Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1)

by Stevie J. Cole

“’Sup?” a deep voice sang into the phone.

  “Twitch? Hey, man.” A car horn blared as I stepped out into the pedestrian walkway, ignoring the red hand telling me not to. I flipped my middle finger up, mouthed, “fuck off,” and hopped onto the curb. “I need something,” I said, my entire body trembling from the hurt devouring me like an angry sinkhole.

  “Jag?” The man laughed. “Thought you’d cleaned up? Shit.” I heard him take a drag of either a cigarette, a joint, or some crack. “Or is that just a publicity stunt?” He choked back a cough.

  Swallowing, I replied, “Nah, man, just need something. Real rough day, you know. Just keep this between us. I just need something to take the edge off. I’m clean. Just, you know…”

  Air rushed over the phone as Twitch let out a sigh. “Shit, man. I ain’t here to judge. Just here to supply. Where you at? Where you at?”

  I glanced up at the street sign on the corner. “Look, I’ll just come to you. You still in the same place?”

  I heard Twitch yelling at someone, then heard a door slam. “Shit. What? Hell, nah. Got to keep on my toes so I don’t get tracked down. You know that, man. Tell you what, I’m pulling out right now, heading downtown. How far you from Fourteenth and Seventh?”

  I tried to do the math in my head. “About six blocks.”

  “A’ight. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  I hung up the phone and pushed the feeling that I’d just really fucked up back down inside me. Sobriety. That bitch tried to come at me at the wrong time. Maybe next time she’d be luckier.

  Chapter 5

  There were more people than I’d expected gathered around the cemetery, and I only knew a handful. I was pretty sure half of them had come just because he was father of the two main members of Pandemic Sorrow. They just wanted to watch us, or I guess maybe show their support. I don’t know, but it bothered me either way.

  I was shocked that Dad had kept the plot in Savannah. He hadn’t had ties to this place since he’d left. I’d passed this cemetery every day on the way home from school as a child and hated it. It gave me the creeps and filled me with a looming sense of anxiety. The thought that this was the place my parents would end up one day, dead and buried, always crossed my mind when I passed it, and what kid wants to think about that? About death?

  I’d been unable to shake the crippling guilt I felt after unleashing my anger on him, knowing that I’d never be able to tell him I hadn’t really meant it. I had just kept all the hurt he’d caused pushed down inside for way too long. As a kid, Dad had been the guy I looked up to. He’d been obsessed with the Rolling Stones, which is why me and Stone had the crazy-ass names we did. My dad moved to LA when he was seventeen to try to make a name for himself in music. He had an amazing Robert Plant vibe to his voice and could play the guitar until his fingers bled, literally. He had so much talent, he probably could have made it if he hadn’t met my mom and knocked her up with me. Sometimes I felt like maybe he resented me, thought I was the cock block between him and fame.

  To me, at least as a kid, my dad was amazing, and I had once wanted to be like him. I damn near idolized him, and when he left us, my entire world went spiraling into depression. The effect it had on my self-esteem and trust was detrimental. Every morning for the next four years of my life, I woke up in a panic, clammy hands and feet. My heart would gallop in my chest because I was terrified maybe we weren’t good enough for Mom either, and that I’d stumble out into the kitchen to find a note from her saying she’d just left too. The self-doubt I always carried around from that had been bubbling up inside me, and my inability to cope with it like a “healthy person” sent me on a binge. I’d managed to stay completely lit for the last twenty-four hours, and as I sat under the green tent covering the grave, I started to come down. A twinge of remorse rippled through me as I stared at the silver casket, because all I could think about was finding somewhere to go get a bump. God. You’re fucked up beyond hope, Jagger. You know that? How had I gotten so fucked up? I sat there, eyes set on the casket, and my mind drifted back to the moment I was certain had changed my entire life.

  We’d just pulled up at the concert hall in Dallas. I hadn’t slept in three days and was bordering on delirium. James walked up to me, pulling one of the new Pandemic Sorrow shirts from his shoulder and tossing it at me. “What do you think, Jag?”

