#and then with susan maybe there was the glimmer of hope that she’d help

[ickypuppi3]

thinking about billy’s mom leaving during the day while he’s at school

like billy waking up as usual and having breakfast with his mom, telling her what he’s gonna do at school that day, asking about what they’re gonna have for dinner together that evening, about going to the beach with her the coming weekend, his mom promising him all this stuff, telling him that yeah they can have ice cream later, strawberry? sure baby, whatever you want, billy’s mom kissing him goodbye, billy thinking she looks a little distant, a little sad but maybe it’s just because her and dad argued again

billy finishing up his day at school, getting on the bus and going home, billy putting his key in the door and realising it’s open already, him thinking that’s kinda weird since neither of his parents are usually home at that time but maybe his mom forgot to lock up that day, billy going to put his backpack in his room and noticing a note on his bedside table telling him that she’s so sorry baby and this isn’t forever, i’ll come get you as soon as i can, i love you, billy and p.s. try to be extra good for your dad, stay out of his way and do what he says, i promise this is for the best

and billy just sits down on his bed and stares at the note until it goes blurry, he goes into his parents room and sees that his mom’s things are gone, he goes to the kitchen to grab the phone before realising he has no number to call

and then he has to sit there and wait for neil to come home, wiping his tears away every two seconds because he knows crying makes his dad angry, just feeling completely and utterly helpless and alone

[enigmaticdrblockhead]

Looking Forward to the Abyss

(I felt inspired to write a spooky XF mini-fic for Halloween. Apologies.) @xffictober2022

SUMMARY:

A case gone wrong.

——— x ———

She knew. She’d known for a while now, but it seemed she grew tired of waiting for him to prove her wrong and decided to take the initiative.

His former self would’ve probably found this amusing. To be honest, his current self did a bit as well: ‘a fox, a Maggie, and a priest walk into a bar…’

But to be honest, he was more annoyed than anything else. He never could stand religion, and yes he now acknowledged the hypocrisy that his faith in ‘the truth’ was without a doubt a warped sense of religion for him, and he surmised that it was that part of him that understood and at times appreciated Scully’s conflicted nature; both the scientist and the catholic. But still, this was different; a feeble attempt at an exorcism he would guess.

Sorry Mrs. Scully, I skipped on lunch today so no green vomit I’m afraid.

He was; however, not annoyed by their expressions. Similar to prey in the near clutches of a predator, perhaps they could see the error, the miscalculated step they had made.

His eyes, non-blinking since all three joined together in the room, held little glimmer of light, only shadows of a forgotten, ancient, abyss. While he couldn’t bring himself to smile at the absurdity, he could feels the edges of his lips curl back away from his teeth in a snarl. Then as quickly as what little emotion he felt enter his mind and body, it quickly evaporated.

“Do you know what hell is?” His voice soft, but with a textured quality to remove any pretext of sincerity. He watched their shocked faces become somewhat perplexed, but didn’t wait for a response.

“No you don’t. You think hell is fire and brimstone. A place where ‘bad people’ go and pay for their sins. Where horned figures wrapped in red flesh dance as the damned scream in agony.

“It’s not that. I know, I’ve been there. Many times in fact. Hell…is everywhere. Hell is an abyss, devoid of light, heat, cold, love…of anything really. Hell is your darkest fears made into reality, where your nightmares are your only source of comfort, and where your mind is warped and shredded to the point where there is no hope of regaining your sanity.

“People think when you die, you go to heaven or hell. But people never think about what happens if you come back.

“Well, Mrs. Scully…I do. Because I did die, on a case. They killed me, and they foolishly thought to bring me back. They were religious too…although…”

He couldn’t help but smile now. It was a joke and he knew the punchline. How could he not smile.

“They worshipped a different entity, I’m sure you can guess who based on our meeting. But when they brought me back, I was different, that’s how they wanted it. You see,”

His voice had taken on an odd and out-of-place jovial quality now. His affect seemed to lift and brighten; it really was a good story after all.

“I think, they were trying to summon a demon, but…they actually brought ‘me’ back. Not that they knew. I was different. At first I didn’t know who, or what I was. A monstrosity, they hid beneath the floors in the basement. When they could they’d bring in someone, maybe two. With each person I consumed, I gained a larger understanding as to who I was.

“As I feasted on their corpses my body and my mind shaped back into something more familiar. But it only made it worse, I wanted to be myself again, but it came at the cost of devouring another. With a Joe, I could walk again. A Susan, speak. A Dana…”

He paused and his face fell. This was the hardest part of the story, even if it did have a happy ending.

