Exit Wound (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

After the show in Oklahoma, I sat in my bunk and journaled everything. It was a great show. The band had had nothing less than great shows. Could they carry on without Everett? Right now, they were doing interviews for the documentary. First Ben was interviewed, then Grayson, then Rian, and then Splinter. I was supposed to be interviewed last, but I hid out until they dragged me out of my bunk. I didn’t want to talk on camera about Everett’s death or anything else for that matter.

“Frances, it’s your turn,” Ben called from the other side of the bus. I remained silent. The last thing I wanted was to be recorded as I poured out all my weepy, messy feelings about Everett.

“Frances, c’mon, it’s your turn,” he said again. I kept drawing and writing, and when he eventually came up to my bunk, I shot him a stare that told him everything he needed to know.

Of course the camera crew was behind him, aiming the cameras at me. I tried to conceal my face with my sketchpad—though, I knew they would still get me on camera even if my face was covered with a large drawing book.

“Not now, guys,” he whispered to them. They lowered their cameras—though, I could tell by the red blinking light that it was still recording.

“Frances, what’s the matter?”

I shook my head and looked over to the cameras.

“Do you not want to talk to them right now?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to come out right now.”

He patted my head gently and went back to the camera people.

“She isn’t feeling up to it right now, maybe later.” He was pushing them back toward the front of the bus, but I could still see one camera aimed right at me.

Trying my best to keep my head above the water, I felt like it kept coming up every time I took a breath. The current was strong, and the waves moved higher and higher. Every time I started to relax, I was preparing myself to drown underneath the weight of it. I suppose that would classify as depression. However, I wasn’t a psychologist with a Master’s degree for looking into people’s minds and saying, “You’re depressed! You’re sick in the head!” I was just an eighteen-year-old girl trying to figure out everything as it came to me. I didn’t know how to get past that. Growing up was painful and difficult.

Everyone will tell you you’re so young or immature or starry-eyed. It’ll frustrate you, and it’ll infuriate you. It’ll make you want to grow up faster. I can tell you that growing up isn’t the solution to the problem. It’s finding a happy medium between acting your age and acting young, wild, and free. I didn’t really know if there was a place in between all of that that I would be comfortable with—though, I was sure I was going to find out. Though I wanted to act the way people expected me to, I also wanted to feel free again. I was trapped and enslaved by the feelings I had boiling up inside my heart. It was so difficult to describe because it could be described any number of ways and still not be fully on point with what I’m feeling.

Having feelings no one seemed to understand was hard. I wish I had someone who understood. Right now, the number of people I trusted was low, and it was dwindling fast. I wasn’t as close with Grayson or Rian as I was Everett, and as for Ben, things still weren’t where they needed to be. He was more focused on closing on the house near Dartmouth’s main campus and finishing this tour than he was about my feelings.

And then there was Splinter. He was different now that he was the band’s temp drummer. I don’t know why he changed so much, but it was rather annoying. It wasn’t that he was being boastful or showing off; it was his attitude toward me that had changed—though, I couldn’t put my finger on specifics.

When it was time for dinner, the camera crew went to find their own food, and I came out of my bunk with my journal in my hand. Everyone must have noticed how often I came out with it as if it was another appendage attached to my body. It kind of was at the moment, and I was okay with that. The boys looked worried, though. I figured they knew what K.L. said to me by how they were quietly watching me like a bunch of hawks. They wanted to make sure that I didn’t go over to the musical industry dark side. I knew I wouldn’t do that to them, and these songs, these writings and drawings, were for me. They weren’t something that I had intended to share with anyone else.

“Frances, can I see your journal?” Ben asked.

My first instinct was to tell him no. I wanted to tell him that it was private. I wanted to tell him that he should back off. Yet, I handed it to him and allowed him to read silently through the pages. Some had been stained by food and coffee spills, while others had been blotted from my tears. It was hard trying to eat and watch my brother read through my deepest feelings. There were some things that were written so blatantly in that journal that I didn’t want him to know about. I always complained that no one understood me. If I wanted someone to understand me better, I suppose that reading my journal was a pretty quick way to know what I was thinking about all the time.

He read through every page with scribbles of thoughts and feelings I had inside me.

When he was done he tapped his index finger into one of the last pages and said, “This one, this one I want you to record.”

I nearly choked on my egg roll.

Ben leaned forward, and everyone was listening now. “I know you’ve got it in you. So does K.L., but you won’t go to him. I know that now. You need to let this out, Frances. Music is more than writing the song and drawing the art to go with it. It’s playing it out, hearing the sounds in your head come to life at your will. You need to do this. If not for yourself, do it for the person you wrote this for.” He handed me the journal, and I looked at the song he wanted me to record. It was called “Reagent
.
”

It was about Mackynsie. I guess Ben knew that or he could just tell. Either way, I didn’t know if I was ready to record such a big song.

“I’ll get some blank sheet music. You write what you want us to do. We’ll be your backup band, and you do your own thing. I know you can do this.” Ben looked at me with pride and with something else I couldn’t recognize. “Are you willing to do this?”

I don’t know why, except right when I wanted to say no I said yes instead.

The band was in a flurry, preparing for my first recording session. I wrote the music, and everyone started to practice. I worked on the melody for the lyrics, and I knew that by the time the camera crew came back we would be recording a song.

