The Dark Stage: Wylie Westerhouse Book 2

by Nathan Roden

  “But still,” Q said. “The lids snap on, and the handles act as a lock—”

  “You know the thing about varmints?” I said, still laughing. “They’ve got nothing else to do. They make baby varmints and they look for food. Every animal is just like a great white shark when it comes down to it. They never, never, never stop. Don’t worry, Q. I’ve already checked with the feed store. They have some galvanized cans that use padlocks. I’m picking up two of them tomorrow. You want me to get some more birdseed? It’s no problem.”

  “No, no,” Q said. “I’ll put in an order for overnight delivery.”

  “Because we can’t have them eating that plain old, everyday, generic birdseed, right?” I said.

  “My babies get the best,” Q said.

  “You do know that they crap all over their houses, right?” I asked.

  “Shut up, Wylie,” Q said.

  I laughed again.

  “Can I talk to Holly?” I asked.

  “She left early this morning. She went to the castle grounds with Brian and…the others,” Q said.

  “Does Brian…?”

  “No, no, no,” Q said. “Holly knows more about hiding her secret than we could guess. She’s going because of Arabella. Arabella wants to be…close to her brother. Close to where he left us, anyway. She wants to say goodbye.”

  Toby began barking at the window.

  “I think someone’s here, Q,” I said. “Call if you have any news—anytime.”

  “I will,” Q said. “Is everything working out with Elvis?”

  “We’re gonna be okay,” I said. “We have a waiting list for personnel. Your castle is a hit.”

  “Good to hear,” Q said, “Take care.”

  I looked out the window, but I didn’t see anything for Toby to be barking at.

  “Is it potty time already?” I asked him. “Come on.”

  I stood up after picking up Toby’s morning lawn deposit. A huge Mercedes Benz pulled around the corner and stopped right in front of me. Toby tugged at the leash while I tried to hold onto him and figure out how to get the ”doggie-mitt” off of my hand. What happened next didn’t help any.

  A beautiful and elegant lady stepped from the car and tossed her head. Her long, wavy, auburn hair danced obediently into place.

  Oh my God.

  Could that be…is that…Blair?

  Blair was the woman that Quentin Lynchburg met at the Majestic Mizzou Bar and Grill, on a night when my band and I were performing there. Quentin didn’t even learn her last name. They were supposed to meet there the next night but she didn’t show, and he has not seen or heard from her since. Why was this a big deal?

  The self-confessed “hopeless romantic” Mr. Lynchburg bought and moved the Castle McIntyre based on the mysterious “Blair”, and her love for old castles. This was one of the few things he learned about her during their one hour together.

  In the craziness that has followed, did I think that Blair has no part to play in our futures? I couldn’t make myself believe that—and I’ve changed my mind about what I believe quite a few times lately.

  “Good morning, Mr. Westerhouse,” the lady said.

  “Good morning…Ma’am,” I said. “Have we met?”

  Toby strained at his leash and growled.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We weren’t expecting company.”

  “Obviously,” she said. “Please don’t offer to shake hands. Yours seems to be full.”

  Once again I tried to manage Toby’s leash while attempting to remove the glove from my right hand. The lady knelt in front of Toby and opened her hand. She held three “Doggie Froggies”, Toby’s favorite treats. She gave him one and patted him on the head.

  “Are you…is your name Blair?” I asked.

  “No,” She looked past me. “Good Lord. Has someone built a replica of a European castle— in Branson? Why am I not surprised?”

  I finally managed to get the glove off and turned inside-out.

  “Do you always travel with ‘Doggie Froggies’?” I asked. “Those are Toby’s favorites, and the coincidences are starting to pile up.”

  “I will introduce myself if you promise not to try to shake my hand,” she said, looking at the inverted glove.

  I tossed the glove toward the castle front door.

  “I’ll get that later,” I said.

  “My name is Veronica,” she said. “I am Skyler KwyK’s manager.”

  Gulp.

  The Skyler KwyK. That’s not a typo, there in the last name. That’s how the name of one of the most popular child stars in history is spelled, with the ending “K” capitalized. The name and its spelling are trademarked. I’ve heard this was the result of a brilliant “branding decision”. Since that name has been replicated on a kajillion dollars’ worth of t-shirts, lunch boxes, and backpacks, who am I to argue?

  Sounds like a good way to make a KwyK buck. Oh, c’mon. Don’t be so KwyK to judge me…All right. I’ll stop.

  “Sk—the Skyler KwyK?” I asked.

  “There is only one that I know of,” she said, “And I know of only one Wylie Westerhouse.”

  She gave Toby another treat. Toby had granted Veronica an all-access pass.

  “Wow,” I said. “How do you know who I am? This is a little freaky—”

  “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Wester—”

  “Please, call me Wylie—”

  “No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I prefer to keep this conversation on a business level, Mr. Westerhouse. I am here to ask a favor—a favor that I hope you understand will be best for all those involved.”

  “I have no idea what you’re—”

  “Of course, you don’t,” she said, “That is why I am here. Are you aware that Miss KwyK is a native of St. Louis?”

