Page 50 of After Effect

“Christian and I worked together for a lot of years.” He paused . “He worked with your father, too.”

“My father?”

“He owes me a favor, and I thought he could let things lie. But clearly he still holds a grudge.”

“A grudge? What are you talking about?”

“Your accident wasn’t an accident, Finch. Just like Bart’s wasn’t.”

“I knew my father’s accident wasn’t an accident. I was there.”

“But do you know why it happened.” Mark took his eyes off the road long enough to look me in the eye.

“I… don’t. I was told that kind of information would only put me in more danger.”

“Right.” He moved his eyes back to the road and let me sit in uncomfortable silence for entirely too long. Then he spoke again. “His lifestyle wasn’t free. It cost a lot to maintain the images we had.”

“You mean racing.”

More silence. Long and deep. “We did a lot of things that we shouldn’t have. Sold a lot of people down the river. Christian Baek was a scrub. But he knew his role.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re talking in riddles. How am I supposed to protect myself if you won’t just tell me what I need to protect myself from?”

“He killed a man... Well, he’s killed several, but there was one who was much more of a problem.”

“How is killing anyone not a problem?!”

Mark rolled his eyes. He ignored me and continued. “I took care of the corpse. I took care of the story. I got him a clean slate and a respectable business.” Mark was no longer hesitating. I stared at him wide-eyed. I wasn’t sure I felt better hearing it. “But apparently that wasn’t enough. I’ve been out of that world for a long time. But Christian… As you said, there are a lot of deals that often must be done in the music industry.”

“This is… a lot to take in. And it’s… what does that have to do with me? Why would my deal be any different than anyone else’s?”

“ALIVE is a big company. It needs a lot of money and investors to stay afloat even when it’s doing well. And you… as far as he believes, you’re my son. He can use you.”

“For what? I still don’t get how any of this comes back on my deal with ALIVE and Lilly. And if he’s tied to… to all that, why would you get me this job at all?”

“You weren’t supposed to be rocking the boat like this.” Mark pulled into the garage and let the door close behind him. He got out of the car and didn’t speak another word to me.

What was that supposed to mean. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was succeeding at my job. I was climbing the ladder. We were making waves in only two fucking years. Did he get me this position expecting me to fail? Did he think I was some kind of lazy twenty-something frat boy?

My muscles cried and protested as I tried to hoist myself out of the car to demand an explanation. The longer I sat, the more my body hurt.

I’ve gotta stop crashing in canyons.

I opened the door that connected the garage to the house, I could hear Mark’s voice from the deck, too muffled by the sliding glass door to understand a single word. He must have been on the phone.

Phone….

It’s the Bass Jumpers Tour!

In my mind, if the damage was done, I could at least take advantage of the benefits from my mistakes. I should have done more than enough to buy Lilly her spot. And I should have done more than enough to buy her publicity. If she was even healthy enough to show up.

The bag full of my things was resting on counter of the breakfast nook. I dug around my wallet and my lighter and a box of half broken cigarettes for my phone. My finger scrolled to Lilly’s name with well-honed muscle memory.

One ring, two rings, three… voicemail. I yanked the phone from my ear to stare at the time. 5:08PM. She should be going on right now. Even if I stole Mark’s car and drove over with felony levels of speed, I wouldn’t make it before her show was over.

“Fuck!” I hit a fist against the countertop, then yiped as the impact further bruised my sore muscles. No time to lick my wounds. I dashed to the living room and grabbed the TV remote from the wall holder. It should be live on Channel 4.

The screen lit up with a cheering crowd. Parrot Marionette’s “Flying South for the Apocalypse” seeped from the speakers. Of course they would focus on the main stage instead of Lilly. They’re the headliners. I slumped onto the couch and ran a hand through my hair, then letting my loose fingers fall down to my shoulder, then into my lap.

Sorry Lilly. There’s nothing I can do.

Then the camera shifted.

I sat up straight. Eyes wide. Jaw on the floor.

---