Moment(s)

  “Kasen, I’m done trying to figure—”

  “Listen! Julian, you’re talking to the man on the phone. He told you he killed someone. We can care about him all day long, but that doesn’t take away the fact he’s dangerous. I heard you yesterday. You told him where you were.”

  “Aye, at the photoshoot. He still thinks we were going to Georgia.”

  “Okay. So you can keep your mouth shut about some things, but what about other stuff he can hear. He’s trained to observe things that we’d never consider. There’s clues he can pick up, people or sounds in the background like a train’s whistle—stuff he might have already picked up, and we have no idea. Jules, you have to stop taking his calls, and you need to tell the team you’ve been talking to him. The police need to know too. You might not believe Doug is dangerous, but I don’t care. Or you might not care what happens to you right now, but I do.”

  I reach for my sketchpad and fan through the pictures from last to first—Meyer, Isaac, Landon, Ian, Ed—their names in cursive at the bottom of each picture.

  I haven’t started on Timothy’s drawing yet.

  Meyer, Isaac, Landon. Ian, Ed.

  They start to take on the look of those moving pictures on paper.

  Meyer, Isaac, Landon. Ian, Ed.

  “Julian?”

  “I’ll change my number.” I should’ve done it already, but I’ve been holding out hope someone else would ring me.

  “And?”

  “And I’ll tell Tom about the calls.” No matter what Doug’s done, I can’t help but feel bad about him. This will get him in more trouble.

  Kason sighs. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

  “Did you rehearse that speech, or what?” I ask.

  “Just because you’ve forgotten how to talk, doesn’t mean we all have.”

  “Kase, I care about what happens to me.” A little. “I’m not suicidal.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” he says.

  “Just letting you know.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Are you ready to sign that contract?”

  “Hey, did you get a Zipad from Lauren last night?”

  “No.” He sounds fussed.

  Ah, shite.

  He laughs. “Kidding. It was in my room when we got back yesterday. Why?”

  “Last night Lauren was going on about me going solo. I think she thinks I’m the reason we’re only signing for two more years.”

  “You are the better performer,” he says.

  Why did I bring that up? “You’re the better singer.”

  “That’s debatable. Your voice has gotten deeper, and you can hold those low notes a lot longer now. That’s a better range than me.”

  My heart trips up. Talk of splitting from the lads never feels good, but my best mate….

  “Maybe I don’t want a solo career. It sounds bored.”

  “You better. And you won’t be the only one that’ll give it a shot, Jules. We’ll tour together.”

  “Fair enough. What about the brothers? You think they’ll do that T.V. serial their agent is always going on about?”

  “If they do, we’ll have to crash it from time to time. Hey, you remember that house in Hollywood Hills we rented while we recorded the High Years album? It’s up for sale.”

  “I loved that house.”

  “I know. Should we mention it to Luke and Parker?”

  “Let’s do it.” I fall back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Having a permanent place to stay in LA would be magic. I’ve thought about looking around for something but there’s never enough time. “All right. I’ll see you at the meeting. Wait, did you eat yet? Want to get something downstairs?”

  “Jules, what time do you think it is? We’re supposed to be in the conference room in fifteen minutes.”

  Holy fash! “I gotta go.”

  Flying from the bed, I grab some clothes from the cupboard and head to the lavatory to clean my teeth. Five minutes later, I’m walking out the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a stirring at the end of the hall. I spin around and see Tom coming over.

  “The rest have already gone down,” he says.

  We step into the lift, and I pull out my mobile to ring my assistant. “Joe, I’m headed to the meeting.”

  “I’ll meet you there with a cuppa.”

  “No, it’s all right. The rest of the day is open, isn’t it?”

  He chortles. “Congrats, Julian. You get a day off and you’re too lazy to make plans.”

  I wouldn’t call it a day off. “I need you to refill my prescription for Kipiran.”

