Page 7 of Bewitched By the Phantom
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you live,” he rasps. “See you around, angel.”
And then he pivots and strides off, fading into shadows in a way I’ve never been able to do. It’s only when he’s gone that I realize he’d never told me who he was, but he clearly knows exactly who I am, full name and all.
What the actual fuck is going on?
Chapter
Five
We have a week before the voting begins, which means every day, we’re scheduled to have a soundcheck. Today, there aren’t as many people milling around during our turn, as if the curiosity has worn off. I’m thankful for it, because the moment I get on stage in my ripped jeans and oversized t-shirt, I feel so off my game, it gives me a headache.
“Come on, Chris,” Claudia groans. “You never miss that note.”
I press a hand to my forehead, frustrated. “I know. I know. I don’t know what’s up with me today. I just feel . . . off.”
“You’re not getting sick, are you?” Lidia asks, her brows furrowed. “If you get sick, we’re fucked.”
“No. I don’t think it’s that,” I reply, shaking my head. “I just . . . let’s run it again.”
We have an hour for our rehearsal today, so it’s not a big deal to repeat what we were doing, but the moment we launch back into the song, the sound of the speakers grates on my nerves.And when Claudia comes in with the bass line, I slam the music to a stop.
“That was sharp!” I growl.
Claudia frowns. “It wasn’t.” She looks me up and down. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem irritable.”
“What she means is you’re being a real bitch,” Vivian corrects, her brow raised. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I grumble. “Let’s take it from the top.”
But the moment we start singing again, my voice feels strange, like it’s slipping into something else. Strange harmonies that have no business belonging in the song echo across the amps and speakers and it sends a shiver down my spine. What the fuck is that?
Vivian stands behind her drum set when we finish, her eyes wide. “You good?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, uncertain myself.
“That sounded like . . .” she starts and trails off.
“There was someone else singing with you,” Lidia finishes. “Yeah, I heard that, too.”
“It’s probably just stress,” I say, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “It’s cool. We’ll be better tomorrow.”
But even to my own ears, it doesn’t sound believable. Especially not when I catch sight of the lead singer of The Cadaver Cantata watching us.
Frustrated with myself for dropping the ball today, I open my old, outdated laptop later that night and click open the chat box. The chat thread has been going on for years at this point, but it still feels just as exciting as my fingers fly across the keys.
I’m so sick of that infuriating, golden-masked bastard who keeps throwing me off my game, I type before hitting send.
The little bubbles pop up immediately despite his silence the last week, like he’s writing a response, but before any text comesback, they stop. I wait for a minute, before my fingers fly across the keys again.
Why aren’t you replying back to me? Are you ignoring me?I ask and hit send.
No bubbles pop up this time. My chest squeezes tightly at the thought that he could be cutting me off. He used to respond immediately, but ever since we were invited to this competition, my Phantom has been more withdrawn. He’s the reason I’m here, and if I’m being honest, I’m a bit co-dependent on our connection. It doesn’t matter who he is at this point, or what he looks like. I owe him. But right now, with the way he doesn’t respond, I feel far more vulnerable in a way I haven’t been in a while.
I miss him. I miss the certainty Phantom always gave me. But right now? He’s silent.
Angry, my fingers fly across the keys again.I thought you of all people would be on my side. I hit send.
There’s a long pause before the bubbles appear. I wait, anticipation making my stomach twist up in knots. When his reply comes through, it’s only a single line.