“I was so close, so close to being me again. But they brought her. I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t!!!! But the darkness inside me could. I begged to God to kill me and to save her, I begged to my captors to let her go and that I would take double, no triple, the lives if they would just let her go. But their response was silence.

“Except for her. She didn’t believe it at first, of course not. But she saw the scrawled markings and warnings laid by my previous victims: to hide before sundown. Before I changed. Before I slaughtered them.

But there was nothing she could do. Initially she tried to find an opening, some way for us to escape. And in that process found a video recorder, apparently one of my former victims was on vacation and was recording their trip. And in their desperation, must’ve recorded their final moments… She saw it… I saw it…

“Despair. That’s what I think hell is. And that’s where we were. I didn’t know what else to do, but she did, she always knew. She sat me down and held me in her arms. Sobbing and stroking my hair, she said she loved me. And I loved her. That’s why, I did what I did.

“Yes Mrs. Scully, I killed your daughter. I tore into her flesh and consumed her mind, body, and soul.”

He saw their faces twist and contort into confused horror, but again he refused to wait for their response.

“But unlike the others, when I was done and I came back and those fools released me… I prayed… one last time… This time, my prayer was answered. He brought her back, all I had to do was sacrifice my captors in His name, which I was all to happy to do. And I have to say, their flesh was incredible.”

He couldn’t help but lick his lips.

“And as promised, she was back. But even better, she had no memories of what happened and no hint illness or disease in sight. I can’t count how many people I killed that night, or since then, if I’m being perfectly honest. And I don’t regret it…not one bit.

“But by all means Mrs. Scully and Father…I’m sorry I didn’t get your name; by all means sing your hymns, say your prays, perform your exorcisms…it won’t work. I’m not a demon, I’m Fox Mulder.”

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly In Her Heart Pt. 7

Pt. 1   Pt. 2   Pt. 3   Pt. 4   Pt. 5   Pt. 6 

The first morning of the New Year, Max is spending her day in the cemetery.

She doesn’t really know what she believes about death, doesn’t have a clue where in the universe her brother might be now, be it of divinity or the supernatural, or maybe nowhere at all. All she knows is that she thinks the graveyard is creepy.

Right now, she’s sat cross-legged on the plot where her brother is buried, a space which is by now mostly grown over, her back against his headstone, wearing his jacket and using his Walkman.

There’s melting snow on the ground, the splotchy patches of ice soaking through her jeans and sending a nasty chill through her bones.

Her fingertips are numb, her nose and her cheeks are bright red from the whipping wind, her teeth chatter and her body shakes.

She hates the weather here, the dreariness and the bitter cold she never had to deal with back home, but she’s getting better at appreciating it for what it is.

Hawkins was supposed to be a new start, a way for her to sort of step away from how things used to be, when she still trusted her step-dad and when her and her brother fought all the time, so she could grow as a person.

She never expected it to be a permanent stop. Before Susan remarried, her and her mother used to move from city to city constantly, and she thought this would be like that in a way, where they’d move right on to the next place once they were done in the dinky little town.

But then they lost Billy, had to bury him in middle-of-nowhere Indiana, thousands of miles away from his home where he belonged, and Hawkins became a symbol of everything Max hated.

From optimism for where they could go from here, to the depressing reminder of confinement, of not being in control of her own life, her circumstances had done a complete 180.

She thinks that, for the most part, she’s getting better though. For one thing, it’s a pretty good sign that she’s not crying from just being here in the gloomy graveyard, but she’s still got a long ways to go.

Not that the hurt from her brothers death is ever going away, that’s a lifetime deal, but she’s at a place where she’s beginning to realize that the world is bigger than what she's lost.

Because, while Susan might not have been coming from the right place when she told her daughter that she needed to appreciate what she did have, Max thinks she can get behind it.

So what if her friends couldn’t feel her pain exactly, they were willing to help, and their help was exactly what she needed. That alone meant the world to her, no matter how pushy they could be, or how unhelpful their advice was.

And why did Hawkins have to lose its significance just because of the bad things that happened there? What was keeping her from remaining optimistic in the face of her suffering?

There was no good reason at all for why she couldn’t still be happy surrounded by her friends, or look forward to her future just because her brother couldn’t. If anything, she should do all of those things for him.

He never did much like anyone making a fuss over him, so Max likes to think that’s what Billy would’ve wanted her to believe too.

