Devils Don't Fly

by M. H. Soars

  “How’s Saylor?”

  “She’s….” Fuck, I don’t know how to answer that.

  “Hey, remember this is all new to her. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to not remember a big chunk of your life.”

  “I don’t think I’m helping either. I keep forgetting she doesn’t know who I am. I say things that make her uncomfortable.”

  Allan steps closer and pats me on the shoulder. “Perhaps you’re focusing too much on your relationship. I think it will be good if Saylor starts playing with the band again.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right. Did you contact the girls?”

  “Yup. They should be here in a couple of hours. Everyone’s excited to work again. It’s been a rough couple of months.”

  I veer toward my desk and Allan follows me. “We need to look at the commitments the band made prior to Saylor’s surgery and see when we can start honoring them again.”

  Taking a seat behind his desk, Allan fires up his laptop with a glint of determination in his gaze. “I’ve received several e-mails from reporters who want to interview her. Do you think she would be up to it?”

  “We can ask.”

  “The sooner she grants an interview, the better. I don’t want to sound like an insensitive bastard, but the band’s momentum is waning. There’s still interest thanks to Saylor’s situation, but you know how fickle the public is nowadays.”

  Grinding my teeth, I stare at my curled right hand. Didn’t even notice turning it into a fist. I’ve been in show business long enough to agree with Allan, but at the same time, I don’t want to put too much pressure on Saylor.

  Allan’s attention returns to his computer, and moments later, his eyebrows furrow. “Oliver, is there something you forgot to tell me?”

  Ah fuck. The paparazzi.

  “Uh, I lost my temper this morning.”

  “You don’t say.” Allan stares at me like I’m a kid who did something really naughty and he’s the parent.

  “Someone at the hospital leaked information about Saylor’s condition to the paparazzi. One of the douchebags knew she has amnesia.”

  “What? That’s fucked up. We need to contact the hospital’s administration. They need to start an investigation. That’s a breach of patient confidentiality.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, how badly did you lose your temper? Did you hit the guy?”

  “No. Just broke his camera.”

  Allan clenches his jaw and returns his attention to the computer. “Call your lawyer. Let’s be proactive about this. Be prepared to pay a hefty sum to make this mess go away.”

  “It’s on my to-do list.”

  “You know this means we need to issue a statement. I’ll draft the press release.”

  “Fuck.” I drop my shoulders forward, leaning my elbows on my thighs. I should’ve kept my temper in check.

  “I can spin this around in our favor. I’m going to sound like a son of a bitch, but I want you and Saylor in front of a camera ASAP.”

  Whipping my face up, I level Allan with a glare. “Are you fucking mental?”

  “Oliver, to you and Saylor, her amnesia is fucked up, but to the public, it’s golden. Think about it. After a whirlwind romance, the love of your life almost dies, and now she doesn’t remember you. This is the stuff that makes the greatest love stories. People will eat this shit up.”

  “You want to monetize our personal struggle? What the fuck, Allan?”

  “Listen, your problems will still be there no matter what. I don’t want to monetize anything. I want to control the narrative. If we don’t do it, people like Craig Hawthorne will.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes for a brief second. Allan’s right. There’s really no keeping our shit from the public eye.

  It’s times like these that fame is a fucking bitch.

  Seven

  Saylor

  After my breakdown, I didn’t want to join my band members for practice, giving an excuse that I had a headache. I made Oliver more worried about me in the process, but I couldn’t face my friends while trying to hold off the tempest of conflicting emotions swirling in my chest. I texted Tabatha and sort of told her the truth. She’s been through a similar situation, so she understands what I’m going through.

  I called Liv next and asked if she could take me to my first therapy session with the psychiatrist today. I planned to call an Uber and go by myself because I didn’t want to tell anyone about it. But considering my emotions are all over the place, I need my best friend there in case the session is too much and I turn into a blubbering mess.

  I barely acknowledge Oliver when I finally emerge from my room. I haven’t seen him since he washed my hair yesterday, and his concerned gaze feels like a dagger striking my heart. Guilt is eating me alive. Thank God Liv is already waiting for me.

  She meets me halfway and engulfs me in a tight embrace. “How are you this morning, Blue? Oliver said you had a headache yesterday.”

  I give her a tight smile. “I’m much better. I just needed some rest.”

  “Where are you girls headed today?” Oliver asks.

  Instead of looking in his direction, I drop my gaze to my shoes.

  “We’re going shopping,” Liv answers for me. I asked her not to tell anyone where we’re really going.

  “That sounds fun. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Still not making eye contact with Oliver, I lace my arm with Liv’s and spin us toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

  “Sure. Bye, Oliver.”

  Only when we reach the pavement outside does Liv stop me to ask, “What was that all about, Blue? You barely looked in Oliver’s direction.”

  “I-I….” I pause, taking a deep breath. “Every time I look into his eyes, I’m swallowed by guilt.”

  “Oh, Saylor. It’s not your fault that you can’t remember him.”

  “I know, but still.”

  “You just got out of the hospital. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

  She wraps her arm around my shoulders and hugs me sideways. “Are you nervous about your session today?”

