Page 78 of The Second Deal

Thesong he wrote to get over me, on the albumI’venever heard.

Justas quickly as the thought entered my mind,Ijump up from bed to search through my suitcase for earbuds, plugging them in and queuing it up to play from my phone.

Theintro song starts off strong with a driving, heavily distorted guitar riff that sends blood pulsing through my veins at an alarming rate.

Zakhas always sent my heart into overdrive—in the studio, on stage, and in life.

Basskicks in, complicated and heavy and low, something that my brother has probably been sitting on for ages, aching to use a heavily prog-inspired riff.

Cymbalscrash, a snare snaps, and toms and double bass thrum, pulsating in my eardrums and making my breath catch.

Themusic cuts out suddenly.

Shannon’svoice starts as a menacing whisper.

Ifyou could see me now

you’d never know what’s coming.

Herepeats it again and again and again, until there’s a measure of rest.

Alow growl rumbles, and the album starts with an even bigger bang thanIthought possible.

They.Were.Pissed.

Andit’s so much harder than the three albums we wrote before.

Timelessblasts into my ears asIsearch through cardboard boxesIarrived home with just two days ago, frantically searching for the packagesShannonsent.Afew songs play beforeIfind them stuffed at the bottom of a boxIknewIwouldn’t bother opening for quite some time.

Istare at the unopened things on my bed for a whole song like they’rePandora’sBoxand, if opened, could possibly bring the downfall and destruction of anything and everythingIhold dear.

Guessit’s good those things are few and far between these days.

Openingthe box with the oldest post date, all sorts of things tumble out: an album signed by all the guys in silverSharpie, a couple of shirts, a lanyard, a postcard.Thecard is fromShannon, writing that he hoped working at the studio was fun and that him andAndreaand everyone missed me.

Seeingher crayon scribble fills my eyes with tears.

Ihold up the first shirt.Timelessstamped across the chest in white text over a black shirt with a refreshed shattered clock logo beneath it is a sight to behold.

Thesecond shirt unfurls and a white envelope falls onto the bed below.Ireach for the envelope and take a peek at the little bit of black scrawled over the front.

Myname inZak’shandwriting.

Whatever’sin here,I’mextra careful with it just from seeing my name in his writing, as if it’s a sacred text that could crumble with the smallest wrong movement.

Insideis just a folded piece of notebook paper with more scribbles thatIdelicately unfold.Zak’shandwriting is atrocious, butIcan make out the title written out at the very top of the page.

Dawn

TheTimelesssong flowing between my ears now is different from the rest and every other song we’ve ever composed.

Thelow, husky voice ringing in my ears isn’tShannon’s.

Shecould be the devil,

andI’dstill give her my soul.

Chapter28

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