  “Still not sleeping?” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry—none of my business. I’ll bring them along with the clothes. Hopefully Leona will have some ready by then.”

  “What clothes?”

  “Oh…Uh, Lauren is blazing about the session yesterday. She wants reshoots.”

  Fash.

  The lift stops and opens. Luke, Parker and Kasen are standing at the conference room door, stiller than I’ve ever seen them. When I get closer, I hear Lauren’s shrill voice coming from the other side.

  And then Phillip’s. “They look fine to me.”

  “They’re terrible,” Lauren says. “The boys look like tree huggers. I wanted the stone mountains of Georgia. Can you not see my vision? Jagged Black walking up a mountain made completely of graystone. It’s edgy.”

  Kasen raises his eyebrows at me. Luke waves.

  “It’s actually granite,” Phillip says.

  “Do I care what it’s made of!”

  “The permits were proving difficult,” he says in a high-pitched defensive voice. “Kasen mentioned the mountains close to his house, so we went with it. Plus, the security team were worried that Doug knew about the place and time of that particular shoot.”

  “Well, he doesn’t now, so make it happen.”

  Parker glances at me then looks away quickly.

  “I’ll get it arranged, Ms. Holt.”

  “Yes, you will. Now where is everybody?”

  “I’ll find out what’s going on.” Phillip swings the door open. “Here they are. Come. Come on in.”

  He points over our heads. “Good. Your agents are just in time, boys.” He turns back to Lauren. “The lawyer called and said he’d be five minutes late.”

  Thirty minutes later, we file out of the conference room. And now I really know I’ve contracted Emilie’s claustrophobia, yet I still can’t stand the thought of huge empty buildings. I guess I’m fucked.

  “Julian?”

  I turn back and see Lauren leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed over her blazer-covered chest. I follow her back inside, and she shuts the door.

  “I got this during the middle of all that.” She opens her laptop. “Oh. It was sent to you too, so I suppose you could read it on your own time. Now, I should go ahead and let you know we might buy Emilie’s songs still.”

  “She sent you a song?”

  “And you too. She obviously knows her way around a guitar now. She learned to read and write music too. Look.”

  “No.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “No, you don’t like it? Or no, you don’t want us buying any of her songs?”

  “I don’t want to read them.” I can’t read her words while I’m so close. I’ll be tempted to forget the whole sacrificing my happiness thing and run right over to her house. Thirty minutes is all it would take for me to turn into a selfish arsehole. “Buy her songs. It’s good. It’s fine.”

  “Well, you’ll have to read the lyrics eventually if we get them. Hell, you’ll be memorizing them. I know she’s your ex and everything but you know what they say—the show must go on.”

  It feels like taut guitar strings are breaking in my chest. “Just email it. I’ll read it later.”

  “Like I said, she sent it to both of us.”

  Which is probably why my phone is buzzing in my pocket. An email alert. “I have to go. I need to talk to Tom. And I’m about
to change my number.” I talk ten to the dozen to hurry and get out of there. “I’ll let you know what it is. Talk to you later, Lauren. Bye.”

  While I’m getting telt by Tom, I try to figure out why Emilie would send it to me. What does that mean? It doesn’t mean anything other than she is still writing songs, does it now? I’m glad of that—I’d never want her to quit. But sending them to me…Is she really that cruel? Maybe she’s just business as usual about it.

  I heard through my agent the other day that Emilie got a book deal. Her novel in verse. So it’s not like she has to keep writing songs. She’s eighteen now, so maybe she feels like she needs to work doubly hard to earn her way. Maybe her parents were mad about the emancipation. Everything I did, I pushed her away from her normal life. She probably hates me. The lyrics to her song are probably a hate message.

  Not likely. She doesn’t work that way. It might be a goodbye. Or it might not relate to me at all. I don’t know what would be worse: a hate song, a goodbye song, or a song that has nothing to do with me.

  “Did you hear me?” A red-faced Tom holds his hand out.

  “What?”

