“He won’t talk about it with me,” she confessed. “I agree, but I don’t know what to do.”
I pulled her close. “You know it’s true, right? It’s time for drastic measures.”
“Ian, what are you talking about?” Ebony whispered.
I didn’t answer. I kissed her gently and then prepared her brother for a hard truth. “Orlando!”
Drum sticks in hand, I walked over toward him. He and Hayden were talking guitar discourse. “Ian, we’re back. We never sounded better than tonight.” Orlando’s smile was like a lighthouse beacon—it could light up the darkest night. Until the dense fog moved in.
“Don’t get mad, but I need to tell you something,” I whispered. Orlando stepped closer. Hayden returned to endlessly tuning his guitar. “The other day I heard you and Desiree talking about that gold chain that you gave her. “I don’t want to get into details, but the other day I saw it.” Another lie; not the other day, but just moments ago when I slipped away from rehearsal to make the evidence easy to find.
The smile that had covered Orlando’s face vanished in a flash. “Where?”
I dropped my head and pointed toward the studio door into Chase’s house. “In his bedroom.”
25
JUNE 12 / FRIDAY EARLY MORNING
IAN EDWARDS’S APARTMENT
“What?” I spoke into the phone the best I could for the hour. It was 4:30 am.
“I need your help. I don’t know what to do.” It was Orlando. His voice sounded like a person whose throat had been slit. He rambled about Chase, Desiree, and finding her necklace and the framed photo in Chase’s bedroom. As words fell over words, I stayed silent until he asked, “What should I do?”
I said nothing, letting the silence swallow us both. I thought how over three years ago we had become friends; how just under thirty days ago he had rejected me in favor of Chase. Silence was raw power.
“Ian, are you there? I can’t sleep, eat, concentrate. I’m going insane with jealousy.”
Welcome to my world, I thought, but I said nothing. He’d have to say everything.
“Chase, he betrayed me. I should break his face into little pieces.” Orlando stopped.
“But you’re afraid of violating probation,” I said. “I get that. So what options do you have?”
Another pause, then he said. “You. Could you—”
“Bro, I’d do a lot for you, but I’m on probation too. And besides, Chase would kick my ass. You make any connections when you were inside? You mentioned a guy Slack who—”
“Ian, trust me, those are not people I want to associate with. I couldn’t trust them for—”
“But you trust me, right?” He grunted his agreement. “How about Ryan?”
“What about him?”
“I don’t think he’s ever gotten over you kicking him out of the band so Chase could join. I still talk with him. If you wanted me to, I could maybe ask him. He kicked Chase’s ass once, so—”
“Do it.” No hesitation.
“You’re sure?’
“One hundred percent.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Ryan, but I’ll keep your name out of it. And you will—”
“I’ll talk to Desiree,” he fumed. “I love her, but these rumors are like cancer, spreading and eating away at me.”
I paused, thought about Mom drunk, Dad gone, love fickle, lives busted. Love is cancer. You have to cut it out.
26
JUNE 13 / EARLY SATURDAY AFTERNOON
IAN’S APARTMENT
“Where’s Ryan?” I asked the woman who answered the phone at Ryan’s house. Ryan hadn’t answered his cell or returned my texts. He was supposed to call me early in the morning after he took care of business with Chase. I had the thousand dollars that Orlando gave me to pay Ryan; I’d given him half; he’d get the rest when I heard Chase was in the hospital or worse. “We were supposed to . . . be in touch this morning.”
“Ryan is in the hospital,” the voice said. “Who is this?” She sounded old and upset. A grandmother?
“Which hospital?” I asked. She gave me the info, then I hung up quick. I called Chase straight up. I was startled when he answered. “Hey, Chase, it’s Ian, I need a ride to tonight’s—” I started.
“Ryan attacked me.”
I drew in a deep breath, pretending surprise. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Chase said. “If he’s still alive, I’m going to find out. But I got the better of him. He jumped me when I came home from the gig, but I got the knife from him. I stuck him good.”
“Did you call the police?”
Pause. Say it. “No, I left.” I asked Chase some more about the attack and didn’t like any of his suspicions, which hit too close to home.
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet, but—”
“Chase, listen, if he didn’t die, then he could say you attacked him. You get arrested, you’re out of the band, and he’s front and center again. I think that must have been his plan. Let me find out.”
“Find out what?”
“If he’s still alive, and if so, let me talk to him. See what he knows. Trust me, Chase, no matter what has gone on in the past between us, the band is what matters to me. Okay?”
Another long pause. Was he hurt at all? How could have Ryan screwed this up so bad?
“Okay, Ian,” Chase finally replied. “So, you need a ride? I’ll pick you up around five.” I glanced at my phone. It would be tight, but I had no choice. I needed to tie up loose ends.