  “Really?” I said, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Skyler is on a ‘vacation’ of sorts, for the next two weeks,” Veronica said. “This doesn’t include today since she’ll be singing the National Anthem at the Rams’ game in a few hours. You see, Mr. Westerhouse, for the last few years Skyler has had a fascination with a certain young man. This young man was a contestant on ‘America’s Brand New Voice’.”

  Gulp again.

  “What…?”

  “Please let me finish, Mr. Westerhouse. How do you think I know who you are, where you are, the name of your dog and his favorite snack food? I have had to endure the child’s incessant obsession for three years. But the situation is about to take on a life of its own.”

  “Am I supposed to inject an opinion here?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily,” she said, “Skyler watches recordings of your network performances over and over. I thought this fascination would fade with time, but it has not. She insists that you two are destined to work together. She also insists that you are innocent of wrongdoing in the scandal that led to your disqualification.”

  “I AM innocent,” I said. “I was guilty of putting my trust in—”

  Veronica began shaking her head and waving off my input with both hands.

  “I am not here to debate your guilt or innocence, Mr. Westerhouse.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked.

  “I am here because Skyler turns eighteen in three days. There will be a huge party at the family estate. For the next few days, we will go over plans and rehearsals for the upcoming tour. That is why I am here, Mr. Westerhouse.”

  “Could you, at least, stop calling me Mr. Westerhouse?” I asked. “Call me ‘Dude’ or something. I feel like I’m in court.”

  She gave Toby another treat.

  “Have you ever been in court, Mr. Westerhouse?”

  “No,” I said.

  “This is an important and pivotal time in Skyler’s career, Mr.—Wylie. She is moving on from her role as a ‘Child Star”, and away from that silly network television show. What happens now is uncharted territory. The transition from an audience of children to a grown-up and ‘mature’ audience is one that m
ust be handled carefully. I am sure that you’re aware of others who have failed to make that transition.”

  “I still don’t know what this has to do with me.”

  “Mr. Westerhouse, do you have any idea what it is like to be the role model for adolescent girls, everywhere? That would be impossible—of course, you don’t. I once received thousands of emails from concerned parents all over the world after Skyler was photographed in a bikini in her own back yard—photographed from a radio-controlled helicopter! Parents were livid that the idol of their little girls was prancing about wearing a tiny swimsuit. She was at home—and in her own yard!”

  “Yeah, that’s a tough one, all right,” I said.

  “Skyler will be a legal adult within days,” Veronica said, “and I have reason to believe that she will attempt to contact you.”

  “What? Contact me? Why?” I asked.

  “She wants to sponsor your career—resurrect it if you will,” Veronica said.

  I was dizzy.

  “Why? But how—?”

  Veronica clapped her hands in front of my face.

  “I don’t have the time or the patience to wait for your school-boy hormones to wrap your mind around this concept, Mr. Westerhouse. What I would like, is your word. If Skyler attempts to contact you I want you to tell her ‘thank you’, and go about your business.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I said. “Why would I do that? That’s not even polite—not to mention freaking insane! I’ve been banging around this town playing to a few hundred—”

  “This isn’t about YOU, Mr. Westerhouse. This is about a young girl who is at a very important crossroads in her life and her career. Under different circumstances, maybe this would not be important. But as things stand today, the name of ‘Wylie Westerhouse’ exists under a cloud of scandal. Any involvement between Skyler KwyK and you could only hurt her. Surely, you can see my logic.”

  “Yeah, I understand,” I said. “I get burned by a crooked manager, so I’m a piece of poisoned meat. It doesn’t even matter now if I get a seal of approval from the President and a blessing from the Pope. Public opinion has already been my judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “I didn’t make the rules, Mr. Westerhouse; though that estimate is probably correct,” she said.

  “I hope for Skyler’s sake that her manager has a better sense of morality than mine did,” I said.

  She laughed.

  “I don’t know if it is a question of morals or just Mother Nature at work.”

  “So, I should have hired a female manager?” I asked.

  “No, Mr. Westerhouse. What I mean is that no one is more motivated and equipped to act in the best interests of Skyler KwyK—than Skyler KwyK’s mother.”

  “Wow,” I said, “So Skyler’s mother and manager have given me the old stink-eye. But you still felt the need to come and scare me away. How did she get this far without listening to you? Apparently you don’t trust her judgment.”

  “She hasn’t been a legal adult to this point,” Veronica said. “As you might imagine from the success of her career to this point, very few people tell Skyler KwyK ‘no’.”

  “But you expect little ole Wylie Westerhouse the Criminal to do just that,” I said.

  “Let’s just say that I dare to dream of that very thing,” she said as she lifted her chin.

  “Because I’m such a nice guy,” I said. “It’s not like I could use a break in my own one-legged, broken-down career or anything like that.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to come here and ask a perfect stranger to do something for nothing. I am prepared to see to it that your cooperation is rewarded handsomely. In fact, it is you who stands to receive something for nothing.”

  “Is that right?” I said. I was getting mad now.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Veronica said. She opened her handbag and reached inside.

  “Don’t waste your time, Sister,” I said.

