by Nathan Roden
“The idea for bringing you into our musical family—that’s all Skyler’s baby,” Chris Chadwick said. “As you probably already know. Look, I don’t mean to butt in, but you should know where Grayson and I stand on this. Today is a ‘soft’ meeting—meaning that everyone here is on board with what Skyler has in mind.”
I stepped sideways to a window that looked into the big room.
“Who are these other guys?” I asked.
“Members of my band,” Skyler said.
Nate stretched and looked over my shoulder.
“One of them is behind the drums,” Nate said.
“Oh, Kelly can play, like ten different instruments,” Skyler said. She looked uncomfortable.
Chris Chadwick cleared his throat. He was tapping the ends of his fingers together, nervously.
“Have you ever played to a ‘click’ track, Nate?” Chris asked.
Nate turned away from the window. His eyes flicked from one person to another.
“I—I’ve tried to,” Nate said. “But I don’t like it at all. It messes me up.”
Skyler had become fascinated with the fingernails of her left hand.
A ‘click track’ is an electronic metronome. Timekeeping duties were the sole responsibility of drummers before the takeover of computers. The click track has made it possible to automate the beat of a piece of music, ensuring that the rhythm does not fluctuate. The tempo is perfect at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end. Forever.
“Some things have changed a great deal over the last few years,” Chadwick said. “The ‘suits’ at the label are trying to save money and save their own butts, so they force us to be more efficient with our studio time. That leaves us relying heavily on the ‘click track’, in order to keep the production process short and sweet. Sometimes we’re dealing with soloists on a tight schedule, and if we’re talking about an entire orchestra—well, don’t get me started!”
“Every modern studio musician has bought into it,” Grayson added. “They know what’s expected of them now.” Grayson spread his fingers apart and then interlocked them. “It just makes everything work together.”
“Okay,” Nate said. “I got it. I can work to a click.”
Chris Chadwick and Grayson exchanged a quick, uncomfortable glance.
“Great!” they said, not very convincingly.
“The two of you know that I have the master recordings of the demo you did for the show, right?” Chadwick said.
“Yes,” I said. “Skyler played one of the tracks for us. You did an incredible job on it.”
“Look,” Chadwick said. “I don’t mean to be harsh or anything, but I had to re-cut the drum tracks.”
“Yeah?” Nate said. “Which one?”
Chris Chadwick took a deep breath and exhaled.
“All of them,” he said.
Nate opened his mouth briefly, but then he closed it. He stared at the floor.
“We didn’t bring you here to judge you,” Chadwick said. “But we’re telling you the same thing that you would hear from any other producer in the industry. The field is limited, and competition is extremely tight. Personally, I miss the days of the looser groove, it’s what I grew up with and cut my teeth on. It used to be the industry norm for a drummer to play just behind the beat.”
“Well,” I said. “The producers at ‘Brand New Voice” never mentioned that they had a problem with it.”
“The producers of that show were only interested in promoting themselves and their current crop of stars,” Skyler said. “Their focus was on generating some buzz for their audience; they weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel. They certainly weren’t stupid enough to replace Nate, Wylie. We’re talking about television. Look at him. He’s gorgeous.”
Skyler winked at Nate, who smiled weakly.
“Here’s the reality, guys,” Grayson said. “I graduated from Berklee and got my Masters at Julliard. I was accepted into Berklee after my audition on a twenty-two piece drum kit. I planned to major in percussion. In the middle of my sophomore year, a professor took me aside and basically told me that I wasn’t going to cut it. My timing was inconsistent. He told me that this would hold me back for the rest of my life. He suggested that I change my major to live and studio engineering. The rest is history.”
“But, we could be wrong,” Chadwick said. “We’re only human—no better than anyone else. That’s why we brought you in, along with the other members of Skyler’s band.”
“We’re—we’re going to play?” Nate asked. “Today? In there?”
“Sure,” Chris said. “No time like the present, right?”
“What are we going to play?” I asked.
“How about ‘Changing my Mind’,” Chris said. “From the demo.”
“Do they—?” I started to ask.
“Oh, they know it,” Skyler said.
Nate made a few adjustments to the drum kit. His hands were shaking when he picked up the headphones and put them on. I had never seen Nate like that in my life. I’ve always drawn strength from his confidence. We were on the verge of what should have been an incredibly exciting moment, and I was scared stupid.
Everything sounded great in my own headphones, until just before the first verse. Nate’s drumming fell behind the beat of the click track. I inhaled to sing the first line of the lyric, but Nate stopped playing. Everyone else came to a stop.
“Sorry,” Nate said. “Can we try it from the top?”
“Spinning up the click track,” Grayson’s voice came through the headphones. “Count ‘em in when you’re ready, Nate.”
“One, two, one, two, three, four,” Nate said. Everything was fine, just like before. I sang the first line of the lyric.
Seconds later, the click track and Nate’s drumming destroyed each other. The band wound down to silence once again. The band of musicians looked at the floor, or the walls—anything to avoid looking at Nate.
