by Nathan Roden
Duncan struck a superhero pose.
“Getting ready for the big trip to Forever-Land, Mr. Lynchburg,” he said.
“We’re going to miss all of you around here,” Q said. “Congratulations, by the way, on finding Nora, and…moving on.”
“Thanks,” Duncan said. “It’s been great meeting you. Wylie has himself a first-rate friend.”
“Thank you,” Q said.
“Speaking of friends,” Duncan said. “If you’re leaving today—Nate’s coming by, right?”
“He’s supposed to come here right after work,” I said.
I let go of Q’s hand.
“Are you good?” I asked.
“Yes,” Q said. “I’m charged up for now. Just don’t get too far away. You know, as weird as it is to see ghosts, it’s just as much of a shock when you can’t see them. I’ll never get used to this. I keep thinking that eventually the effect will last longer.”
“It’s not wearing off for you, is it Wylie?” Duncan asked.
I shook my head.
“I didn’t think so,” Duncan said. “You know, I’m starting to wonder—do you think that it’s… permanent for you?”
There it was.
That nagging little thought had been lingering in the back of my mind for the last few weeks, and the question had finally been voiced out loud. The answer was something that I couldn’t make myself think about. The answer scared the crap out of me.
“Nah, that’s crazy,” I said. “Why would it be permanent—for me?”
“Well,” Duncan said. “Holly kissed you. Maybe it’s some kind of magic—like in Cinderella.”
“I think you mean Sleeping Beauty,” Q said.
“Or maybe like Beauty and the Beast,” Duncan said. “I get my Disneys mixed up.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “And the Disney movie that deals with lying is Pinocchio, so you better watch it.”
Duncan pretended to be shocked and raised his hands to feel his nose. He smiled.
“I’m going to miss you, Wyles,” Duncan said. “It’s going to be sad, but not sad like the last time.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sniff and burning eyes. “Not like the last time.”
Thirty-Five
Cyrus and Scottie
Branson, Missouri
Cyrus Findlay eased the rental car ahead toward the public street.
“How hard can it be, Cyrus?” Scottie Rose chuckled. “You’re driving like an old lady.”
“Everything in this car is backward,” Cyrus growled. “And she’s as big as a bloody battleship.”
“They had plenty of little ones for you to pick from,” Scottie said.
“And not one of ‘em had a boot big enough to carry a full-grown woman, you idiot!” Cyrus said. “You could nearly pack a horse in the back of this one!”
“And we can make a screaming getaway at about thirty-k per hour, eh, Granny?” Scottie said.
“Maybe I’ll put you in that boot,” Cyrus said. “We need to make sure that there’s enough air to breathe in there. Wellmore might not be real happy havin’ a blue corpse delivered to him, ya think, Scottie?”
“All right, Cyrus,” Scottie said. “You made yer point. Quit bringing up that crazy bastard.”
“Then shut yer pie-hole while I try and figure out how to drive among these crazies without getting killed,” Cyrus said.
“I think we’re supposed to go that way,” Scottie said, pointing in the opposite direction.
“I know that Scottie,” Cyrus said. “I’m followin’ that car up ahead of us, just to get a feel for what I need to do. We got plenty of time and we’ll be in a hurry tonight. It sure wouldn’t do to have the coppers chasin’ us all over town, now would it?”
“That’s good thinkin’, Cyrus,” Scottie said. “Don’t pay no mind to me.”
“I don’t,” Cyrus said. “How do you think we made it this far?”
An hour later, Cyrus parked next to a mini-van in the parking lot of the Castle McIntyre.
Cyrus and Scottie put on their disguises. They fell in behind a group of people and made their way inside.
Cyrus and Scottie stayed near the rear of the tour group. They looked around often, trying to learn the layout of the castle. They would be moving around in it later that night—most likely with limited lighting.
“Do we have anyone in the group from outside of the United States?” Holly asked the group at one point.
Before Cyrus could stop Scottie, he had his hand in the air.
“And where are you from, Sir?” Holly asked.
Scottie began to sweat under the strain and the look that Cyrus gave him from behind his fake glasses.
“London,” Scottie finally stammered.
“Well, we can all be friends, now,” Holly said to the group. “Though during the early years of the Castle McIntyre, we and the English weren’t exactly the closest of neighbors.”
The crowd chuckled, as Cyrus dug his fingernails into Scottie’s forearm. He held onto him until Holly began to lead the group away.
Holly gave her closing speech in the main room near the front doors. She took up her place by the doors, along with the new guide who had been along for his last training tour. Holly stood with her gloved hands clasped behind her, as she had done for years. Many guests offered to shake her hand but Holly nodded and kept her hands behind her back.
Cyrus watched this from his position in the line. He grew increasingly curious. His memory of the night when he had seen ghosts in this very building still troubled him. The memory haunted his dreams, and it led him to the man who caused him yet more nightmares.
How many nights had he lain awake—wondering whether his drunken stupor had played an evil trick on his mind? Was it possible that something so…so real—could have never happened at all?
