He asks.

  “Henley,” I hiss.

  “Henley, my name is Manuel. I’ve been an EMT for twenty years. I will take over compressions when you decide. Once I begin CPR, I cannot stop until he reaches the hospital, and a doctor determines whether the lifesaving measures have any chance of working. I will take over compressions if, and when you tell me to,” Manuel says.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” I ask.

  “Henley, you are in shock. You appear injured, and your adrenaline is pumping from the trauma of the accident, so I need to ask you a question. Have you looked at Caleb, darling?”

  “YES! I’m looking at him now!” I scream.

  “Henley, focus on his head and neck,” he says.

  I can’t bring myself to look at Caleb. I’m not sure I want to see more than I’ve already seen. I continue my compressions and breaths. No one makes any attempt to speak any further. I realize at this point that emergency lights are flashing everywhere, and traffic is backed up on both sides. The scene around me comes alive as though it were all paused for a moment. Bystanders are watching and whispering, and emergency workers are surrounding me. I listen to Kip count the compressions while I glace around, and take in firefighters, paramedics, and police officers standing around the scene. They are just standing around watching me save Caleb’s life. I realize by the expressions on their faces, they know who I am. They know who he is. I get sad, sympathetic faces from each of the men standing behind me. I have no idea how I didn’t hear the damn sirens.

  I stop compressions long enough to give two more breaths, and as I rise up to start compressions again, I see Jagger’s face. Tears are falling down his face, and he seems so helpless. I can’t see him like this, so I glance over to Kip who is still counting. His face is stained with tears as well. No, I won’t give up on Caleb. I wish I was more religious, and then maybe this wouldn’t be happening. I’d have a firm idea of what I believe in, and
I would know who in the hell is in charge, so I could take my requests… no orders… directly to him or her. Save my best friend.

  I peer over at Manuel, and his eyes are glistening with tears. They haven’t fallen over just yet, but the emotion is clearly there. When I see his tears, I know. I have to look at him. I complete several more sets of compressions and breaths until I find my courage. When I finally take in the man who has been my best friend, my partner-in-crime since the 1st grade, I can’t believe what I see. The right side of his head and face are sunken inward. His neck is severely cut. I can see things I shouldn’t be able to see. Those things mean the person is dead, right? I don’t understand. Caleb was wearing his seatbelt. How was he thrown so far? Why isn’t he in the car? Why did it take so damn long for someone to find him? Why did it take so fucking long for the paramedics to get here?

  Why won’t Manuel help him? I look back at Manuel’s face when I come back up from giving Caleb breaths. His tears have finally fallen over his lids. He knew as soon as he saw my best friend he was dead, and he could not be saved. I can’t bring him back. His injuries are too extensive. As reality dawns on me, the tears form and spill in steady streams down my cheeks. He is gone, but I keep pushing and Kip keeps counting. Everyone around us quietly waits. I don’t know what they are waiting to happen.

  “So, how do I do this? Do I just stop?” I ask.

  Manuel’s lips press together. “When you are ready, you stop.”

  “When I’m ready?” I ask unsure of what he means.

  Manuel slowly nods his head. “Yes. When you are ready to let him go, you stop CPR.”

  “But you said you would take over if I ask you to,” I plead. It is my last-ditch effort to save him.

  “And I will keep my promise. You say the word, and I will take over,” Manuel says.

  “Okay.” But I didn’t move or stop CPR.

  My eyes found Jagger’s beautiful crystal blues. His eyes are puffy and red from crying, but they seem more brilliant through his tears. The things one notices in times like these are almost absurd. Jagger focuses on me with agony in his eyes. When my eyes fall on Kip, he is doing the same. Kip is still counting compressions. Jagger places his hands on top of mine as I continue another twenty sets of compression and breaths. I dip down to give Caleb another two breaths, but when my lips touch his, his skin is cool. It is this moment, right now, I realize he is dead. He cannot be saved, by me or anyone else.