Nate pulled his headphones off in the middle of the awkward silence. He laid them down on the snare drum and stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he said to everyone—or no one. He walked out of the door without looking back. Skyler turned her back to us and whispered into her phone. She was probably putting the limousine driver on alert. I hung my headphones on the microphone stand. I waited for Skyler to turn around.
“I have to go,” I said. Skyler nodded. As I walked through the door, she said, “I’ll call you.”
I caught up with Nate outside. The limousine was nowhere in sight. Nate stared across the ranch with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” I said, standing beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“That was lame,” I said. “There was no reason they couldn’t—”
“It’s business, Wyles,” Nate said. “They didn’t torpedo me. They gave me a shot, and I blew it. Plain and simple.”
“They’re blowing the whole thing out of propor—”
“I know what you’re getting ready to say, Wylie,” Nate said. He turned and poked me in the chest with his finger.
“And I’m not going to let you do it,” he said. “You’ll never get another opportunity like this—never. How do you think I’ll feel if you walk away from it?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Nate,” I said.
“Best friends,” he said.
I punched his shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said. “That makes it easier.”
“I’m looking into your future,” Nate said. “But I don’t see anything ‘easy’ in it.”
“Do you think they’re going to make me play with a band of robots?” I asked.
“Calculating response,” Nate said, in a robot voice. “Probability of Westerhouse robot band—ninety-seven percent. Affirmative. Affirmative.”
“I’m not buying it,” I said. “We have determined that you are not a robot, are not a fan of robots, and basically want nothing to do with robots.”
“That’s a little cold,” Nate said.
“You started it,” I said.
“That doesn’t make it less cold,” he said.
“Probably not,” I said. “This day contains a high percentage of Suck.”
Twenty-Three
The Ghost Detectives
Wellmore Village, Scotland
Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert waited outside of the taxi while Sebastian paid the driver.
“Where are we?” Dougie said, looking around. “He lives at a restaurant?”
“He don’t live here,” Bruiser said. “He ain’t about to have a taxicab drive right up to his front door. Criminals ain’t all stupid, Dougie.”
“Course not, Bruiser,” Dougie said. “I’m just thinkin’ out loud, that’s all. We detective-types like to speak our minds out loud—that’s how we get our subconscious mind-juices to flow over a problem—”
“You’re makin’ me sick, Dougie,” Delbert said. He shoved Dougie sideways. “Get your mind-juices away from me.”
“Shut up and pay attention,” Bruiser said. “He’s on the move.”
Sebastian Wellmore kept up a quick pace. He walked across the bridge at the edge of town, and for another two miles before he reached the Castle Wellmore.
“Welcome to the Castle Wellmore,” Bruiser read from the sign in front of the castle. “One of the most haunted Castles in all of Europe.”
“You think that’s true, Bruiser?” Dougie asked.
Bruiser looked up at the immense walls of the castle. He ran his hand along the stone and took note of the imperfections that remained as scars of a history of violence.
“I can feel them,” he said.
Dougie and Delbert stared at Bruiser. If he was afraid, where did that leave them?
“I feel something, too,” Delbert said. “And I don’t like it at all. You think he lives here?”
“I hope that’s all that he does here,” Bruiser said.
“We’re going inside, aren’t we,” Delbert gulped, more of a statement than a question.
“There’s no way around it,” Bruiser said. “Come on.”
They followed Sebastian into the castle. Sebastian went to the kitchen and put a teakettle on the stove.
“He lives here, all right. Don’t let him out of your sight,” Bruiser said.
Bruiser floated through the adjacent rooms. He found two streams of nearly invisible string—fishing line. He floated up and followed the line into an alcove above the main entryway. What he saw there made him jump, but then he laughed when he realized that the severed head was a fake. The other line was affixed to the power switch of a video projector pointed at the far wall at the end of the grand entry.
“Most haunted castle in all of Europe,” Bruiser whispered to himself in a mocking voice. He returned to the kitchen with a smirk on his face.
“What’s so darned funny?” Delbert asked.
“Nothin’,” Bruiser said. “You wouldn’t believe—”
They heard Dougie before they saw him. His mouth was wide open in a scream when he flew through the cellar door. He screamed all the way past Bruiser and Delbert, and he was still screaming when he passed through the front door.
“Keep an eye on Wellmore,” Bruiser said to Delbert as he pointed at Sebastian.
Delbert gave one glance at Sebastian, and then at the cellar door before he was hot on Bruiser’s heels.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Delbert said to Bruiser’s back.
“Dougie!” Bruiser yelled. “Get back here!”
Bruiser and Delbert caught up with Dougie, but not until he was out of sight of the castle.
“Dang, Dougie,” Delbert panted. “What in the world—?”
“That ain’t—” Dougie caught his breath. “What’s in that basement ain’t nothin’ from this world!”
“What are you talkin’ about, Dougie?” Bruiser asked. “They’ve got fake heads on strings and movie projectors to try and scare people. Don’t tell me you actually fell for that batch of tricks.”
