Page 90 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

My focus turns to the current task at hand. The stage may be small, the venue modest compared to what we’re used to, but it's a new beginning, a fresh start after a decade-long hiatus.

As we kick off the performance, the initial response from the audience is lukewarm at best. The crowd seems indifferent, perhaps unfamiliar with the rebranded version of our once-famous selves. Jagger introduced us as Velocity Vortex and didn’t bring up the Sonics. We’re all glad he didn’t.

As we continue playing, the atmosphere in front of me is filled with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

We navigate through our setlist, playing familiar tunes from the past that we never released but with an altered rhythm, one that’s been updated with harder rock. It’s just something we recently played around with for fun. But it's not until we unleash our latest creation,Phoenix Rising, a song born from the raw passion and determination that fueled our resurgence. The unfamiliar notes resonate through the small space, and I can feel a shift in the atmosphere.

Suddenly, the crowd begins to stir. Heads nod in rhythm, and a subtle ripple of appreciation courses through the room. It's as if the energy of the new song has breathed life into the stagnant air, rekindling the spark that once made us shine.

Once shrouded in indifference, the small bar now pulses with newfound enthusiasm. The connection between the band and the audience deepens, bridging the gap between the past and this fresh chapter.

As the final notes reverberate through the venue, the owner of the bar, a friend of Callum, approaches us.

“Hey man, that was truly awesome,” he beams and looks at all of us. “I was skeptical at first, thinking non of that pop bullshit would fly here. But you promised me a new sound, and you delivered. When can you play again?”

We exchange appreciative laughter, graciously declining. There's a shared understanding among us that our sights are set on more prominent stages, brighter lights, and a future that holds the promise of a triumphant return to the limelight.

The man turns to me and grins. “So you’re the elusive Eden Rivers. Never quite pictured you so goddamn gorgeous. You throw every Grammy award female out of the water with those vocals. Wanna share a drink with me?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and I know he’s just teasing.

“She has her own Grammys and claimed her throne years ago,” Haze asserts, casually placing his arm around my shoulders in a possessive manner. “And for the record, the lady is taken, and right now, the only drink she’ll be sharing is with me at my home while I show her how to worship those vocals like a real geezer.”

I huff a loud laugh and slip away from his obvious claim over me.

“In your dreams, cowboy,” I mock him, taking Storm's leash. “Thanks for the offer,” I smile appreciatively at the bar owner. “Maybe another time. I do have a penchant for silver foxes.” I say and playfully wink at the owner. One of the guys growls at my lighthearted flirting.

And on that note, I take everyone’s shocked silence as my cue to take Storm out for a well-deserved walk and toilet relief. I push open the emergency exit metal door, which leads to the back alley where the van Haze rented out for the evening is parked, and I continue to walk down the back alley towards the main street.

The narrow lane is stretched like a dark, menacing corridor between looming buildings, and dim, flickering streetlights cast faintpools of light. The distant hum of city life seems muffled, drowned out by the unsettling quietude of this secluded driveway.

It’s a warm, clear night and perfect for a short walk with Storm. Catalina had a scheduled appointment this evening, and she couldn’t take him, so the poor boy was locked up in Haze’s place all afternoon. Sure, the place is massive, enough for Storm to run around, but the marble doesn’t make it easy on his paws. So he stays mostly on his massive pillow by the tall glass doors, entertained by whatever goes on in the garden area.

“You deserve to stretch your legs, old boy,” I say. Storm looks up at me and huffs as if in agreement.

The guys hired a bodyguard to trail me whenever I needed to be somewhere without them. Rick Madden definitely has a commanding presence, his years etched into the lines of his weathered face, each crease a testament to a lifetime of experience doing this kind of job. Of course, they had to make sure he’s also a white-haired older man and not some young hottie guarding my body.

But Rick’s already made himself useful by letting Haze know how unsecure his property is, and they’re cooperating on updating everything. I can’t help but think they wouldn’t need any of this if it weren’t because of me and the baggage I carry because of some asshole stalker.

I shiver at the thought of him still being around, watching me, waiting for the opportune moment to snatch me again.

The truth is the boys don’t the half of it, and I don’t think I could ever let anyone know what really happened to me. I’ve been keeping a lot of shit to myself because now that most of them have made a claim on me, they’ll go apeshit if they find out just how close this stalker is and what he’s capable of.

Those strange phone messages have escalated to phone calls in the middle of the night. The first time I made the mistake of answering it, and all I heard was heavy breathing and skin slapping like the dickhead was masturbating or something. So now I make sure to shut my phone off at night, and during the day, I send all calls I don’t recognize straight to voicemail.

But there’s more unusual things happening. I wish I could say it’s just my mind playing tricks, but I’m not crazy.

Not yet, anyway.

I went back to that backyard fence with the spraypainted symbol that looks similar to the one on my ribs to photograph it with the intention to use it as evidence if I need to get the police involved, butthe entire fence was whitewashed. I should have taken a photo at the time, but I was scared and shocked, and collecting evidence wasn’t exactly on my list of first things that came to mind.

Hiswords were clear as day; he’d kill me if I ever contacted the police.

Then Catalina said a stranger approached her one morning as she was leaving the animal physio center and offered her cash to buy Storm. She said he was persistent, pushy, and was forced to get someone from the center to walk her and Storm to the car. Perhaps the incident was unrelated, as there are a lot of freaks living in LA, but I can’t help but think if I’m putting her in danger.

The obvious choice would be to file a police report, but with what evidence?

A feeling?

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