That’s why she’s out there now, mostly unprotected from weather cold enough to freeze her Winnebago, because she had made a promise to herself that she was going to be better at appreciating life for what it was, and that’s exactly what she would do.

In the moment, that meant becoming a human popsicle in the cemetery.

Any day now Maria Hargrove would be arriving in Hawkins to visit Billy, and Max wanted to be there when she did.

There was no telling exactly when she’d actually get in town, given the day and a half drive from Modesto to Hawkins, so for the past few days, Max had been camping out in the cemetery during the day as she awaited her arrival.

She’s starting to get bored waiting. Thrice she’s listened through the one mixtape of her brother’s that was still in the Walkman when she found it, and she’s considering just going home for the day.

Breaking curfew too many times meant the creation of new a rule that she be home before dark anyways, and considering she’s probably minutes away from becoming hypothermic, she decides she’s going to start heading back now.

As she stands and tries to brush off some of the ice clinging to her pants, though, she notices a woman a little ways away walking on the path, nervously checking every name on every headstone.

There’s not a glimmer of doubt in Max’s mind that this woman is Maria Hargrove.

The resemblance between mother and son is unmistakable, from the way their curls, dirty blonde and loose, laid flat in the winter, the curve of their button noses and the spatter of freckles across it, the deep blue of their eyes. Just seeing her and how much she looked like Billy, Max feels a twinge of sadness in her heart.

It’s when those eyes, in all of their dark intensity, meet hers that Max offers up a sympathetic smile, and slips her headphones off of her ears.

Maria’s gaze meets hers, and her face goes pale as she stops dead in her tracks. There’s a moment where it looks like she might bail, but she takes a deep breath, and steps forward.

“Are you Billy’s step-sister?”

“Yes ma'am”

Nervously, Maria goes for the formalities, deliberately standing so she can keep the headstone behind Max out of her line of sight.

Wrapping her arms around herself against the cold, or maybe for comfort, the nervous woman says “Thank you for reaching out, dear.”

Max shrugs her shoulders, keeping her freezing hands deep in her pockets. It’s an awful nonchalant gesture for how overwhelmed she’s feeling in the presence of Billy’s mom. “Thought you needed to know.”

Neither of them knows what to do for a moment, Maria still clearly not ready to actually address the reason she’s here, so Max tries to break the ice again.

“I have a picture here. You can have it.” She thought it would be a nice thing to do, bringing Maria a picture of Billy, since she probably hadn’t seen any of him that weren’t almost a decade old.

She chose one of the defects from last summer when they were trying to get his headshot for the lifeguard board. It’s a little blurry and washed out from the sun, but it’s one of the last few pictures ever to be taken of him, and the most Billy picture she had of him by far.

Probably because he’d been in his element, far away from the fake smiles and the even faker family bonding that most pictures of him included, just goofing off with his sister in the backyard and trying to get a good shot, it was definitely one of her favorites.

Taking the little Polaroid from Max’s hand, Maria gasps softly as she studies her estranged son's face. Tears bubble up in her throat as she remarks, mostly to herself, “My handsome boy…”

With what looked to be a tremendous effort, Maria looked up and took another few steps forward, now at the foot of her son's grave.

There’s a quiver in her voice as she asks Max softly, “Could you tell me what happened?”

“There was a fire at the mall. He tried to help some people out but the ceiling, it collapsed because it was glass and, he-he didn’t make it.” It’s a practiced story, she wonders if she’s a little too dull in her delivery, because it’s not really the whole truth.

The impaled by falling debris story just happened to be government approved, and tended to work a lot better than telling people he’d been killed by an inter dimensional monster from a parallel universe.

“My baby.” Her thumb caresses absentmindedly over the glossy photo. “Went out a hero.”

She smiles for nobody but herself. “He was always like that. Even when he was just a little thing, he thought he could protect me from Neil.”

“I- Neil, did he ever…?” Max can tell what she’s implying, if he ever abused Billy like he had his mother, and, not knowing how to be any less blunt about it, Max simply tells her, “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

With a shaky hand, Maria covers her mouth in something like shock, disappointment, regret. There’s a tightness in her voice when she speaks again, an unreadable mix between anger and heartbreak, “He swore to me he wouldn’t ever lay a hand on our boy.”

“God, I don’t know why I believed him.” Pushing her hair back, a nervous tick Max had seen her son do a thousand times as well, she barely manages to choke out, “He said he would change. I can’t-.”