27
JUNE 13 / LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON
NORTHWEST HOSPITAL
“Ebony, calm down!” I shouted into the phone, but it did no good. She was hysterical, like many of the people around me at the hospital, including Ryan’s mom who sat in his room. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Orlando. He was up all night on the phone with Desiree. I heard most of it, since his room is next to mine. He’s lost control. He’s convinced that she’s cheating on him. I only heard what he said, but he mentioned finding the necklace he gave her in Chase’s bedroom. I thought I gave you that —”
“Ebony, look, your brother is two people: one in the world and the other one in Desiree’s orbit. You can’t believe anything he says because he’s not rational. Let me call him and I will—”
“He’s not here.”
“I’ll call Desiree then and—”
“No, I overheard him. He called somebody he called Slack. Some guy he met inside. I heard him ask about getting a gun. I’m scared, Ian. I’m scared for him, for Desiree, for me. I don’t know what—”
“Ebony, listen, I’ll talk to him tonight, before the gig. We’ll sort it out, but I have to go now.”
I hung up and then quickly dialed the hospital’s number and got the operator. “I’m downstairs and I can’t find my mom. I’m lost. Can you have her paged? Her name is Geraldine Tabor.”
It only took a moment. At about the same time that Ryan’s mom left his room, I pushed over a heavy cart of cafeteria trays. The noise drew the attention of everybody on the floor. I slipped into Ryan’s room unnoticed. He lay in the bed, head on a pillow, hooked up to machines. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Ryan, it’s Ian. Can you hear me?”
He pushed open his eyes. Then they closed and re-opened. “Ian, what happened?”
“You messed up, buddy.”
“Chase, he.” His eyes closed again.
I left the side of the bed, peeked out the door at the vacant hallway, and picked up the pillow from the empty bed next to Ryan.
“Here, let me help you . . . even if you failed to help me.” I pressed the pillow over his face until his breathing—and the beeping—stopped. Before I yelled out in panic about the death of my dear friend, I opened my mouth to capture the metallic taste of the room, letting it dangle on my tongue like a juicy berry.
28
JUNE 13 / SATURDAY EVENING
THE CRUSH CLUB
&nb
sp; “I couldn’t find Ryan,” I lied to Chase when he picked me up for the gig. On the way, I got him talking about the band and Tonya. Anything but Ryan, Orlando, and Desiree. It kept him distracted.
“Orlando’s not here,” Parker said as he met us in the half-filled Crush Club parking lot. Out front, the word PunkFunkers shined bright on the marquee. Parker had driven the van with the instruments.
“What about Ebony and Desiree?” I asked.
Parker shook his head. I turned to Chase. “Now what are we going to do?”
Chase swallowed hard, but I knew his answer would come easy. “We’ll do my songs,” he said.
I nodded in agreement, like I had any choice. Parker, Chase, and I huddled talking about a set list without a lead singer, background singers or a lead guitarist. It wouldn’t be pretty. Tyler and Hayden joined the conversation and the work of moving the equipment toward the stage.
Everybody was working together just like it had been before Orlando got arrested; just like before he named Chase rather than me the leader of the band. This was his fault, not mine, not even Chase’s. Maybe the Collin County Juvenile Court decided that Orlando wasn’t guilty, but I knew better. And the guilty had to pay.
Ebony and Desiree arrived, both in tears. Seconds later, Orlando followed. His steps seemed bigger, heavier. Orlando was the center of the attention, the eye of the storm; the center that cannot hold.
Orlando called a band huddle, but Ebony ran in other direction. “Tonight is the start of our future,” Orlando said. He sounded detached, as if he were watching his own life rather than living it. “Let’s give them a night we and they will all remember forever.” That was it: no pep talk, no last-minute instructions.
I didn’t ask after Ebony, nor did anyone say anything about the loss of a background singer. We had an hour until showtime, and everybody seemed tense, no one more so than Desiree. As Orlando talked, her eyes never left him. Not like a person in love, but a person in fear.
As everybody else got ready, I quietly and quickly exited the backstage area with my drumsticks in hand. I walked the length of the building and finally through an outside door. In the Texas evening heat, I found Ebony against the back wall of the club, forehead pressed on the concrete building.
“Ebony, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Ian, you scared me.” She started to turn around, but I hugged her from behind and kissed her neck.
“Why are you out here?” I had so many questions; she’d better have the right answers.
“Ian, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
I gave another gentle kiss. “What are you talking about?”
“The necklace, the photo,” she said softly, but her voice started to rise. “Did you lie to me? Did you use those things to convince my brother that Chase and Desiree were—”
I laughed. “Ebony, you’re confused.”
She tried once again to turn around, but I wouldn’t have it. “Ian, let me go. Orlando’s going crazy—I gotta tell him I borrowed Desiree’s things for you and you must have framed—”
“Why would I do those things? Does that make sense? Why should I care about them when I have you?”
