Page 94 of Poetry By Dead Men
“I'm sorry,” I say silently to Annabel as I walked away, silently promising to find a way to get the happy ending that was stolen from her.
As we get out of the taxi and approach the buses with the stars twinkling overhead, my heart feels full—my soul finally at peace. I feel lighter than I have in years. That is, until Sam approaches us with clenched fists and lowered eyebrows.
Instantly, Bobby is on alert, pulling me slightly behind him and tucking me against his back. “What's happened?” Bobby asks, peering over Sam’s shoulder toward the bus.
“Everything’s clear now,” Sam says, “but the bus was vandalized while we were gone.”
My stomach sinks. “Vandalized?” I ask. Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. I've never seen him frazzled before, but whatever happened while we were at the cemetery has definitely unsettled him.
“I kept most of the team with you for your outing,” Sam starts. “I thought the buses would be fine. I’m sorry, boss. I thought—”
Bobby holds up a hand, stopping him. “You made the call you thought was right. We’re safe. Just tell me what happened,” he says, stepping to the side so I’m no longer standing behind him.
“The tires were slashed. All of them,” Sam says bluntly. “Violently. And it appears like whoever it was wanted to get into the engine. Looks like they used a crowbar to try to pry open the front panel.”
A wave of fear washes through my chest.
“No one’s hurt, right?”Bobby asks.
“Everyone’s fine. But I’m not comfortable with you staying here until we know more. You,oryour band.”
“Agreed. No one drives the buses until they’ve been checked and we’re sure they’re safe.” He pulls out his phone, tapping out a message. I peek over his shoulder, reading a message to Johnny telling him to have the band pack bags for at least the night.
“I already have someone working on getting rooms for everyone,” Sam says. “You and Beth will stay in a different hotel.”
My mind reels, trying to keep up, but Bobby just nods. “Is it safe for us to grab some things?”
Sam leads us toward the bus, and it’s like time is moving in jolts. First, I’m numb, standing outside, then all of a sudden I’m climbing the stairs, then in the bedroom.
It couldn’t be Harrison, could it?
I want to convince myself it’s all a big coincidence, desperately, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t. Especially not when I shuffle through the nightstand to grab my computer and notice that right on top of my notepad is the silver bracelet from Harrison.
The one I’d tucked into my jewelry box at home before walking downstairs the morning I’d left for the tour.
Nausea fills my throat, trapping a silent scream inside my chest.
There’s only one reason the bracelet with Harrison’s initials on it could be in the drawer.
Harrison was here, and he wanted me to know it.
To know that no matter what, I belong to him.
NOW
September 2024: Charleston, SC
If your words stop flowing, I will be your rhyme
And if the clock stops ticking, I’ll find you the time
Because I am yours, and you, darling, are mine
And you’re safe in the arms of someone who loves you
—An excerpt from "Someone Who Loves You," written and performed by Robert Beckett
The hotel mattress is heavenly, and for the tenth time in the past few hours, I try to decide if I’m going to drag myself out of it to go to Bobby’s show.