She stews in that for a moment, teary eyes locked on the stone in front of her, and when she speaks again, her voice is full of something very different from the sadness she’d been letting through before. “I need to see him.”

There’s a dangerous look in her eye as she turns to look to Max, “Where can I find Neil Hargrove?”

Maria drives her back home in her ‘74 Karmann Ghia, and, while Max appreciates being spared the long walk home in the cold, she’s got to admit she’s nervous.

There’s no telling how exactly Neil is going to react to finding out that Maria’s in town thanks to Max, and she’s equally unsure about what Maria is going to do seeing her abuser for the first time in eight years. It’s more than stressful.

The truck is pulled up out front, confirming much to Max’s dismay that there’s no avoiding this confrontation. She just hopes things don’t get too far out of control.

Her parents must have been waiting up for her, because, as soon as they park, Neil is on the porch, arms crossed and looking stern, ready to chew out whichever of Max’s friends is behind the wheel this time, but that attitude is dropped completely when he sees Maria.

Mostly because, as soon as she steps out of the car, she makes him drop it, marching right across their lawn just to smack him as hard as she could.

Max quickly sneaks past them, running up to the porch and allowing her own mother to place a concerned hand on her shoulder and steer her inside away from the fighting. She continues watching from the living room window.

“How could you?” Even from inside, Max can hear her shrieking voice clearly. “I am his mother!”

Neil, a man typically known for the disturbingly calm way he fought, actually shows his anger, flushing red as a beet and telling her in a voice that’s shaking with hatred. “You lost your right to that boy the moment you walked out the door.”

“You know that’s not fair! You left me with no choice!” She puts both hands on his chest and shoves him hard, tears on her cheeks. “You lied to me!”

“I parented him as I saw fit!” He raises his voice, and Max swears see can physically see the restraint it’s taking him not to hit Maria back. She’s glad they hadn’t brought this inside.

“What right do you have to question me, when you,” he points a finger into her face, “you left us behind.” he says, turning it around on himself, “I was there for that boy, while you were what, trying to live out your fantasy? Run away so you could show me how independent you were?”

Maria screams back at him, “It doesn’t matter what you think of me! I still deserved to know that my baby was dead!”

Just watching the two of them go at it really explains a lot about Billy.

The temper, the terrible coping mechanisms, the anger issues, all of it can be boiled down to the display currently happening in her front yard.

Max finds herself wishing he had more time to work on it, the behavior that was so deeply ingrained in him, but seeing firsthand the way his parents conducted themselves, she felt proud of him that he could even do as much as he had before his life was cut short.

Though it only makes the sting of his last words, a broken apology past the blood bubbling up in his throat, all the worse, knowing that he’d been trying so hard to be different, but all she could do for him now was make sure she didn’t veer down the same path. To try to use all that her friends had taught her to keep from following in his footsteps, and repeating his same mistakes.

Billy’s parents, however, seem to have shut out any thoughts like that, letting their hostility and their aggression out right in the front yard, no doubt by now drawing a crowd of nose neighbors peeking through their blinds.

Maria slaps Neil again, for what exactly Max didn’t quite catch that time, and storms back to her car.

Neil follows her, standing at her drivers side door and continuing his tirade of profanities even as Maria’s drives away.

Watching Neil fuming in the street now that Maria is gone, Max thinks it’d be in her best interest to be as far away from the aftershock of the fight as possible.

She cautiously hides out in her room, listening to Neil stomping his way back into the house, to him slamming doors and saying nasty things to Susan until that’s all replaced with the sound of keys being dug out of a pocket, and the truck roaring to life out front.

Sometimes Neil would do that, just up and leave to go out drinking at the bar if he didn’t want to face something that made him particularly angry. Max’d take that any day over a beating.

The whole thing still leaves Max shaken to her core, so, using what she’s been trying to teach herself since deciding she didn’t have to do everything on her own, she decides she’s going to reach out.

It takes her forever to finally turn the dial on her walkie, and even longer to actually say anything into it. “Guys?”

There are no initial responses, so she tries again. “Anybody read me?”

The first to respond is Lucas with a “Loud and clear, MadMax.” and the rest follow suit with various confirmations of their own.

Eleven asks her, “Everything is alright?”

“Yeah, totally, I just,“ She sighs, trying to find the right words. Opening up was definitely something she needed more practice with. “Billy’s mom came into town today and it made my step dad really mad and-“

“Hold the phone.” It’s Steve interrupting her despite having been expressly told by Dustin that he was only allowed to snoop if he never bothered them. “ You’re telling me that the Maria Hargrove is here? In Hawkins?”