NO!
It was not possible.
Scottie Rose was with him that night, and they had been blind drunk together dozens of times. Scottie had seen the same thing that he had!
A family. A family in the period dress of centuries past: A man, a woman, and two daughters.
Cyrus and Scottie were desperate for someone to confirm that they were not crazy. They begged for someone to verify that they had not lost their minds! And who had eventually dared to believe them?
Sebastian Wellmore.
The Devil himself.
And the souls of Cyrus Findlay and Scottie Rose were lost forever.
Cyrus Findlay was angry. Cyrus Findlay was bitter. And Cyrus Findlay was determined to know the truth, whether Sebastian Wellmore cut his heart out or not.
Cyrus stopped the line of people and extended his hand toward Holly McFadden.
“What a treasure this place is,” Cyrus said. “And what a delightful guide you have been, young lady. I simply must shake your hand.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I am glad that you’ve enjoyed our tour, but I have suffered burns to my hands. They are still quite painful, and are covered in antibiotic cream and gauze.”
“Please move along, Sir,” said the young man beside Holly. “We have one more tour this evening and we need to get started.”
“Look, all I’m trying to do is to tell the young lady how much—”
Cyrus stumbled forward when a pair of hands shoved him at his shoulder blades. Scottie Rose followed quickly behind him. Cyrus turned in haste to find a young man much taller than he was.
“You’ve been told to move along, Sir,” the young man said. “You won’t be told nicely again.”
Cyrus straightened his glasses and kept moving.
“We’re going,” Cyrus said. “We meant no harm.”
Cyrus stumbled along, glaring at the name tag that read,
Welcome to the Castle McIntyre. My name is Wylie.
Thirty-Six
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri/ St. Louis, Missouri
I glared at the backs of the two men as they left the building. I turned and started toward Holly,
but she made a quick exit. She was obviously avoiding me.
My first impulse was to chase after her—but what for?
If she was ever going to forgive me for not going to Scotland with her, it was not going to be today. And what right did I have to do any more damage to our relationship—today?
The last day that she would have with the McIntyres…
None. I had no such right.
Nate showed up at about five-thirty. He was still in his work clothes, with some ever-present sawdust on his shoes.
It was the last day that Nate and I had to spend with Duncan—before he crossed over into the next world.
We had a different kind of gathering, ten years ago—on the day that we lost Duncan. This day was different, but it still hurt.
“It’s been great—having you back with us for a while, Dunk,” Nate said. “Really weird, but great.”
“Yeah, none of us had girlfriends ten years ago,” Duncan said. “Things were a lot simpler.”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “That part is kinda screwy.”
“You know what I miss the most?” I said. “None of our dreams had anything to do with girls or girlfriends or any grown-up stuff at all. We were just three simple kids—with our whole lives in front of us.”
“But the real world was going to happen anyway,” Duncan said. “It happens to everybody.”
“Everybody doesn’t die at fifteen, Dunk,” I said.
“No,” Duncan said. “But we do the best we can, with the hand that we’re dealt.”
“I love you guys,” Nate said. “I can’t control much. But I can by-God control that.”
I grabbed Nate’s shoulder.
“Truer words have never been spoken, my friend,” I said.
Duncan grabbed Nate’s other shoulder.
“You’ve summed up the ultimate truth, Nate,” Duncan said. “I am truly blessed to count you two as friends and family.”
Nate sniffed.
“This might be the best and worst day of my life,” he said.
“That was beautiful,” I said.
“If I hope for anything,” Duncan said. “I hope that one day we have a day like today that never has to end.”
I put a hand on Duncan’s wrist. Nate grabbed his other wrist, and Duncan’s closed around mine.
“Three-way handshake,” I said. “But it won’t be our last.”
“Not the last,” Duncan said.
“Not the last,” Nate said.
We let go while we were still able.
“I have to go,” I said. “Day one of my new career will begin after four hours of sleep as it stands right now.”
“Knock ‘em dead, Killer,” Nate said, as he hugged me.
“Until we meet again,” Duncan said, as we hugged.
“Until we meet again,” I said.
I left the room, even though I could barely see through the tears. I felt drawn toward Holly’s apartment door. I couldn’t bear to leave without a goodbye, although I felt horrible. I stood in front of her door for what must have been minutes. I raised a hand to knock, but I couldn’t go through with it. I felt as if I were demanding that she tell me it was okay for me to leave, but I couldn’t go through with it. I finally turned to go. I was about to open the door to leave the castle when Holly’s door opened.
She shuffled toward me in her fuzzy houseshoes. She never looked me in the eye, but she put her arms around me and squeezed. She released me without a word and shuffled back to her apartment door. She opened and closed it without turning around.
I drove for hours in a state of unreality. When I saw the sign for the city limits of St. Louis, it surprised me. I had crossed the entire distance without even realizing it.