  “I’m fucking terrified.”

  “Maybe you’ll get a therapist like Billy Crystal in Analyze This.”

  I step out of Liv’s embrace so I can better glower at her. “Are you implying that I’m the mob man?”

  “Let’s hope not. That would make me your minion.” She smirks at me, making me roll my eyes.

  “Okay, minion. Let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.”

  Once inside Liv’s brand-new car—which I suspect was a gift from Bas—I pepper her with questions, mostly about her rekindled romance with the love of her life. After she’s done filling me in, I ask, “Are you happy, Liv?”

  “Yes, of course. I don’t sound happy to you?” She frowns at me.

  “You do, but… I don’t know. I guess I’m a little bit pessimistic today. You know when you dream about something for the longest time, and when you finally get it, you realize that it wasn’t exactly how you envisioned.”

  “Are we still talking about me?”

  I shake my head and look out the window. “Not necessarily. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Forget I said anything.”

  There’s a pause before Liv continues. “To be honest, things aren’t as picture-perfect with Bas as I thought they would be. Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much, but since we got married, there’s this new tension between us that I can’t quite understand or fix.”

  “Have you truly forgiven Bas for what he did to you?”

  “Yes. Well, at least I think I did. Ugh! I’m such a basket case. Maybe your therapist has an opening for me today.”

  I reach over and grab Liv’s hand. “You’re not a basket case. Life and relationships are complicated. Just look at me.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like living with Bas without knowing who he is. How are you coping?”

  “Terribly.�
�� I let out a shaky laugh. “Yesterday, I wanted to jump his bones.”

  “What? Shut up! Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I don’t remember him. I don’t think it would be fair to get physical with Oliver without the feelings.” I sigh. “I know I sound crazy.”

  “Ah, I see. But it’s a good thing you’re still attracted to him.”

  “True, but what if I can’t resist the guy? More and more his nearness makes me hot and bothered. Gosh, I don’t remember being such a nymphomaniac before.”

  “You guy always had great chemistry. I think Oliver brings out that nympho side of you. Perhaps you’re looking at things the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your amnesia sucks, I know. But it’s given you the chance to experience falling in love with Oliver all over again. There’s no greater feeling in the world. The butterflies in the stomach, the giddiness. I would kill to experience that again.”

  “I never thought about it that way.”

  The radio is on, and when a familiar melody fills the car, I freeze on the spot. “I know that song.”

  Liv turns the sound louder. “You should. It’s your ballad with Oliver.”

  My heart begins to hammer violently inside my chest while my stomach ties in knots. I change the station.

  “What’s the matter, Blue?”

  “I’m not ready to listen to it yet.”

  Liv peels her gaze off the road for a split second to watch me. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I look out the window, wondering if one hour will be enough to talk about all the shit that’s been running through my head.

  Eight

  Saylor

  Oliver isn’t home when Liv drops me off. I’m grateful for that, the session with the therapist having left me raw. We talked about many things, including my reaction to my mother’s house. It was the right call to ask Liv to accompany me. We didn’t talk much on the way back, but having her by my side helped soothe some of the anxiety clinging to my heart. I thought therapy was supposed to help, not make me feel worse. I’m not sure I’ll return.

  I hear the band playing the moment I open the front door, and my heart does a somersault in response. I missed playing with them so much. Perhaps that’s the only therapy I need.

  Before I make a conscious decision, I’m already moving toward the studio. The door is not completely shut, and all it takes is a little nudge with the cane to open it all the way.

  Tabatha has her back to me, so Remi sees me first. She stops playing and shouts my name. Everyone freezes, sudden silence replacing the awesome jam they had going seconds before. Tabatha spins around. Before I know it, Remi crosses the gap between us, launching herself at me to trap me in a bear hug. I almost lose my balance.

  “You’re here!” she says.

  “Yes, I am.”

  A rueful smile blossoms on Tabatha’s face, eliciting a similar one from me. A pretty brunette walks around the drums and stops next to Tabatha. That must be Sticks.

  Remi finally lets go of me to face our band members. “Do you remember Sticks?” she asks.

  “No. Sorry. I have no memories of the past year.”

  “Ugh, sorry.” Remi looks at me with a pained expression.

  I don’t like one bit that my handicap is making my friends uncomfortable. Unfortunately, I can’t control people’s reaction, so I just have to deal with it.

  “Nice to meet you, Saylor.” Sticks waves at me.

  “I’ve heard you’re a great drummer, the best we’ve ever had.”

  The girl shrugs and looks at her shoes. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Sticks is very modest. But she kicks ass. We have Rori to thank for helping find her,” Tabatha says.

  “How so?”

  “He organized an open audition at Closing Time. Sticks was the last contender.”

  Remi puts her hands on her hips. “Hey, what about my contribution? If it weren’t for my intervention, Sticks would’ve never auditioned.”

  I laugh, completely at ease watching the banter between my bandmates. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed this. Missed them.

  “I sense that’s a juicy story. I can’t wait to hear it.”

  Tabatha drops her gaze to my cane. “How are your arm and leg doing?”