  Unfolding the shirt, I glanced over it. It was black with red and white font displaying our band name. On the back it had all four of our names, “Jag, Stone, Rush, and Pax.” Through glassy eyes I looked back up at James and forced a smile. “Looks good, man. Real good.” There was not an ounce of enthusiasm in my voice.

  James frowned. “You look like shit. I don’t mean rock star shit either.” James put his arm around my shoulder, squeezing me harder than I really wanted another man to squeeze me. “Let’s go back to the bus for a minute.”

  I followed him without protest, stumbling over my own feet as we made our way up the stairs into the bus.

  “Sit down.” James pointed to the seat in front of the table and reached into his jacket pocket. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you boys got run down. Lasted longer than I thought you would, but I can make that better,” he laughed as he sat down across from me.

  I had closed my eyes and almost dozed off when I heard the sound of something being unwrapped. Opening one eye, I saw James breaking up some cocaine and sprinkling it out on the table. He pulled a business card from his wallet and started cutting through the white powder, pushing it into slender lines.

  “Man. What the hell?” I adjusted myself in the seat, attempting to wake up. “I don’t do that shit.”

  James laughed. “Yeah, well. Maybe Jagger didn’t, but Jag, well, if he wants to be able to keep this dream up – Jag’s going to have to man up. Just think of it as medicine. You get a headache, you take a Tylenol; you get the shits, you take some Pepto-Bismol. You become a rock star who hasn’t slept in days and has to perform in an hour, you snort a few lines.” He shrugged and pulled a tiny silver straw from his breast pocket and tossed it at me. The lightweight metal landed in my hands. My heart hammered in my chest, rising into my throat as my gaze went from the straw to the coke to James.

  “I can’t.” I tossed it back to him.

  James chucked it right back at me with an angry scowl on his face. “Look at it.”

  Glancing down at the metal, I twisted it around to find my name engraved on it. “What in the hell?”

  “Look. I know this business. I knew you would need it. You’re all going to need something to get through this. Consider it a present. And it wasn’t cheap either, so don’t lose it.”

  “I don’t need it,” I protested, shocked at how uncertain I sounded.

  James pulled another straw from his pocket and leaned over the white drug, placing the straw at the edge of the first line. Looking out of the corner of his eye at me, he said, “Nah. You’re gonna have to, Jag. Just the nature of the beast. Adapt or die.” He pulled in a deep breath as the straw slid up the line, and the powder disappeared.

  He motioned for me to come over, and I stood up. My hand shook as I leaned over and placed the tip of the straw on the table. I stared down at that line for what seemed like an hour; all kinds of thoughts screamed inside my head, telling me to get the hell out. Sweat collected in the crease of my palm as I contemplated doing it, and then my eyes darted up to James.

  A wolfish grin formed over his businesslike face. “It’s okay. She’ll make it all better. You won’t have to do it often, just every now and again. You know, when you need the boost for a show or something. I’m not gonna let you get addicted to it or anything. I’ve got your back. Jag,” he reached over and grabbed my shoulder firmly, “you are a rock god. Time to start acting like one.”

  I suffocated the part of me insisting it was a bad idea and placed the straw inside my nostril. I quickly inhaled and slid the metal up the line, watching as only a few sprinkles were left behind. The inside o
f my nose burned, and I could feel some of the bitter powder trickle down the back of my throat. I coughed a few times and sat there waiting, terrified of how it was going to feel. After about eight minutes, my heart rate accelerated, and then this incredible heat spread throughout my body. It was like a glow of ecstasy. My nerves were gone, my body wasn’t aching – I felt more alive than I ever had, like I could do anything and everything. Rock god. That phrase kept echoing in my head. Jag Steel, rock god.

  Snorting that line had been the moment that had changed everything in my life.