  “But you don’t—”

  I turned and pointed at the castle.

  “Do you know what that is?” I asked.

  “Castle…Something,” she said dismissively. “It’s not on the GPS. I had to stop for directions.”

  “That’s the Castle McIntyre,” I said. “Four months ago, it stood strong and majestic in the place where it was constructed. For seven hundred years it was a fixture in the middle of the Scottish countryside—until one of my friends bought it and had it moved here.”

  “Really?” she said. “Whatever for?”

  “That’s not important,” I said. “What I’m getting at, is that my friend, who is also my employer, has more money than he can count. I don’t take any money from him, other than the salary that I earn.”

  “I can respect that,” she said. “Do I have your word then, that you will not entertain Skyler’s plans?”

  I shook my head and laughed.

  “Skyler’s not the only one that is used to getting her way, is she?”

  Veronica pursed her lips and exhaled loudly.

  “Well?” she said.

  I stood at attention and raised my right hand.

  “Ma’am, I have no intention of taking what you’ve told me and using it to chase after your daughter,” I said. “Besides, I have more important things to think about at the moment.”

  I turned to go back inside, and then I stopped and turned around.

  “For Skyler’s sake, and for yours, I hope that one day you are able to trust your daughter.”

  Four

  Sebastian Wellmore

  Wellmore Village, Scotland

  “What have you done, Sebastian?” Maggie Wellmore asked.

  “I’ve given you a little something to keep you calm, Mother,” Sebastian Wellmore said.

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Maggie said slowly, with a slight slur to her words.

  “What I have done, Mother is ensure our future,” Sebastian said. “Well, it was intended to be our future, until you couldn’t mind your own business.”

  “Why have you kidnapped those poor people?” Maggie whined, “The whole world—their own daughter—thinks them dead! What have you done? Why?”

  Sebastian Wellmore slammed a wooden chair down in front of his mother. He had Maggie strapped into her own chair. Sebastian sat and leaned close to his mother’s face.

  “This…place,” he spat. “We barely break even; month in and month out. We remain dependent on the pittance we receive from the people who wander these halls with their chins in the air. Well, do you know what, Mother? While I bust my backside day after day to profit from the slightest interest in this castle, do you know what the McFadden family has been doing? Do you have any idea?”

  Maggie Wellmore was becoming more frightened of her son at every word. She shook her head.

  “They are communicating with their ghosts.”

  Maggie Wellmore shook her head.

  “You’ve gone mad, Sebastian,” Maggie said, “I told you that it was unhealthy for you to spend so much time in this place. And now you’ve resorted to…to…Son, you must let them go. We’ll get you some help.”

  Sebastian jumped to his feet.

  “I’ll tell you the help that I need!” he shouted. “The help I needed was having my future secured by something other than this broken-down, money-sucking stone box! But no—that was not to be my fate was it? I’m to spend my best years struggling to keep us from government welfare!”

  “This was not what your father and I planned—” Maggie began.

  “Silence!” Sebastian screamed.

  Maggie fell silent.

  “It makes no difference what you planned, Mother,” Sebastian whispered with his eyes closed. “Someone has to face reality. And if it won’t be you, then it will have to be me.”

  “But we can always—” Maggie started.

  “Shut up!” Sebastian screamed. His trembling hands pulled at his hair and his face. He paused and knelt in front of his mother.

  “I ha
d given up, Mother,” Sebastian whispered. “I worked here from dawn to dusk, doing what I could to bring in people. After that, I drank in the filthy pubs on the other side of the river—where no one would know of my shame. I lost all hope—I resigned myself to a fate of scraping by for the rest of my days. But do you know what happened, Mother?”

  Maggie began to cry.

  “Please, Sebastian,” she whimpered. “Untie me—”

  “I overheard two men,” Sebastian said, “They were out of their heads and full of ale— willing to talk to anyone who would listen. Their voices quivered with fear. No one would listen to them. No one even wanted to sit anywhere near them—except someone desperate enough to believe almost anything. ”

  “And you’ve done things on the word of these men?” Maggie asked. “Why…?”

  “Why, indeed?” Sebastian said, “These men swore that they had seen an entire family of ghosts—floating through the Castle McIntyre. They each told the same story. They saw the exact same thing.”

  “This is crazy talk, Son. You have to let me—”

  “Sure it sounded crazy. But I went with these men on a tour of that castle. The McFaddens gave an excellent tour though their castle is small and in some disrepair. They dressed just like people did hundreds of years ago, right down to their sheer gloves. We stayed at the back of the tour group, where Oliver McFadden walked. We saw nothing at all out of the ordinary. I began to think that it was too good to be true.

  “As the group left the top room of the turret tower, Mr. McFadden held the door open. I was the last one through. The old room was dusty, and I sneezed. McFadden offered me his handkerchief.

  “But my eyes locked onto the stretch of bare skin between his sleeve and his glove. I reached for his hand, but at the last instant, I instead took hold of his forearm.

  “Immediately, inside the room, I saw two young girls seated at a small table. They noticed me straight away, leaped to their feet, and fled—