The Dark Stage: Wylie Westerhouse Book 2

by Nathan Roden

  “Well, obviously,” I said. “I’ve mesmerized crowds of almost three hundred right here in Branson. Well, I used to—before I was blackballed.”

  “You were blackballed after punching people in the mouth for your encore,” she said. “That is what everyone says.”

  I stared at the floor and rocked back and forth for a moment.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I had no preparation for dealing with hecklers who believe that I tried to cheat my way to the top of ‘Brand New Voice’. I hired a manager who ruined my career, and he almost ruined the rest of my life at the same time. I was busting my butt to try and make it on my own, so yeah—I find it a little bit difficult to ignore the jerks that try to humiliate me in front of an audience. Guilty as charged.”

  “They haven’t found your manager?” she asked.

  “They found him. Once,” I said. “He’s been able to avoid extradition. His attorney convinced the Canadian authorities that he had the contractual right to do what he did to me financially. The television network has lost interest in pursuing him. He has no money for them to take, and he’s not worth what it would cost to run him down.”

  “But they were all over the media—shaking their fists and swearing that they would bring him in,” Skyler said.

  “That was months ago,” I said, “Back when they were determined to make an example of him. Of us. But every day that went by, the story lost momentum and died. The media went on to the ‘next thing’ and I wound up here. The whole thing didn’t matter anymore…to anyone.”

  “It matters to me,” she said.

  She blinked her big blue eyes. She was beautiful happy. And she was beautiful sad.

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s good to know that I have at least one fan. A really, really, talented and famous fan.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Wylie,” she said.

  Toby jumped down from the sofa and barked once at Skyler. Skyler got down on all fours on the floor in front of him. Toby barked again. And then Skyler barked. She took Toby’s head in her hands and pushed him gently away. Toby backed up and ran in two tight circles.

  Man. The only way I can get Toby to do that is by making popcorn. Skyler pushed Toby backward and he ran back to her. She pretended to be “tackled”. Toby attacked her while she was down, licking her face. She dodged to both sides giggling and rolling back and forth while she pushed Toby’s head. Toby was relentless, and he’s pretty heavy. Skyler threw her arms around Toby’s neck and hugged him. Her laughing slowed down as did her rocking motion, and soon she was rocking him like a baby.

  Oh, yes. Toby absolutely hated this.

  Skyler finally rolled Toby off of her, held his head in her hands, and kissed the bridge of his nose. She moved back to the sofa and Toby lay across her feet. He was in love.

  “He could use a haircut,” Skyler said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “We don’t do that too often. I’m not a big fan of what most people do to his hair.”

  “I think most stylists know the Westie cut,” she said.

  I laughed. “You’re right about that. They always ask me how I want him cut, but then they do the Westie cut anyway. And then I can’t look at him without laughing for weeks. I think it gives him a complex.”

  “What’s wrong with the Westie cut?” Skyler asked. “I think it’s adorable.”

  “Not exactly a manly look,” I said.

  “Oh,” Skyler said, nodding her head. “This is a manly man’s house,” she said in a gruff voice. “Full of manly men.”

  “So you’re an expert on Westies, as well as being ‘America’s Princess’?” I asked.

  “I’m not an expert, but I do have one,” Skyler said.

  “You don’t say?” I said. “Boy or girl?”

  “Gracie is my baby,” Skyler said. “She’s three now.”

  “So here you are in my house and we have the same kind of dog,” I said. “The coincidences are amazing.”

  “Gracie is not a coincidence,” she said.

  “No?”

  Skyler took her phone from her belt and swiped the screen a few times. She handed the phone to me.

  The picture came from the publicity photo collection that my mother, my aunt Jessica, and I put together for “Brand New Voice”.

  It was a picture of Toby and me.

  “Well, that does it, then,” I said.

  “Does what?” Skyler asked.

  “I am now fifty percent confused and fifty percent uncomfortable,” I said.

  Skyler laughed.