Ben was right; I could hear it perfectly in my head, and the moment I heard it come to life was exhilarating. When it came time to record, I was able to belt it out as if I was purging. It was a different kind of purging, though. It was one that didn’t hurt me so I could feel better.

These feelings are never-ending.

They haunt me in my sleep.

Your crown has fallen, and you’re a royal no more.

Your reign of madness has ended,

but mine now begins.

These feelings are never-ending,

and you haunt me in my sleep.

Your crown has fallen, and you’re nothing now.

Your life has ended but mine has yet to begin.

***

When I was done recording the song, the camera crew had gotten back from their extended dinner break, and I finally felt that I was comfortable enough to talk to them. I changed into some presentable clothes: a blouse and a pair of shorts. I did my hair and my makeup, and this time I didn’t even think of the contacts that sat on the bathroom sink.

I sat down in the lounge while they set up their cameras, and the first question they asked me was, “How did you know Everett?”

I smiled weakly at them and I went on to explain our relationship.

Ben was behind one of the cameramen, watching to make sure I was all right.

“What was your relationship with Everett like?”

I laughed at the question, and rubbed the underside of my nose out of nervousness. “It was complicated. We were very close, too close for comfort. That’s the thing, though. We didn’t care. We had this…this form of chemistry that was hard to deny. We just clicked.”

“Were you in love?”

“No, we were just close as a boy and a girl can be.”

I was near tears, so the camera man handed me a box of tissues. “What was the last thing you said to him?”

I prepared myself for the great lie I was about to give. If I had the chance to document a moment that never happened, a part of me believed that somewhere, somehow it did happen.

“I told him,
I love you
.”

The cameramen were done with their footage of the day and left to go to their van. When I was left alone with Ben, I could see that he had a million questions running through his mind.

“So, you and Everett were close?”

“Yeah, really close.”

“How were you so close with him when you barely saw each other?”

He seemed to be asking the question to himself more than he was asking me. I didn’t bother answering. I couldn’t explain to him that Everett fulfilled the promise my brother never did. He saw me when my brother avoided me. He protected me. He loved me. I couldn’t bear to tell Ben that Everett was a surrogate brother. Especially since I had slept with him.

When I didn’t answer, he sighed, and I started to sob.

“What’s your favorite thing about him?” Ben asked.

“The way he smiled at me and told me I was…” I wanted to say “beautiful”—instead, I cried out into sobs and hiccups.

“Bea, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything anymore. I understand.”

I knew Ben
didn’t
understand. Still, I nodded and buried my face into his chest and cried.

He held me as I did, and for the first time since I was twelve years old, I felt close to him again. Losing Everett was going to be one of the worst memories I’d ever have, but his death may be the only reason my brother and I could act the way we used to.

The memory of his blood covering me as well as the sound of the gun firing bullets into his body would haunt me forever. That was bad enough, but knowing that I couldn’t perform his dying wish left me afraid of what I’d find in the dark. I felt he would always be there waiting patiently for me to tell him how I loved him one last time.

***

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. This weekend, we had break days, and I couldn’t be any happier that we were nearly finished with the last leg of tour. Of course, there were plenty of pranks and chaos happening before, during, and after each show, and I knew it was what they would do in any other tour. Just because Everett was gone didn’t mean they wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t want that.

After recording my song, I felt a little bit differently. In fact, everyone else seemed to feel differently too. Ben wasn’t so worried about the house anymore (he got it, though), and Splinter didn’t have as much attitude. I was waiting for the final days until I could go home, pack up the rest of my life, and move on to the next phase.

So far, I hadn’t received any more anonymous texts, and I didn’t know if I should be worried or relieved, so I was a bit of both.

I wanted to know who was compelled to stalk and terrorize me, and I wanted to know why killing Everett was a necessary tool in their arsenal. I wanted to know a lot of things and hoped I’d find the answers in due time. I needed to sit back and breathe, but breathing was becoming more difficult. I may not have had the same feelings that I did before I recorded the song, but that didn’t mean that they had vanished. I wanted to record every song I could in hopes that would get rid of all the feelings.

Once I got used to the camera crew, I allowed them to film me recording songs. It was odd being watched that way. I was so vulnerable when I was belting out the songs I’d written; I was sharing a piece of me that wasn’t meant to be shared. It was a hard thing to do, knowing I was being recorded as I laid my bleeding heart and aching soul out on the table. Soon enough, people could watch this from their own homes. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“What is it like being the younger sibling to such a big rock star?” the interviewer asked me.

I laughed. “It’s really no different. I mean, it can be when we’re out in public together. Even these past few months, it hasn’t been any different. He’s still my brother. The only difference is he plays live shows to real people instead of me and my teddy bears.”

It was the truth. I was Eden Sank’s first audience member. Now that I wasn’t the only one watching their every move, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone else who felt as close to them as I did. I know it wasn’t the same thing. One thing I knew for sure was that through music anything was possible. You could transcend through time and space and understand an era you never lived through. You could understand someone else’s pain and feel liberated because you were no longer alone. That was music. It gave you peace of mind, something other art forms couldn’t. Music never dies. Words are never lost. Through music, we could do so much, feel so much. That was why I loved music. Writing and playing it was one thing—to share it with others was a great blessing. I didn’t know if I was going to share these pieces of music with other people, but if I did, I knew that they would have peace of mind because somewhere inside of them they felt the same way I do.