A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  Tessa gave him an appraising glance and a wink.

  Somewhere in the throng of chanting humanity sat Seb… and possibly a deranged lunatic psychopath. Had to take the good with the bad. Technicians hooked them into mics, making last-minute preparations.

  Mismatched Delusions took to the stage, except for Michael, who hurried into a side room for his part of the show.

  The crowd rose to their feet for “Ice Inside,” cheering Henri on when he hit and held the high C note. Damn. The lights, the music, the cameras, the fans. Seb. Life didn’t get any better than this. At this moment, the entire fucking world revolved around the stage.

  Finally, the moment Henri had been waiting for. The lights faded down until only a lone spotlight shone on him. He strolled to the edge of the stage, where he’d been told Seb was sitting, and held out his hand. In the bright light he couldn’t make out his lover. He started singing, hand still extended.

  “Where have you been?”

  Nothing. Henri motioned for his band to repeat the line. He said aloud, “Again,” into his mic for Michael’s benefit.

  “Where have you been?”

  Again, nothing happened. Holy shit? What now? Just when he’d made his mind up to continue solo, Seb’s powerful tenor replied:

  “Dove sei?”

  A hand gripped Henri’s, and he pulled Sebastian into the spotlight. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sebastian Unger!” Hooting and catcalling followed, but whether it was because the crowd recognized Seb or merely acknowledged him as special to Henri was anyone’s guess.

  The band kept the beat going while Henri and security helped Sebastian onstage. Henri picked up on the second line, stepping close to Sebastian to hand him a mic:

  “All my life spent lonely.”

  “Tutta la mia vita in solitudine.” Damn, but Sebastian sang like an angel. The crowd agreed with their screaming and clapping.

  “I know you’re out there.”

  “Lo so che sei là fuori da qualche parte.”

  Henri’s words were no longer a song. They came straight from the heart. Music and sweat poured out of him in equal measure.

  “The one I’ve waited for.”

  No lover’s caress ever thrilled like Seb’s “La persona che aspettavo.”

  Henri altered the next line, changing “I know I’ll find you” to “and now I found you.”

  The words blended with Seb’s “Lo so che ti troverò.”

  Henri’s “It’s just a matter of when” and Sebastian’s “E’ solo una questione di tempo” mixed with perfect accord. The music blended into the background, and Henri sang his love song to Sebastian. Sebastian might not return that love, might never return the love. Henri loved enough for two.

  After the song Henri hugged Sebastian tight and helped him off the stage. No way in hell could the next act compete with what they’d delivered. No matter what the critics said tomorrow, tonight Mismatched Delusions rocked. From what he could see of the audience, not a single spectator remained seated.

  At last the set ended and Henri took his bow, then turned to bow to each of his bandmates in turn. They joined him at the stage edge. Even Michael appeared in the flesh. They clasped hands and bowed as one.

  Henri dashed off stage. Moments like this called for Sebastian to share the glory.

  A veritable sea of reporters and cameras lay in wait. Henri surged on, counting on Lucas to field the questions. What a clusterfuck. Where was Seb? He glimpsed russet curls down the hall and picked up the pace.

  Holy shit. Seb stood backed up to the wall while Charles sneered. Nose to nose with Henri’s lover. “Oh hell the fuck no!” Henri charged.

  “Henri! No!” Tessa shrieked.

  Arms wrapped around him from behind. Jake rumbled, “Don’t ruin your moment. We got security for this.”

  Henri twisted in Jake’s grasp, searching out his bodyguard. “Arnulfo? That man shouldn’t be backstage. Get him the fuck out of here.” How the hell had Charles gotten in anyway? Was he following Seb?

  “Go to the dressing room. We got this.” Michael headed off down the hall with Sylvia in hand.

  Time slowed down. Sebastian’s hands against Charles’s chest, pushing, his scream of “Never again!” Holy fuck! He fought back. He finally fought back! Hallelujah!

  Henri weighed the odds. No, he didn’t need the bad press of taking out Charles in front of witnesses. Sebastian didn’t need any bullshit either. He breathed a sigh of relief when Arnulfo inserted himself between Seb and the dick of a former patron.