  “My leg is better. I think I’ve recovered more than half of the sensitivity there. It’s still numb, but I can walk around unassisted with the help of the cane. My arm is a different matter, though. Still super useless.”

  “But you still have your voice. You can jam with us,” Remi says with a glint of excitement in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I need to learn our new songs ASAP.”

  “Have you listened to any of them yet?”

  I remember my duet with Oliver and wince. “Not all of them. Just the upbeat ones.”

  Tabatha stares at me through slits and I know she understands the message between the lines. “Let’s start with those, then, and skip the ballad for now.”

  Understanding finally dawns on Remi’s face. “Of course.”

  Listening to the songs I wrote and recorded without having any memory of doing so is weird to say the least. I can’t believe I created them. I also sound a thousand times better than when the band first started. The songs are catchy and edgy. When I learn one of them is part of a movie soundtrack, pride fills my chest. Wreck of the Day has finally made it.

  After listening to the new songs a few times, I’m finally ready to practice. My voice comes out as a croak at first and a bit off-key, but once my vocal cords warm up, I sound like myself again. And boy, does it feel good to be singing once more. I get so caught up in the moment that I forget one of my legs is lame. Holding on to the mic stand, I try to pivot and lose my balance in the process when my left leg doesn’t cooperate. I fall to the floor like a bag of potatoes, but instead of feeling mortified, I start to laugh.

  The girls stop playing to watch me warily.

  “Oh quit looking at me like that. That was funny as shit.” I push myself to a sitting position using my good arm before I wipe the tears of laughter that have rolled down my cheeks.

  “That move was so ungraceful, it was painful to watch,” Remi says with a smirk.

  “Bite me. Try doing that with a lame leg.”

  “I wish I’d caught that on camera,” Tabatha adds, and I stick my tongue out to her.

  Bracing my hand against the floor, I try to stand up on my own, only to fall flat on my butt again. Remi starts to laugh.

  “Shut up,” I say, but it has no bite, not when I’m fighting to keep the giggles bottled in.

  “It looks like you’re drunk.”

  “Is anyone going to help me, or are you just going to stare and laugh?”

  Tabatha puts her bass away, but instead of helping me, she crosses her arms in front of her chest and smirks. “Nah, this is just too much fun to watch. Come on, Saylor.”

  I turn to our new drummer. “Sticks, come on. A little help here.”

  The poor girl looks at me and then at Tabatha and Remi, not knowing what to do. “Uh….”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Oliver shouts from the door, killing the fun in an instant. His eyes flash with fury aimed at Tabatha. “Why is Saylor on the floor?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. Will you relax?”

  Oliver ignores Tabatha and strides in my direction, offering his hand when he’s in front of me. I bat it away. “I don’t need any help.”

  I’m so angry at him, I can’t see straight. Why did he have to come in and ruin my fun?

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “I fell. No big deal.”

  He doesn’t seem to get the message as he tries to help me again.

  “Oliver, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want your help!”

  I regret my harsh words immediately when I see the stricken look on his face. He unfurls from his crouch while the gleam in his gaze turns ice cold. “My apologies for worrying about you.”

  He’s out of
the room before I can apologize, leaving me feeling like a rotten cow.

  “Fuck!” I rest my head in my hand. “I’m such a bitch.”

  I feel Remi’s hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not so sure, Remi. How many more blows can Oliver take from me before he decides he’s had enough?”

  Or he realizes I’m not worthy?

  Nine

  Saylor

  I never got to apologize to Oliver. After my outburst in the studio, he kept his distance, only speaking to me about work. Allan issued a press release about my condition, but the interview on camera he wanted Oliver and me to give never happened. Anyone could see the tension between us. It hurts to know I’m the cause, but every time I tried to reach out to Oliver, I chickened out, afraid to say something that would hurt him even more.

  I fired my therapist after the second session. He was a moron who made me feel like everything I ever did wasn’t good enough. Dr. Laurent and my mother disapproved, but mercifully, Oliver took my side—a fact that only made me feel guiltier.

  My jamming sessions with the band are a much better alternative, and I have Liv to listen to me when I need to pour my heart out. However, the darkness inside my chest is still there, swirling without pause. Guilt and frustration are like a stone hanging around my neck, dragging me down.

  I should focus on the positive aspects of my recovery. After ten days of physical therapy, I can now walk without a cane. Cheryl tells me every day how amazing I’m doing, but the perverse part of me refuses to let her words sink in. My arm is still useless, and there’s no sign I will ever recover my memories.

  Without anyone knowing, I’ve been waking up before dawn every day to practice with Rita alone. And with each day without progress, my frustration grows.

  Today, I decide to do something drastic. Scrolling through Wreck of the Day’s songs on my phone, I press Play on my duet with Oliver. My heart clenches again when the familiar and yet foreign melody fills my ears. The urge to cry comes unbidden. I clench my jaw and fight the feeling, managing to listen to the first verse where I’m singing solo without bawling my eyes out. It’s only when Oliver’s voice joins mine that I have to pause the song. Pulling the earbuds off with a jerky movement, I throw the device far away, hiding my face between my hands.