  “Hand over your mobile.”

  Oh. He looks relieved when I do as he says. I guess he thought there’d be a fuss. “I’m terribly sorry, Tom.”

  He takes it and nods. “We’ll get it tidied up. Let me know when Joe gets you another number and I’ll give it back, alright?”

  So I can’t be trusted. With a nod, I walk away. Fair enough.

  Back in my room, Joe flings himself at me. “I blame myself. I should have figured it out, but we’re your friends. Not Doug. And if you’d said something to him and got yourself killed, we’d be a mess. Julian, I blame myself for not figuring the guy out long ago too. If it wasn’t for that bleeping tonsillectomy I would have, let me tell you.”

  I detangle myself from Joe’s chubby arms and back away. He wipes down his shirt and straightens his glasses. “Sorry about that. I just had to get it out.”

  “No matter. You’ve my pills?”

  “Yes, but before you take a nap, Leona wants you to flip through some magazines for some ideas since we have more time. I guess Uncle Phillip is having a hard time with the Stone Mountain people.”

  Uncle Phillip. How could I forget the relation?

  “I’ll do it later. You can put the books over there. Give me that pill bottle, though. Ah, bless, you brought me a bottle of fizzy drink too. Thank you.” I toss the pills in and swallow them back. Pulling my sketchbook to my chest, I lie on the bed. “You’ll see yourself out, won’t you? Thank you, Joe.”

  The door shuts with a loud thud. I fan through the pages of my book.

  Meyer, Isaac, Landon. Ian, Ed.

  From this angle all of their first initials really stick out. Wait, is that—Was Doug trying to spell something with his kills? Not Jenni or Kenny.

  MILIE

  The book falls from my chest when I rise up. That bastard.

  At least he didn’t finish spelling her name. E is the only letter left. Does that mean Emilie was next? I thump my chest, trying to alleviate the burning. I hope Emilie never finds out. The fact that her name was how he chose his victims…it’d really blow her mind.

  Lying back again, I curl up on my side. I guess I’ll have to tell the team what I’ve found. It’s more proof for them to build their case against Doug. That’s what I want, isn’t it? The more proof they have, the less likely he’ll be able to cut a deal. But he’s going to do prison time no matter what. Am I such a terrible person if I don’t want to add to it? The man was suffering.

  Chapter 23

  I awake much later to beating on my door. “What!”

  “We’re going to eat,” Kasen calls.

  “Not hungry.”

  There’s a shuffling. I pry my eyes open and see the shadow of feet moving away. “Hey, wait.”

  I nearly fall over when I climb from the bed. “Wait.”

  They’re standing at the lift when I pop my head out. “Tom, I need to show you something first.”

  Need to—I don’t want to.

  Parker rolls his eyes. “Ugh, I’m caving in.”

  “Be right back,” Tom says. I stand back to let him in, and scoop my sketch pad up.

  “Look at the first letter,” I say and fan the pages.

  He brings his hand up pinches his bottom lip together. “It almost spells Emilie.”

  “Aye.”

  “But you’re forgetting two. Mark Fench and the Las Vegas kid.” He snaps his fingers and stares at the ceiling. “What’s his name?”

  “Timothy Jones.” I hadn’t gotten to his picture yet. Mark hasn’t been declared dead, so he’s not among the victim photos.

  “There isn’t a name with those extra initials.” Tom reaches for the back of his neck and massages. “Plus, Doug didn’t know Emilie at the start of it all. And neither did you, right? So why would he be spelling her name?”

  Well, I’d seen her at that fountain the year before that, but I hadn’t met her yet.

  But we were here. Well, in Virginia. Doug was working on security for the show. Maybe he’d met her through Mr. Gold. No, they’d obviously never laid eyes on each other before meeting in the Golds’ living room.

  “Sorry, Tom. I thought I had something.”

  “It’s okay. The initials are just a coincidence. Let us take care of it. You take care of yourself.”