“Yeah, I- she’ll be in town for the next few days,” Max says, a little thrown off guard, “but that’s not my point, I was saying that-“

“This is major. I mean, where is she? What’s she doing here?” Steve’s talking fast, his tone sounding like a cross between frantic and pissed off. “I need some more to work with here, Max.”

“Well she’s here for Billy, obviously, and I think she mentioned the Motel 6.” Max explains quickly, trying to get back to the point at hand, “But really I-“

“How long is she here for?”

“Steve!” At least three of the kids yell at him at once, not only for breaking literally the only rule he was given when they let him have a walkie, but also for cutting Max off.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll butt out.” He says, seemingly chastened, but then he tries to add, “First can you tell me if-“

“Goodbye, Steve.” Dustin cuts in before the older boy can add a condition.

They wait until they’re sure he’s done before Will asks, “What was his problem?”

Now, Max knows why it concerns Steve, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’d just sit back and let the rest of the kids come up with whatever explanation they saw fit, and maybe talk to Steve about Maria later.

Mike snickers into his end, “Maybe he likes older women?”

Lucas scoffs, “That’s gross, man.”

After that, the conversation doesn’t linger for too long on Max’s problems beyond them making sure she’s okay and moving along to their usual topics of discussion, but just that little bit of concern is enough for her. Her friends were by no means professional therapists, but, thinking over the newest gossip and campaign ideas leaves her mind occupied with something other than dwelling on the negative, and that’s enough.

One of the hardest things she’d been dealing, was fear that if she allowed herself to be happy, to focus or to think about anything other than her sadness over her brother, she was going to forget him.

But spending the night talking with her friends about games and teenager drama, she can’t help but feel that it’s just overall better to focus on the good things in life rather than to keep reopening the wound by dwelling on everything miserable.

Two days, a reportedly passive aggressive introduction to Steve Harrington, and many hours spent at her son's graveside later, Maria calls from her room at the Motel 6 to tell Max she’s leaving for California.

She says she feels she’s overstayed her welcome, and that she’s had enough time to made her peace. There’s nothing left for her in Hawkins, so it’s time to go back home.

Max asks her, “Will you be back soon?”

The question basically answers itself; if Maria could leave her behind ten year old when he was begging her to stay, it only made sense that she could leave him behind with ease, now that he’s eighteen and six feet under. The only reason Max really feels the need to ask is in case it might change her mind.

“If I can make it.” It’s an ambiguous enough answer that she knows it means no, but she supposes she can live with that. Just knowing that she got Maria to come back to Billy at all is what mattered.

What a shame though, that it took her son dying young, killed at the cusp of his adulthood, to bring her back around. What a shame that she couldn’t face the consequences of her actions before it was too late.

But it was never really about Maria anyways, Max couldn’t have cared less if she got her closure, or made her peace, as she had put it. It was all for Billy.

It would seem anyways, that these days, most things Max did were.

Because no matter where it was that his soul had ended up, she knows she can do better, can keep growing knowing that she did right by him, and continues to do so every day.

It is for this reason, in honor of her big brother Billy, as well as for her own sake, that Max made it her goal to do her best to honour Christmas in her heart, and try to keep it all the year.

Read also on ao3!

[firethatgrewsolow]

Swiss Time - Chapter Seven

**Sorry for the delay!  And thank you @ladygrange for everything you do for me!  Hope you guys like it. <3**

Robert peered through the hotel window, the snow-capped mountains that had seemed so foreign to him when they arrived now a familiar comfort.  Their week was almost up, culminating in the show in a couple of days.  The time had flown by, and he realized that he was reluctant to leave.  A little, anyway.  He’d not seen Natalie since their castle adventure and subsequent dinner two nights before, and he found himself growing restless, even missing her a bit.  His gaze shifted to the streets below, dotted with shoppers and late lunch goers scurrying about.  A swirl of dark hair captured his attention, and he sat up, narrowing his eyes, only to fall back into the armchair as the woman turned around.  Definitely not Nat.  She was due to move over the weekend and would probably miss the gig, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  He wanted to sing for her, see her light up as he knew she would.  He smiled, his mind returning to the impromptu performance on the way back from Chillon.  Christ, how stoned had he been?  But it didn’t matter.  Her laugh was all he’d wanted to hear.  Bloody hell, what are you doing?  The click of the door behind him dispensed with the reverie, and he glanced toward it as Jimmy shuffled in.