  The Spanish moss hanging from the trees blew in the light breeze, catching my attention and pulling me back into the moment, and that’s when I saw her. Stephanie was standing at the back of a small crowd gathered around the gravesite, her eyes fixed in my direction. I hadn’t spoken to her since she’d left me almost six years ago. I’d tried calling, but every time she’d send me to voicemail and never return my calls. After three months of trying, I just gave up. I was too busy to worry myself with some part of my past, especially with some girl that didn’t even really know who Jag was. Still, the sight of her got to me – or maybe it was just the situation, maybe it was just the nostalgia of that time in my life. Because honestly, I don’t even know that I’d loved her back then. I had been too young, immature, and damaged to understand love – and hell, now I was just too fucked up to give a damn about learning what it was.

  Stephanie stopped behind one of the crooked, mildew-covered headstones, and I noticed a little boy clinging to her side. Damn. People keep on living. She’d gone on with her life, just like I had, except she apparently had more to show for it than I did. I tore my gaze away from her and focused on the casket that sat in front of me, listening to the preacher talk kindly about a man he didn’t even know. Hell, I didn’t even know him.

  Stone placed his arm around our mother and she grabbed my hand, squeezing it as she choked back tears. Although it had been years since my father had abandoned us, she never stopped loving him, and I think she had always hoped that one day he’d walk back through the damn door, fall down on his knees, and beg for forgiveness.

  Staring at the casket, I got a little choked up. It’s hard to look at a metal box knowing a person that helped create you, mold you – for better or worse – is lying in it and is about to be lowered into the cold ground and covered by six feet of dirt. A box that reiterated the fact that I had once again fucked up. Death is final, and so were those words I’d said to my dad. When the pain twisted inside my chest, all I could think about was how much longer it would be until I could numb myself with the drugs I’d stuffed in my suit jacket pocket. For some reason, I’d thought fame could somehow protect me from pain, from reality…but it didn’t, not when I needed it to.

  After the service was over, I saw Stephanie walking to the road. Shoving my hand in my pocket, I jogged over to her. “Hey!” I shouted. “Stephanie.”

  She stopped, waiting a few seconds before turning to face me. When she turned around, she grabbed her son by the shoulders and pulled him toward her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jagger,” she said, pushing her sunglasses into her red hair.

  The click of cameras interrupted us, and I looked over to see the street lined with people snapping pictures. “Hey,” I yelled. “Have some fucking decency!”

  They paid no attention, just kept flicking pictures. I watched one of my bodyguards stomp over and disperse the crowd of money-hungry photographers.

  Setting my eyes on Stephanie again, I mumbled, “Thanks.” I paused and glanced down at her kid, then back up to her. “Been a while.”

  She nodded. “Yep. I almost didn’t come, but I – I just thought it right.” She glanced down at the ground, obviously uncomfortable.

  Her son turned, reaching up to her and jumping. “Mommy, can we go now?”

  “Just a minute, Layne.”

  When she said that name, it made me look closely at that kid. Layne was the name we’d always said we wanted to use. We may have only been twenty when we were together, but who doesn’t discuss what you’d name your kid when you’re in a serious relationship? Studying him, I noticed his black wavy hair and his dark brown eyes that were shaped an awful lot like mine. “Layne?” I mumbled as my eyes darted back up to her face, my pulse steadily picking up its pace.

  Stephanie’s cheeks flushed, and she pulled him closer to her. “Yeah. I always liked that name.”

  “Huh. Yeah, I remember because that was the name of my favorite singer. You know, Layne Staley?” I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top of my white dress shirt in an effort to rid myself of the choking sensation creeping up my throat.

  “Yeah, Jag. I know,” she huffed. It seemed like just having to talk to me was a task.

  I bent over and pulled my glasses down the bridge of my nose and made eye contact with Layne. “How old are you, Layne?”

  He tightened his hold on Stephanie’s leg and stared at me for a minute, then shyly said, “Five.”

  I straightened myself up and glared at Stephanie. I could feel my brow twitching as I said, “I think the two of us need to talk.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “No, Jagger. We don’t have anything to talk about.”

  By that time Stone had come over. Sensing the tension, he stopped, and his gaze shifted from me to Stephanie to Layne, then back up to me. “Hey, Stephanie.”

  “Stone,” she said, still glaring at me.