  “You’re very funny, Wylie Westerhouse,” she said, “But I knew that already.”

  The “uncomfortable” part was pulling into the lead.

  “If you had my life,” she said. “You would now have only ten percent of your life left unaccounted for.”

  “At this moment, that ten percent would be called ‘hungry’,“ I said. “I haven’t eaten since this morning. Of course, my dreams of having a pizza delivered by mistake have gone up in smoke.”

  “I’m sorry that I’ve brought you nothing but disappointment, Mr. Westerhouse,” Skyler said with a grin.

  “You could take me to dinner, to make it up to me,” I said before I thought about what I was saying, “You know—for my immense disappointment.” I made myself shut up, finally.

  Skyler’s smile faded.

  “It’s not that simple—not in my world,” she said. She looked at her watch. “I’m AWOL at the moment, and my ‘accomplices’ can only aid me in being away for a limited time.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Would it be—” she said.

  “Happy birthday, by the way,” I said.

  Her eyes sparkled. “How did you know?”

  She had me there. I almost stepped right off of a cliff.

  “It was on the news this morning,” I lied. “Welcome to adulthood, I guess. Wow. That was awkward…”

  “That’s what this time of life is all about, isn’t it? Being awkward?” she asked.

  “Yeah, mostly,” I said. “Most kids can’t wait to be grown-up. Sometimes it happens too fast.”

  “Did you ever have to fire anyone? When you were at the music store?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. I wasn’t going to ask her how she knew about my former job. She carries pictures of me.

  “I once had an argument with a boy on the show,” she said, in almost a whisper. “It was over something stupid. I screamed to my mother that I wanted him fired. He was sent home that same day. I was nine. Nine years old, and I throttled a boy’s career like I was a CEO.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Will you be free tomorrow?” Skyler asked. “I have a proposal for you.”

  “Tomorrow looks pretty good,” I said, trying to remain calm. “I have about a half day’s work at the Castle. I’m free after one.”

  “One, it is, then,” Skyler said. She held up her phone and tapped the screen before putting the phone to her ear.

  “I’m ready,” she said. She returned the phone to her belt. She dropped to one knee and played kissy-face with Toby again, all while assuring him how wonderful and cute and handsome he was.

  The bar for paying more attention to Toby has been raised about a dozen notches. Great.

  I heard a low growl from outside, followed by the sound of two car doors closing. I crossed the floor toward the window.

  “That will be my accomplices,” Skyler said. “I’ll have a straight shot to the ranch from here, so I can send the pizza hauler back to its rightful owner. Say, could I use your…?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. Down the hall, second door on the left.”

  I pulled back the curtain in time to see the pizza delivery car drive away. In its place—a champagne colored Porsche 911 Turbo.

  It had a broken mirror, hanging against the door by its cable. The hood was painted primer red, and it was filthy.

  Oh, c’mon. It was in perfect condition, and w
orth more than my house.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wylie,” Skyler said from behind me. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you with dinner.”

  “I’m not that hungry anymore,” I said nonchalantly. I stretched my arms and faked a yawn. “I think I’ll just call it a night—just another typical, lazy day here at Casa Westerhouse.”

  Skyler opened the door and turned. She opened her mouth, and I heard the seasoned, sultry, and immaculately-trained singing voice that has endeared Skyler KwyK to millions of people around the world.

  “What can make me shiver, make we weak in the knees? This tall, dark, and sexy boy who is lyin’ to me—? Help me Doctor Heartbreak!”

  Wow. Skyler KwyK. In my living room. Singing “Dr. Heartbreak”.

  To me. About me.

  Gulp.

  “Tomorrow at one. Goodnight, Wylie,” she said.

  “Have a safe trip home,” I said, waving. This made me feel old. “I don’t remember what the speed limit is, but somewhere under two hundred, I would guess.”

  Skyler motioned toward the Porsche with a toss of her head.

  “She gets a little squirrelly over one-eighty.”