I checked into a hotel as if I was on auto-pilot. I asked for a wake-up call and climbed into bed. It crossed my mind that I might be considered the luckiest twenty-three-year-old American male in the country. I looked at the strip of unfamiliar light that leaked in through the drapes.
I had never felt more lost and alone in my entire life.
The KwyK ranch was already a beehive of activity when I arrived the next morning.
Skyler was unbelievably energized and began introducing me to people at a rate that ensured that I would not remember any of the names. I was introduced to the choreographer and the physical trainer, and I knew that I was in trouble. These people operated at energy levels that I cannot even conceive. They looked at me like they were going to be paid to destroy me, and they were looking forward to it.
Inside the music studio, there were people everywhere. Skyler introduced me to several songwriters. I actually recognized some of the names, but I was not allowed the time to speak to anyone. Obviously, I would not have any say-so about the material. So be it. I was happy to avoid the pressure of decision making—for the time being, anyway.
There were twenty-eight people in the control room listening to demo songs. I had no idea whose voices were on them. They were all good songs—ballads—with both male and female voices.
Skyler sat beside me and whispered into my ear.
“Those are the three that we’ve picked out for duets,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Those are good songs,” I said.
“Your enthusiasm is truly inspirational,” Skyler said.
“No, I didn’t mean—” I said.
Skyler jumped to her feet.
“Chris,” she said to her producer, Chris Chadwick, “Spin up ‘Like a Bullet’. And crank it.”
The state-of-the-art sound system exploded into an infectious, guitar-driven beat. Thunderous drums rolled behind a pop-funk bass line that made it impossible to remain still—for anyone with a pulse.
This song didn’t have a hook—it had about ten of them. When the vocal came in, the song made a turn into the pop/dance genre that left little doubt that this was going to be a hit song. It even had a smokin’ guitar solo.
I must have been wearing a stupid grin from ear-to-ear. Skyler laughed at me.
“I thought you might like that one,” she said.
I held out my left arm toward her—palm-up.
“Do I get that one?” I asked. “What do you want? A pint of blood? Two pints? My left arm? My first-born child? Name your price.”
Skyler laughed again. Veronica rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers against her crossed arms.
“Those are the four that I want to start working up,” Chris Chadwick announced to the group.
“Ned, is your camera equipment ready to go?” Chris asked the videographer. “I’d like to get some footage edited before tomorrow morning.”
“What happens in the morning?” I whispered to Skyler.
“Press conference,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Press conference,” I said. “About what?”
“About you,” she said. “And me. Dummy.”
“Who’s going to be there?”
“Not there. Here,” Skyler said.
“Okay,” I said. “Who’s going to be here?”
Skyler sighed.
“Everybody.”
I was hoping that we would start with the up-tempo song, but no such luck. I did my best not to act disappointed because the ballads were really good. The studio was awesome: the band was awesome, the microphones were awesome, the headphones were awesome, and I was about to rehearse with one of the biggest stars on the planet. My day was going pretty well.
Chris Chadwick had us work on the first verse and first chorus of the first ballad. The first half of the verse was mine. The second half was Skyler. The chorus was both of us in harmony. Chris had us work on individual lines for a while. Later, he announced that we were going to record the first verse and first chorus.
At the end of the one-minute recording, the room was silent. Several people came in from the control room. Grayson Kilmister played back the recording. I saw Veronica fold and unfold her arms, and chew on her fingernail.
After the playback, there w
as more silence. I thought it sounded fantastic. Suddenly, there was applause; people were clapping, laughing, slapping hands, and slapping each other on the back.
I sensed that someone was standing right beside me. I turned and watched Veronica KwyK share a tense and awkward smile with Skyler.
Veronica patted my hand.
“That was really good, Wylie,” Veronica said. “Beautiful.”
It’s official. I can die now. It doesn’t get any better than this.
Skyler stepped up to a microphone.
“Well, what do you think, Chris?” she asked. Chris was still in the control room. There was no answer. Skyler turned around.
“Where is he?”
Veronica peeked through the window.
“On the phone,” she said.
A few minutes later, Chris walked into the live room.
“What do you want to work on now?” Skyler asked him. “The other three—?”
Chris Chadwick shook his head.
“Our pianist and our keyboard guy and the string section are getting on a plane in Nashville as we speak,” Chris said.
“What?” Skyler and Veronica said together.
Chris shifted back and forth on his feet.
“That song,” he said. “We’ve got magic, here, you guys. I’ll be here through the night. I bet you that no one is expecting to come to tomorrow’s press conference and hear a brand new hit single. But that is exactly what they’re going to hear!”
Veronica grabbed Chris’s head in her hands and kissed him on the cheek.
“You are a genius!” she said.
“Your daughter is the genius,” Chris said, as he threw his arm around Skyler’s shoulder and squeezed. Skyler was beaming.
“Yes, I suppose she is,” Veronica said.
Skyler and I finished our vocals around seven-thirty that evening. Chris gave me demo recordings and lyric sheets for about twenty other songs. I was shown to my room.