  “Okay. Well, thanks for coming.” Stone walked to the side to speak to someone else.

  Stephanie let out a loud breath and her arms tightened across her chest. “I’ll talk to you, but not with him.” Her eyes lowered down to Layne, then back up at me. “Let me take him to my mother’s, and I’ll meet you.” She knelt down by Layne. “Want to go to Granny’s for a little bit?”

  “No,” he whined. “I wanna stay with you.”

  “Oh, I know, baby. But mommy won’t be gone long –”

  Unable to resist, I blurted out, “Couldn’t his dad just keep him?”

  Stephanie shot an evil glare in my direction and then finished talking to Layne. “Mommy just needs to talk to her friend for a little bit. He just lost his daddy and is really sad.”

  Layne looked over at me and nodded his head before burying it between her knees.

  “I’ll met you in the Market in an hour. Okay?”

  My jaw clenched and I nodded. “Okay.” I watched her pick Layne up and set him on her hip as she strolled across the lawn toward the street.

  ****

  I sat in the wrought iron chair, slumped over, tracing my finger across the pattern on the table. I’d just taken some pills and done a line in the limo on the way over, and I was certain I hadn’t done enough. I had been out of practice for half a year. I didn’t want to overdo it and kill myself, although the thought was tempting.

  I couldn’t believe her. You think you know somebody, and then they go and fuck you. I knew damn well by looking at him that the kid was mine, and she hadn’t even had the decency to tell me, to give me a chance to be in his life. I didn’t want to be like my dad – and she’d given me no choice. The kid was five. Add nine months for her to carry him, damn. What was I supposed to do now? A fucking wreck – I was a damn mess. And I knew no kid needed to claim me as his father.

  I was staring down at my lap when I heard the metal legs of the chair scratch against the concrete.

  “I’m giving you an hour, and that’s it,” I heard her say.

  Looking up, I shrugged. My anger got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but shout at her. “I mean, what the hell did I ever do to you? I took you with me. You’re the one who left. Not me. So stop being a bitch. I tried, Steph. I tried to keep in touch with you, and you just cut me out.”

  Stephanie traced her finger over the table, refusing to look up at me. “I know.”

  The fact that she’d just admitted that floored me.

  “I – I just couldn’t handle it.”


  “You didn’t even stick around to try.”

  “I couldn’t! I’m too insecure. There’s no way it would have lasted, Jag.”

  Leaning back in the chair, I peered over my shades at her. She’d aged in the past six years. She looked grown-up, she looked stressed, and she looked like she absolutely hated me. Folding my hands, I said, “I get that. It wouldn’t have. We’re two totally different people. But the way you just acted like I never existed was bullshit.” I swatted my glasses off and glared at her. “Especially if you were pregnant, Steph. Don’t you think?”

  A loud sigh flew from her mouth and she sunk down shamefully in her chair. About that time, I heard a group of girls sitting across from us giggling and I saw them pointing in my direction. One of them stood up and the others pushed her out into the middle of the patio. She stumbled over her feet and timidly walked over to me. When she got closer she stalled and turned like she was going to walk away, but then she drew in a long breath and took several more steps toward me. “Can I – can I get your autograph?” She smiled at me, her hands trembling as she held out a napkin and pen.

  My gaze shifted from Stephanie to this girl. Even though I was in the middle of a damn crisis, I had to smile and act like everything in my life was just fucking perfect. I held in the loud huff I wanted to let out and managed to flip the corner of my lips up. “Sure, princess.” I took the napkin and pen from her and quickly signed my name, tearing the end of the napkin as I whipped out the “G.” I handed it back and her eyes lit up.

  “Oh, my God. Thank you so much. You’re so my favorite celebrity.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and handed it to Stephanie. “Would you take a picture? Please? No one will ever believe me.” The girl looked at me, “You don’t mind, do you?” I shook my head and rose from the chair, placing my arm around the girl’s waist and posing for the picture.

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and held the phone up, quickly snapping a picture and handing it back. The girl trotted away, proudly showing off the napkin and picture to her group of friends.