  With his band clustered around, forming a human shield about Sebastian, Henri spun on his heel and charged for his dressing room. If Seb wasn’t there in five minutes, he’d go find the man.

  Hey! Why so dark in here?

  Twenty-Five

  Holy shit! What the fuck happened to his head? A bump slammed Henri against a hard surface. Damn! He rocked violently from side to side, an engine’s vibrations reverberating against his back. A trunk. He was in a trunk, riding over some god-awful rough road. Where the fuck was he?

  His shoulders ached from having his hands secured behind him. Trussed up like a Christmas turkey. And cold! What the hell happened? He’d headed to the dressing room, the lights were off. He groaned, the pain in his head making itself known. Another bump jolted his shoulder. Whoever did this would have hell to pay. He wriggled his fingers toward his pocket for his phone. Damn, he’d been onstage. He never took his phone onstage. Not that he’d get the tape off his mouth to talk.

  Rolling to the left didn’t help—he’d been packed in pretty tight, with little wiggle room. The emergency trunk latch remained out of reach, taunting him. So close and yet so far away. Gasoline fumes burned his nose.

  Where the hell was he and where the hell were they going? And please, please, please, let Arnulfo be hot on their tail.

  The car slowed, jostling over rugged terrain, and finally stopped. From outside came an off-key version of Hookers and Cocaine’s number one song, “A Matter of When”:

  “Got a date with a bullet, got a date with a gun….”

  Jeez, the guy couldn’t sing. He clunked around the car, opening and closing doors, stomped a few feet away, and dropped something on the ground. Would Henri be next? Should he try to scream or pretend to be out cold?

  Finally the trunk lid popped open. “Oh, you’re awake. I hope I didn’t hurt you too bad.” Holy fuck. He’d recognize the bastard’s voice anywhere, even after all these months.

  Henri couldn’t make out the man’s face with a flashlight shining in his eyes, but he jerked away from the fingers probing his injury. Damn, there had to be a fist-sized goose egg on the back of his head.

  “Aww… don’t be like that. You made me do it. If you’d gone with me last time, I wouldn’t have had to come back.”

  Sure, blame the victim.

  Blame the victim, make him pay….

  Fuck, not now! I am not writing a song called “Blame the Victim.” Not, not, not.

  The fingers inspecting his bump trailed down his cheek. “I know what you need, probably better than you do.”

  My bodyguard with a gun in his hand?

  “I have every one of your songs, and I’ve listened, really listened to what you were saying.”

  I was in a band called Hookers and Cocaine. Nobody should’ve listened to me.

  “You tore my heart out with ‘Lonely.’ But don’t worry, I’m here now. You’ll never be lonely again.” The guy stepped back, and a bit of illumination cast him in silhouette at the same moment woodsmoke assaulted Henri’s nostrils.

  The guy wouldn’t shut up. “And then you came out with ‘A Matter of When.’”

  Actually, “A Matter of When” had come first, but now wasn’t the time to argue with the crazy person, not that Henri stood a chance with his mouth taped shut.

  “I wanted to help you but didn’t know how.” Crazy Psycho Fan from Hell rambled on, reaching around Henri to pull out various unidentifiable items. He paused long enoug
h to lean in, nose inches from Henri’s. “After you wrote ‘Walk Through Fire’ I figured it out.”

  He grabbed Henri’s arms and hauled him from the trunk. Crackling, dead grass broke his fall. Henri “oomph!” and “owwww”ed behind his tape gag as he bounced over rocks and sticks toward a bonfire, the guy dragging him by the legs. Ow! His shirt caught on something. He left a chunk of fabric behind. Flames cast gold shadows on a ring of twisty shapes. Trees. Tall ones. A breeze blew smoke right at him and he coughed, perhaps more violently than necessary, hoping to win sympathy points.

  His abductor knelt down beside him. “I love you. The tabloids tried to say you were with women, but I know better. I know it’s a man you were singing about. And I’ve figured out a way to get you away from him forever, the one you wanted to escape in ‘A Matter of When.’”

