Page 28 of Broken Lines

“Maybe I’ve forgotten my humanity. Maybe I’ve forgotten right versus wrong.”

My heart thuds in my chest, racing in fear as he looms over me. I step back, but my foot slips on the top step of the porch stairs, and I start to fall back…

Until suddenly, his powerful hand shoots out, making me gasp as he grabs the collar of my leather jacket. I choke, hanging in a sort of limbo of a half-fall, with Jackson snarling into my face as he keeps me from toppling backwards.

“But do you know what Ihaven’tforgotten?” He hisses as he leers close, drowning me in that swirling dark magic.

“How far of a fucking drop it is off that cliff.”

My eyes go wide. I shiver as I feel the tug of gravity at my back.

“So, here’s what I’m going to do, Melody Hendrix from Ignition fucking Magazine. I’m going to count to five. And by the time I hit three, if I can still see pink hair in my vision, I’m wrapping it in my fist, dragging you to the edge, and lettingyoufigure out how far a drop it is to the waves.”

I stare at him, my pulse deafening in my ears.

“Do I make myself crystal fucking clear?”

I swallow. My face feels ashen, my eyes bulging. But quickly, I nod.

“Lovely,” Jackson snarls.

He lets go of my jacket. I catch myself on the railing before I fall back, but still manage to awkwardly trip down the last two steps.

“One.”

There are times where you should stand your ground. There are times where you need to plant your foot down, and let the bullies know you won’t be pushed around.

Except in the roughly five minutes I’ve now spent in Jackson Havoc’s vicinity, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe ten years alone on an island pretending he can’t talk hasactuallypushed him off the deep end.

There are times to stand your ground and say no to being pushed around.

This isnotone of those times.

I don’t even wait for “two” before I’m whirling andboltingfor the path back down through the trees.

Away from the fallen god of rock ’n roll.

5

Melody

What a fucking asshole.

The phrase “never meet your heroes” rattles through my head as I half run, halffleedown the stone steps back down to the water.

I’ll admit that I’m scared. I’d be lying if I said the huge, towering beast of a man who just roared in my face, threatening totoss me off a cliffdidn’t scare me.

But even with the fear, I’m angry. I’m angry at myself for running. I’m angry at myself for not sticking with what it takes for the story. It’s not exactly like I planned ondyingfor a job at Ignition Magazine. But that said, do I actually believe Jackson would commit murder and throw someone off a cliff?

I shiver.

No one around here even knows his real name. No one even knows that you’re here at all.

I rush down the rest of the stone steps, scatter-brained and weirdly playing out the opening of the true crime special on Netflix based on me, after they never find my body. I try and imagine the actors they’ll get to play me, or Jackson.

Or the old man at the dock…aka “the last man to ever see Melody Blue alive.” The man who will have regrets the rest of his life for renting a boat to an inexperienced boater, who took that boat into choppy water never to be seen again.

Oh sure. They’ll interview the hermit living in the old mansion up on the cliff. The man who the whole town will vouch for as a nonverbal but gentle type. The one none of them sees is actually a fallen god, lording over all of them from his clifftop manor.

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