“N-n-n-no!” Dougie said. “I ain’t talkin’ about tricks. We’ve known us some bad folks before, Bruiser—both alive and dead. But there’s things down there…..just plain evil things.”
“What are you talking ab—?”
“I mean straight up evil!” Dougie screamed. “And there’s a bunch of ‘em! People was slaughtered down there!”
“Just calm down a minute there, Dougie,” Bruiser said.
“I think he’s right Bruiser,” Delbert said. “You felt it. You know what they had in the basements of these old castles, don’t you? Dungeons—where they tortured people.”
“If they got all these real ghosts,” Bruiser said. “Then why bother with all the fake stuff?”
“Maybe they don’t come out of the dungeon,” Delbert said. “And that would be a good thing.”
“We have to go back in there,” Bruiser said.
“No, what we need to do is figure out how to deal with your sudden case of insanity,” Delbert said.
“Why don’t we go get some help?” Dougie said. “Those guys that Holly and Mr. Lynchburg hired—they can get the police and swarm the place—”
“Sure, Dougie,” Bruiser said. “They can tell the police that their undercover ghost partners done solved themselves a crime. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Well, we got no business—” Delbert said.
“What?” Bruiser said. “We know good and well that this creep is most likely responsible for Holly’s parents disappearing and he’s goin’ after Holly next! He lives in a castle with a haunted dungeon and we got no business?”
“You’re going first,” Delbert said.
“Of course, I am,” Bruiser said.
The ghosts looked down at Sebastian Wellmore, who was asleep on the sofa in his office.
“I guess he didn’t get his full eight hours in last night,” Dougie said.
“Or maybe it was that five-mile walk that done him in,” Delbert said. “He sure sleeps good—like he’s got no conscience.”
“Are we ready?” Bruiser said.
“No,” Delbert said.
Bruiser passed through the cellar door. He made the left turn into the storage room and root cellar. Nothing unusual there. He turned around. Delbert and Dougie were right behind him. Bruiser shook his head and led the way back to the stairs. He halted at the dungeon door.
“How far in did you go, Dougie?” Bruiser whispered.
“I didn’t even get all the way inside,” Dougie whispered back. “They were all over me.”
“We go, on three,” Bruiser said. “And stay together. Don’t panic. Let me do the talking.”
“No problem,” Dougie said. “I’ll do the screaming.”
“If you scream, I’m leaving you in there,” Bruiser said.
“Three,” Bruiser said, and they passed quickly through the door.
Four emaciated ghosts were upon them immediately. They swirled around the Branson trio with their eyes bulging and strips of flesh hanging from their exposed ribcages.
“Visitors!” they said in a swirl of multi-timbered voices. “The Master will be pleased, unless he is not!”
Dougie pointed behind Bruiser. His eyes were wide and his jaw worked without making a sound. Bruiser turned around and looked up into the hooded eyes of an executioner. The giant stood a full foot taller than Bruiser. The executioner was missing his left arm. He roared and swung his double-bladed ax right at Bruiser’s head. Bruiser ducked and jumped backward.
The ax struck the wall and its blade rang out. It tumbled from the executioner’s hand. Two headless bodies pulled free of the chains that bound them to separate tables. Their heads lay on the tables with eyes wide open. One body dove at the executioner, while the other picked up the ax. The first headless body grabbed the executioner by the hand and pulled his remaining arm away from his body while the other one raised the ax and brought it down. The severed arm followed the ax to the floor as the executioner screamed.
Delbert yelped as something fle
w by his right ear. He heard a sickening splat! One of the severed heads had been thrown at him and it rolled to a stop at his feet with one eye dislodged from its socket.
“How about a kiss?” Dougie heard a voice in his ear, just before he turned to see a face inches from him—a face that had no skin on it. The face cackled in laughter with its bristly mane of white hair flapping behind.
Dougie was unable to move or make a sound. He saw movement in front of him. He turned and looked into the face of a beautiful woman.
“She cannot really kiss you,” the woman said in a sultry voice. She raised her hand. “I have her face.”
The woman held a mask of bloody skin in one hand and a straight razor in the other.
“Children!”
A voice boomed from the center of the room. A fiery glow surrounded an enormous red beast. Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert joined hands and stood side-by-side. They looked on as the glow intensified. It illuminated a horrible being with pearl-white horns projecting from its forehead. The Thing’s eyes changed colors— from red to blue, from yellow to orange. The Thing raised a clawed hand into the air.
The emaciated prisoners were immediately thrown back into their shackles against the wall. The heads of the headless returned to their bodies, and those bodies flew back into their restraints. The skinless woman’s face returned to her and she was bound and gagged and chained to the wall by an unseen force. The executioner stood at attention beside the beast, both of his arms reattached to his body.
“We will begin again, my children,” the beast said. “With our new toys.”
“We are not your toys,” Bruiser growled. “What in hell are you supposed to be?”
The Beast Thing threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“Hell has never been contained, Little Man,” The Beast answered. “And the wait will soon be over. What we are now—matters little. What we will become, is paramount.”