  “Of course,” I said. “That’s a glaring weakness in that model. Everybody knows that.”

  I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a gallon-sized freezer bag. I went into the bathroom and felt the hand towel hanging by the sink. It was damp. I put the towel and the bar of soap into the freezer bag, zipped it up, and placed it on the top shelf of my closet.

  I’ve known some lean times in my life. As anyone that has known this feeling can tell you, you never, ever forget it.

  Rain or shine, sink or swim, hell or high-water; a bar of soap and hand towel used by Skyler KwyK could be worth a couple of month’s rent in a pinch.

  Six

  Sebastian Wellmore

  Wellmore Village, Scotland

  Sebastian Wellmore spit out his morning tea. He almost flipped over backward on his stool just seconds after turning on the morning news. He rushed to stand directly in front of the television, where he watched a remote reporter broadcasting from a commercial storage facility. The facility that was less than a hundred kilometers from the Castle Wellmore. The next report came from the area’s Chief Constable. The final report came from a reporter interviewing the police in London.

  When the broadcast returned to the studio anchorman, he ended the news segment.

  “Gwendoline and Oliver McFadden were the owners of Castle McIntyre, a former area tourist attraction that was recently sold, and demolished,” the anchor said. He paused momentarily and put a finger to his earpiece. “I beg your pardon. The castle was sold and disassembled, apparently with the intent of relocation. After the break—”

  A burning pain in Sebastian’s left hand brought his attention back to where he stood. He had sloshed his morning tea onto his hand and wrist. He fought to gain control of the cup, gave up, and flung the cup at the wall beside his tellie. He threw the remote control at the screen, sending a shower of sparks in every direction.

  Sebastian’s eyes darted left and right; his shoulders heaved with an unhinged anxiety. He walked to his office. He took down the large oil painting of his family from the wall behind his desk. His parents had commissioned the painting for thousands of pounds that they did not have to spare. Sebastian’s hand slipped and the heavy frame dropped to the floor, sending a horizontal crack across the glass from one edge to the other.

  With trembling hands, Sebastian entered the combination to the safe. He reached inside and took out a cell phone. He sat down at his desk.

  The cell phone’s battery was dead. Sebastian unlocked his top desk drawer. The charging cable was already attached to an electrical outlet in anticipation of this situation. Sebastian dialed a number from memory, let it ring once, and disconnected. Fifty seconds later, the phone buzzed.

  “You will need to be at the airport in one hour,” Sebastian said.

  “Uh, I’m not sure we can make it in an hour, Boss,” Cyrus Findlay said. “Scottie went out on a fishin’ charter this morning.”

  Sebastian slammed his open hand onto the surface of his desk.

  “You are living cost-free on a tropical island at my expense, if I might remind you, Mr. Findlay,” Sebastian seethed. “There were very simple terms laid out in this arrangement if you recall.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cyrus said, “Look, Mr. Wellmore, this is just one of those ‘Murphy Law’ things, you know what I mean? We’ve been here for weeks without hearin’ from you, so…”

  “So you’ve decided that it is permissible to ignore my simplest instructions, is that it?” Sebastian said.

  “No, no, Boss,” Cyrus said. “Nothin’ like that. You’ve been real good to us. I’ll check with the charter people—tell them there’s an emergency or somethin’.”

  “That would be wise, Mr. Findlay,” Sebastian said. His pulse was returning to normal, as it always did after he slipped into his role as The Domineering Man in Charge. “Might I remind you that when I met you and your friend, one of you was a part-time maintenance man, and the other was unemployed.”

  “No, hey,” Cyrus said. “You been real good to us, Boss. I’ll get Scottie back here quick, you can count on it.”

  “I do count on it,” Sebastian said. “The next thing I want you to do is to watch today’s news reports that concern our mutual…friends.”