  “A Matter of When” referred to escaping my controlling mother—I know that now—not an abusive lover, you shithead!

  “I wouldn’t hurt you. I’d treat you better.”

  Then how about untying me and letting me go?

  Instead, the most unstable fan on the planet turned his back and tossed a branch on the already blazing fire. At least Henri wasn’t cold anymore.

  “Lonely” described the ache and longing of needing someone to love. Though at the time he’d written the lyrics life had been good, there had been something missing, noticeable only with the entrance of Sebastian into his life. “A Matter of When” spoke of getting out of a bad situation at any cost. But what did “Walk Through Fire” have to do with anything?

  Oh shit. Life going up in flames, I’d walk through fire for love. Oh, holy hell, no.

  His host disappeared and reappeared a few moments later, gas can in hand. “It may hurt a bit, but the pain won’t last long and you don’t have to be afraid. I’m going with you.”

  No! No! No! No! No! Henri struggled, screaming against the tape over his mouth. Dear God, we haven’t talked much lately, but please don’t let me die tonight. Not like this.

  I’ll be a better person. I’ll stop lying about who I am. But please don’t take me away from Seb. He makes life worth living.

  Sirens split the quiet night—too fucking far away. They’d never make it in time if they didn’t hurry, and as rough as the roads were, they’d have to drive slowly. And no telling if they were even coming for him, or if they just happened to be in the neighborhood, bound for somewhere else.

  The fan hummed while he sprinkled more gas on the fire. I can’t die like this! Henri added, I’ll patch things up with my family to his plea bargain with the higher power.

  The fame, the wealth, the trappings of his career—he’d trade all to return to Seb. They’d work things out, they’d find a way. Nothing mattered but being with Sebastian—everything else faded into details.

  Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. The world revolved around Sebastian. Oh, God. Jenni! Sebastian and Jenni. He couldn’t leave them.

  With his captor’s back turned, Henri grunted, groaned, and managed to get his bound-together legs underneath him. Escape wasn’t an option. He’d stall until help arrived. The crackling fire covered his sounds and he hopped away, arms behind him. He fell face-first with a thud. Pain lanced through his cheek. He glanced toward the fire. Crazy Boy hadn’t heard. Henri scrambled back up, pins and needles jabbing through his legs. Shake it off. Run!

  With running out of the question, he hopped, leaning against trees for support. Fire lanced through his chest from lack of air. Breathing through his nose didn’t help. The sirens came closer.

  Crazy Boy turned around. “Henri?” He searched the surrounding brush. “There’s no need to run. I’ll take care of you!”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. Henri stood still, braced against a sapling to keep from toppling over. His kidnapper stomped his way through knee-high dead grass. A flashlight beam swiveled from side to side. Fuck. Heading right for Henri. “I know you’re here.”

  No shit. Where else would I be?

  The flashlight’s beam slipped by, illuminating trees and… nothingness. A few yards away the land dropped off. A known devil pitted against a mystery ledge.

  If I get out of this I’ll never, ever write depressing lyrics again. It’s sunshine and roses from here on out. Tessa will be happy. And she can wear her damned fairy costume to every fucking concert. Sorry, Lord, do I need to give up cussing too?

  He froze. The beam flashed over him, stopped, and returned. Don’t see me, don’t see me!

  “Oh, there you are.” Backlit by a now-raging fire, Henri’s worst nightmare appeared as evil incarnate, blackness against the light. Sirens no longer shrieked in the distance.

  Henri stared at the fire. His funeral pyre. Certain death or the unknown? He took a deep breath. Sebastian Unger, wherever you are, I love you. He plunged through the trees and over the edge.

  “Mr. Lafontaine?”

  The voice came from a million miles away, from a shadowy shape swimming into Henri’s field of vision.

  Hands lifted him onto something solid, jostling him more violently than the car trunk. Voices. Garbled words.

  “I’m still alive,” he tried to say. A crackle and gurgle came out. Tape. Why was there tape over his mouth?

  “Henri?” A familiar voice. Arnulfo.

