Chapter 24
That you could love her more than anybody else?
Is his butcher knife real like the mallet pressed against my lower back? Would they have let him in with that or did he smuggle it in like I did? I can feel his eyes on me, and I avoid his stare when I look out into the crowd. I’m singing to them, but I’m also looking for Taylor.
Is he lying about what he heard the last night he saw Pascha? Was it Cline, another band member, or someone else entirely who picked her up from his place? Why would Taylor do anything to Pascha?
We finish the song that comes right before mine and Stokes removes the mic from the stand. Cline takes his guitar off and sets it aside.
“This next one’s a new song by our new member of the group, Lynda McGowan.” Stokes walks to the front of the stage, speaking to the whole crowd, and I watch him with nerves running through me. “She’s a poet, you know, and we didn’t hear this song at first. We read it. The lyrics flowed off the page so well, we all agreed, she needed to share it with you. That it would be perfect for tonight. For Halloween!” The crowd cheers as he sets the mic back onto the stand, squeezes my arm, and walks back behind Lucie, where Cline has retreated in the shadows with Royal.
A slow strobe of little blue lights dance across the stage from Lucie, back to me again. A soft spotlight pops on, shining in my eyes just enough so I can’t make out the details of the crowd—just their shadows.
Lucie begins playing a steady rhythm and I wonder if he’s here.
If the person in the black car is following me right now. If it’s Howard, will he get pleasure from seeing my fear? My chest tightens and my breathing falls out of rhythm of the song.
How does the song make you feel? My dad’s whisper comes to me.
Scared, Dad. I’m scared.
Lucie loops the intro once more, realizing I’m not ready, keeping her slow and steady pace on the keys.
I wrote this song after fearing for my safety—while still fearing for my safety because I’m never safe.
Vulnerable. It makes me feel vulnerable.
So many feel this way, and they’ll feel it with me when I sing. And we won’t be alone. We’ll have each other.
Listen along with the audience now: http://www.emeraldobrien.com/free-song-from-follow-her-home
I grab the mic, glance back at Lucie and when she looks back at me, I give her a slight nod. Little blue lights dance across her fingers and the keyboard as she plays, and I close my eyes and sing,
“Looking to my left, then to my right.
No one else within my sight
but I feel it on my neck.
Don’t know what else to expect I,
look over my shoulder,
cautious around corners,
repetitive behavior,
reflection of disorder all around me.
Do you see what I see?
Creeping its way inside my mind.
Smothering the light out of my eyes.
Darkness is all that’s left behind.
So afraid of, what I’m gonna find, gonna find.”
I open my eyes and the figures in the crowd sway with me as I hum to the rhythm.
“Locking all the doors,
checking every window,
pacing on the floor,
where does all the time go?
Feeling like an animal living in a cage.
Is it even rational to think this way?
I suffocate in silence.
No chance of reviving.
I think that I’m sinking.
Or is someone pulling me down?
Pulling me down, down, down, down, down, down, down.”
I gasp, pulling in the air from my lungs after it’s been taken from me for so long, and continue the chorus stronger than before, swaying to the music until the next verse.
I close my eyes again.
“Lie awake at night,
barely breathing.
Is it gonna take me while I’m sleeping?
Are you a friend? Should I trust you?
Is it a mistake not to?”
The chorus flows freely from me as I sway to the music once more, losing myself in it. The little blue lights dance in front of the backs of my eyelids while they’re closed, and I’m caught up in the song.
“Looking to my left, then to my right.
No one else within my sight,
but I feel it on my neck.
Don’t know what else to expect.”
I open my eyes, and the silence from the crowd erupts with thunderous applause, void of many of the hoots and hollers that the other songs received. My cheeks get hot as I let go of the mic and take a step back, giving them a small smile.
I made it. I did it. I connected with them in a way I’ve been desperate to.
And it feels amazing.
This is the part of this business my father never shared with words, but his expression and demeanor after performing betrayed his warnings to me. He was full of life, passion, and adrenaline when he was singing and playing guitar on stage, or just amongst a crowd of people.
I turn back to Lucie and she’s smiling at me. Beside her, Cline puts his guitar back on, and Royal gives me a nod.
Stokes walks up to me and gives me a hug. “That was beautiful,” he says in my ear, and steps back, putting his guitar back on with a proud smile.
Would you be proud of me, Dad, or angry that I’ve gone against your wishes?
Is the price I pay for this opportunity that I’m an easy target of obsession? Is that what’s happening? A fan trying to get close or is something else entirely happening, unrelated except by chance?
Royal hits the drums and we begin the next song, but all my energy lingers with the one before. My song. Scopaesthesia. The sense of being watched.
I was watched by the whole crowd tonight and I didn’t feel it until I opened my eyes and made the connection. So why do I know someone’s been following me? Someone other than Alex or even Cline has been watching me, waiting,