“You don’t have me, Ian. I’m not your pet.”
“No, you’re my pawn.” She tried again to fight me, but she didn’t say anything in response. I guess it’s hard to talk with drumsticks pressed against your throat. It wasn’t long before I felt her resistance weaken and then stop completely.
I glanced around me and picked up Ebony’s lifeless body. I heard noise on the inside of Crush Club. A packed house to see the PunkFunkers. The parking lot was full, but the dumpster was almost empty as I lifted Ebony’s limp body inside.
29
JUNE 13 / LATE SATURDAY EVENING
THE CRUSH CLUB
“Thank you!” Orlando shouted into the microphone over the roar of the audience Although damp with sweat and no doubt exhausted from dancing, the Crush Club crowd let us know we had killed the set, despite being short one background singer, whom I had killed. “PunkFunkers out!”
Backstage, Orlando called a band huddle, but then said nothing. Instead, he went up to each of us and said, “I love you. Thank you for everything.” He went in order of seniority, so I was next to last. Desiree, of course, was beyond seniority as she had a special place. He pulled her close to his chest.
“I’m sorry about my sister,” Orlando said, almost in a whisper. The bravado and energy he’d shown on stage just seconds ago had vanished. “She’s going through some things, but I guess we all are.”
Nobody said anything; instead we all exchanged nervous glances. Onstage, our tone and beat never tighter, but backstage, Orlando spoke off-key like a man out of time. “Are you a’right?” I asked.
Orlando put his arm around me, pulled me closer. “Ian, I want to thank you and Chase for keeping things together when I was inside. Ian, you kept the band together, and Chase . . .” He took a deep breath like somebody ready to jump into the deep end of the pool and then walked over to his bag. “And Chase, you kept Desiree from getting lonely, didn’t you. I know it. Everybody knows it, and I won’t be a fool.”
Chase started to speak, but Orlando shut him up when he pulled the pistol from his bag.
Desiree screamed. “Orlando, what are you doing?” As if screaming could get through to someone made blind, deaf, and dumb by love and jealousy. Wide-eyed, Orlando pointed the gun at Chase, but Desiree stepped in front of him.
“Orlando, there is nothing between Chase and me, never was, never will be. I don’t know why you believe all these rumors and lies instead of believing me. You and I are meant to be together. Forever.”
Orlando seemed to think about that for a few moments. Then, holding the gun in his right hand, which was strangely calm compared to his expression, Orlando nodded slightly and took a step closer to Desiree. He touched her cheek softly, like a mother might touch a newborn. “Together forever.”
The bullet went into Desiree’s heart two seconds before Orlando put the gun against his own chest and pulled the trigger.
JUNE 30 / TUESDAY MORNING
“So that’s it, Ian?” the suit-and-tie guy asks after reading the last page.
I nod. My neck hurts.
“But it still doesn’t really answer why. I understand you were mad about getting passed over for Chase, but it seems such an over-reaction to something so small and—”
“You didn’t live it.”
“I know, but.”
“Chase, Tyler, Ryan, Orlando, all of ’em are waterwalkers. People with money, good looks, their futures handed to them on gold platters. But me, I have nothing. No father, no mom who acts like one. No money. No college in front of me. All I can do is play drums.”
“I think the judge will appreciate your honesty.”
“Honest Ian, that’s me.”
He holds the notebook filled with my scribbles. “But Ian, is this really the truth?”
I laugh. “For me to know and you to find out.”
Silence, followed by a request to a white-uniformed drone outside. “Let me out.”
“You’re leaving so soon?”
“I have to get back.”
“You should stay, doctor! I got time. Four-four time. Funk time.”
He looks at me, almost sad, maybe even some pity, which I didn’t want. “You know this will be entered into evidence. The judge will use this when he decides whether he should send you to prison or keep you here.”
I lean back against the padded walls of the North Texas Psychiatric Hospital and stare him in the eye.
He shakes his head. “Ryan, Ebony, Desiree, and Orlando, all dead, but not Chase. Why?”
I avert my eyes for a moment, but then raise my head and look at him again. I imagine his eyes are portals to the outside world I’d probably never see again. Through his eyes, through the walls, and straight into Chase’s eyes. “If you really hate someone, don’t kill them. Let them live, and instead kill everyon
e they know, so they’ll never ever be happy again. That’s what Chase has in store now.
“Trust me.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Patrick Jones is the author of more than twenty novels for teens. He has also written two nonfiction books about combat sports, The Main Event, on professional wrestling, and Ultimate Fighting, on mixed martial arts. He has spoken to students at more than one hundred alternative schools, including residents of juvenile correctional facilities. Find him on the web at www.connectingya.com and on Twitter: @PatrickJonesYA.
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