  So this is how people treat you after a mind fuck. I lie back on the bed. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Leo is at the end of the hall if you need him.”

  Doug’s replacement. He’s so dull. “Thanks…for taking care of us.”

  He slides my book from under my leg. “My pleasure.”

  I’m out again before he shuts the door.

  The lads come back after a while and try to rouse me up, but my bed is too nice.

  “Get up, you wanker.” Luke acts like my bed is his personal trampoline.

  “No.”

  Kasen bends down in front of my face. “You’re getting your days and nights mixed up.”

  He looks over my head and smiles, though quickly wipes it away.

  What’s Luke up to? “Luke, whatever you’re doing, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Kasen reaches up. “You better not. It’d be sticky.”

  Something wet splashes into my ear. I pop out of bed and run my hand over my hair. “Did you really just pour fizzy on me?”

  Luke’s blue eyes bulge. “Kasen bumped me.”

  I fight the urge to laugh at his frightened face.

  “And I’m getting out of here,” Kasen says. “I don’t want to be a witness to your death.”

  The door thuds behind him.

  Luke’s eyes go over my hair. “It’s alright. Kinda like curl gel.”

  I snatch the bottle from him. “So you like it, do you?”

  He runs out the room when I sling some of the sticky fizzy at him. Parker’s not as smart—he only runs around the room from me.

  “Why me?” he shouts. “Ack!”

  I finally get him across the face and chest. “Ha! There you are.”

  “Lime. Jules, I liked this shirt.”

  My eyes land on the shirt he likes so much, and I recognize the green-and-white pattern. “It’s mine.”

  He looks back up and pulls a smile. “Oops.”

  And then he runs out.

  But now I’m wide awake. After a long shower I head to Parker’s room to keep up the friendliness. He’s hasn’t said anything else about me leaving Emilie, but he has made it clear he isn’t happy about it.

  “I’m sleeping, you wanker,” he calls through the door. “It’s what normal people do this time of night.”

  “What time is it?” I reach back for my mobile then mind Tom has it.

  “It’s past one in the morning.”

  Oh. I should harass him some more. No, Kasen would probably hear and try to take pity on my backward arse. No sense in messing up everyone’s sch
edule.

  With slow steps, I head back to my room. Pure dead bored.

  I could draw more pictures of Emilie. Ha! I’ll need another book soon.

  There’s still Timothy’s face to do. My eyes land on a pack of biscuits. Grabbing them up I munch on them a while and drink the rest of my fizzy. After standing in front of the T.V. a full thirty minutes, I realize something is wrong with my channels. It’s in Spanish.

  Och! Games on my mobile. Nope, Doug—I mean Tom has it.

  There’s probably plenty of games on that Zipad, but I don’t need to sit in front of that. Emilie’s song.

  Wait, am I not disciplined at all? I pull out a chair and almost sit in a puddle of fizzy. So that’s where it went when I slung it. Grabbing a towel from the loo, I wipe it up and sit down.

  What the fash? There isn’t the first game on here, is there? I’m flipping open every window and nothing. I lean back and push it away. I’ll be giving this thing to someone else.

  I look over at the cupboard—I could get my laptop out, but it’s more bother than it’s worth. The battery is bad, so I’d have to plug it in. Joe ordered another, but they sent the wrong one.

  With a sigh, I reach out for the Zipad and tap the murders file.

  Mark Fench.

  Och, he lied to Emilie. He wasn’t put out of the game for bad grades. They found performance enhancers in a piss test. I mind her remark about the arguments they started having. Aye, that’ll do it.

  What if that song is about him? All right, I have to find out now. I find the email easy enough; my finger hovers over the open button. “Moment(s)” is the name of it. Should I? You can’t ever unread something. Maybe I should wait until we’re in Georgia—further away from temptation.

  But my elbow slips off the table, and my finger hits the screen. I get to my feet and scoop up the computer. My eyes greedily scan the document while I pace in front of the bed.