  “What?” Cyrus whispered the question. “Has someone—”

  “I did not mean that you are to think, or form an opinion, Mr. Findlay,” Sebastian said. “I merely want you informed enough that you do not soil yourself in the middle of the airport when you learn of this information. Am I understood?”

  “Yeah, sure thing, Boss,” Cyrus said.

  “Please tell me that you have the passports and identification ready,” Sebastian said.

  “Yeah,” Cyrus said. “You bet. All up to snuff. We’ve been practicing with the names and everything.”

  “Good,” Sebastian said. “You will be flying into Inverness. I will signal the phone at approximately midnight tomorrow to arrange a rendezvous.”

  “Inverness?” Cyrus said. “That’s pretty far out. You want we should take the train?”

  Sebastian pulled the phone away from his ear and scowled at it.

  “As fate would have it, the two of you are now ‘partners’ in a consortium that will revolutionize the world. Unfortunately, until my mission is complete, all steps in the process will be interpreted by the authorities, as ‘criminal’,” Sebastian said with a sigh. “You will occasionally be forced to think for yourself. Just do not do so in my presence.”

  “Got it, Boss,” Cyrus said.

  “Tomorrow night,” Sebastian said. He ended the call.

  Cyrus held the phone to his ear long enough to be certain that Sebastian was gone.

  “Pompous wanker,” Cyrus spat.

  Cyrus stood on the dock as the small fishing trawler pulled alongside. Scottie Rose jumped onto the dock as soon as the boat was close enough.

  “You heard from Well—?” Scottie started to say.

  “Sh!” Cyrus said quickly. “Do you have gear on board?”

  “Just a change of clothes and my sea-sick pills,” Scottie said.

  “Leave ‘em,” Cyrus said. “We’ve got to get to the airport. Now.”

  Scottie peeked over his shoulder. The two-man crew was concerned with tying up the boat. They were happier than usual. They were ordered back to port early, and the night’s drinking would be getting an early start.

  “There’s news about Larrimore, then?” Scottie said.

  “Larrimore’s dead,” Cyrus whispered as he turned to leave the dock.

  “So we’re goin’ home? Holiday is over?” Scottie asked. There was a note of sadness in his voice.

  “For starters, we are,” Cyrus said. “I don’t know what that crazy man’s got in mind now.”

  “Maybe we should just stay here, Cyrus,” Scottie
slowed to a stop. “That Wellmore is certifiable. He shouldn’t have snatched those people. He had no way of knowin’ if they had any powers that he could steal from them. If it’s found out that we’re working with him, we’re goin’ away for the rest of our natural-born existence, don’t ya know?”

  “They got no reason to suspect the two of us,” Cyrus said. “All we did was get sauced with Seth Larrimore a few times. What do you think you’re gonna do here, Scottie? You hadn’t worked in two years, and neither of us was eatin’ three squares a day before we met Wellmore. We got no skills besides drinking on somebody else's coin. Look, we walked headlong into a room full of ghosts that were floating by, and then we tucked our tails and ran to a pub to tell anybody that would listen. We should have gone home and thought it out. Now we’ve just spent five months on Wellmore’s tab on a lazy little island where we ain’t had to do anything but soak up the sun and wait. The day that he would want something from us was bound to come, sooner or later. You got a better plan than that, do ya, Scottie?”

  Seven

  Holly McFadden

  Branson, Missouri

  The International flight from New York to London Heathrow was booked solid. Quentin Lynchburg anticipated this, so he authorized his travel agent to spare no expense to get them into first class. The travel agent pulled it off, but it came with a hefty price tag. Nothing could be done to buy their way into first class for the initial flight to New York. Quentin watched twenty-two ghosts board the plane. He didn’t want Holly to have to spend four hours trying to keep from touching anyone.

  Quentin stood in the aisle next to a man who looked out of the window and refused to look anywhere else.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” Q repeated three times until the man rolled his eyes and looked at him in a huff.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but my daughter has had her heart set on a window seat for most of a year while we waited for this trip,” Q said.