  Henri raised his hand to have it clasped into a welcome grip. “Henri, you’re hurt. We’re getting you out of here.” More jostling. Someone forced his eyelids wide to shine a light inside. Arnulfo let go of his hand. Henri waved his fingers. Don’t let me go! Stay with me!

  Yelling in the distance. A stinging in his upper arm. A gunshot. Quiet. Blackness.

  Sunlight streamed in through the window, filtering through a veritable garden of flowers. A riot of color lined the windowsill: carnations, gladiolas, varied displays that must have cost a fortune… and a single red rose. He didn’t need to read the card to figure out who’d sent the gift. Sebastian. While everyone else’s displays spoke of money, Sebastian’s spoke from the heart.

  His head ached, as did one arm, and his left cheek stung.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  His blood ran cold. Margo. He turned his eyes toward the woman who’d given him life, perched in a chair by the bed. Instead of perfectly styled hair, she’d pulled her tresses back into a simple ponytail. No cosmetics hid the effects of her years. It’d been a long time since she’d looked like a mother. Now her resemblance to the woman who’d once sat up with him all night when he was sick made his heart ache.

  “Where….”

  “Oh, Ree….” She hadn’t called him Ree since he was seven years old, nor had she enfolded him into such a heartfelt embrace, jarring his painful arm. He bit down on his lip to keep from shouting. What was a little pain against a heartfelt hug? Margo… Mom… jumped back. “I’m sorry! I forgot how badly you were hurt.”

  Maybe he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped. “No, it’s okay.” They stared at each other. So much needed to be said to close the gulf between them. The hell with it—he’d made promises he intended to keep. “Hi, Mom.” He offered the words as a truce.

  She responded, “Hi, son.” And then she smiled. One day they’d have a long talk—right now they were family again. “I sent your sister home to take a bath and get some rest. And your dad’s not been on his job long enough to take much time off, but he dropped by earlier.”

  “Dad got a job?” Whatever drugs they’d given him must be good. She couldn’t have actually said Dad got a job.

  His mother gave him a sheepish smile. “Part time, but we’re hoping for full time soon, after he’s proven himself. It’s not easy to find work without an established history.”

  “And you’ve been sitting with me? How long?”

  “You were brought in the night before last. We’d wondered where you went after the concert. The police wanted to talk with you as soon as you woke up, but I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to.”

  She fussed with his pillow, voice emerging a
bit shaky. “How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare.”

  Running, or rather, hopping. Falling. Agony. “Details are fuzzy. What happened?” He licked his dry lips and his mother raised a plastic cup, complete with bendy straw, for him to suck down the sweetest water he’d ever tasted. Who was this woman and what had she done with Margo?

  “From anyone’s best guess, you were conked on the head, hauled out of a window, thrown into a car, and taken to the woods. You jumped into a ravine to get away. You’ve got a broken arm, scrapes, bruises, and a possible concussion. We were worried.” She sat the cup down on a table by the bed. Tessa could play that cup. And the table. It’d be a good backup to the ringing in his ears.

  “What about the guy?”

  Margo—no, Mom—searched Henri’s eyes. “He shot himself.”

  “Dead?”

  Her gaze fell on the fingers twisted together in her lap. “I’m afraid so. The officers might tell you more, but that’s all I know.”

  Safe. Henri was safe. But a human life was too great a price to pay. While in rehab Henri had met many people who were out of their minds, most on a temporary basis. He shuddered. What made a man plan to burn someone, and himself, alive?

  “You’ve got a lot of people wanting to talk to you, but until you woke up, the doctor only allowed one at a time, and family.”

  Time to find out how much she meant her change of heart. “Where’s Sebastian?”

  “He’s in the waiting room—refuses to leave. You meant it when you told us you were in love with a man.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Is Sebastian the one you told us about?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought it might have been a phase, a kid experimenting, or you drugged up and not caring who you slept with back when you’d sometimes sneak a man into your room while on tour.” A touch of bitterness crept into her tone, gone the next minute. “You know what this’ll do to your career?”