“So, did you and Natalie enjoy Chillon?  You didn’t mention going.”

Robert took in the guitarist’s mildly perturbed demeanor.  “I haven’t seen you since.  Where were you yesterday?”

Ignoring the question, Jimmy plowed on.  “Did you tour the torture chamber?  It’s supposed to be quite remarkable.”

“Nah, we, uh, didn’t make it there.”

“What a shame.  I’d heard it was not to be missed.”  Jimmy tapped his finger gently against his chin.  “Hmm, I wonder if she’d consider going again.”

“Not likely.”  Robert chuckled, kicking his feet up onto the ottoman.  “I think once might have been enough.  She knows a lot about it, though.  Said she was going to write an article for a magazine.”

“So, our little Natalie Grace is a writer, then?  I had no idea.  She is full of surprises.”

“Well, she’s shy about it, but she must be pretty good.  It’s for a children’s magazine, but a popular one.”  Robert cleared his throat, patting down his jacket for cigarettes.  “You know, um, she’s probably not coming to the gig.”

“Why is that?”

“School stuff.”  Spying Bonzo’s pack on the coffee table, he snatched it up.  “I’ve been trying to think up ways to convince her to stay.  When we were at dinner . . .”

“Dinner, too?” Jimmy asked, cocking his head.  “My, my, aren’t we getting chummy.”

“Well, seeing as how she was free for the evening since you didn’t have a date with her after all . . .” Robert trailed off, pointedly raising a brow.

Jimmy stared back in silence, finally breaking out into a grin.  “Couldn’t resist.”  He reclined onto the sofa. “ So, you have a thing for our girl, eh?”

“I could say the same for you.  Jesus Christ, Jim, she’s a kid.”

“Of course, I’m only joking.  You were talking about convincing her to stay?”  

“Yeah.”  Robert nibbled his lip, treading carefully.  “I was thinking that she could, well, maybe she could write about us.  Like an interview and a piece about the gig.”

“You mean a review of the show?” Jimmy scoffed with a terse laugh.  “That’s absurd.”

Robert shrugged his shoulders.  “Why?  What could it hurt?”

“What would she bloody know about any of it?”  

“She’s pretty smart.”  The singer pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.  “And it might be nice to have her around.”  

Jimmy glanced to the window as a patter of rain hit the glass.  “She is nice to have around, I’ll give you that,” he murmured, the thread of something blooming in his mind.

“I’m sure she’d be complimentary,” Robert added, subtly emphasizing the word.  

Complimentary.  Jimmy pursed his lips, wheels in motion.  It wasn’t an entirely unpromising scenario.  In fact, it was somewhat intriguing.  A young, likely very malleable writer with a strong connection to a major music promoter.  Nobody would have to know that she was barely fifteen, nobody that mattered, anyway, and it would be a welcome change from the stodgy old fucks they always sent out to the gigs.  A friendly word in the local paper certainly wouldn’t do them any harm, and who knew where it could lead.  She wouldn’t be fifteen forever.  But that was down the road.  For now, at the very least, he would have a bit of fun with it.  “You know, I think you’re right.  That’s not a bad idea.  It’s actually a rather good one.”

Robert blinked, surprised by his friend’s acquiescence.  “So, should I ask her to do it?”

“Not directly,” Jimmy replied, shaking his head.  “Let me take care of it.”

“They want me to do what?”  Nat set down her teacup with a clatter, pushing her breakfast away.  “I’ve never done an interview.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Oh, it can’t be too hard,” Susan chided, waving her hand dismissively.  “Besides it’s the local paper.  You don’t have to be Hemingway.”

“Whose idea was this?”  Nat cut her eyes at her conspicuously quiet aunt.  “Well?  Whose?”

Susan hesitated, drumming her fingers on the dining room table.  “The paper’s editor, from what I understand.”

“Really?  So, I’m a fifteen year old nobody that’s hardly written anything, and somehow, mysteriously, I’m interviewing one of the biggest bands in the world?”

“Well, Christian is friends with . . .”

“Oh, no.”  Natalie grimaced, running a hand through her hair.  “You pulled some weird strings, didn’t you?  Susan, I don’t want to be that girl in school.  Half the kids will probably be going, and if they see this dumb interview, they’ll know that . . .”

“You’re a wonderful writer?” Sue finished, dropping a sugar cube into her tea.  “That’s what they’ll know.  As long as you don’t ask tough questions and give them a good review, you’re golden.”

“Review?  Of what?  I haven’t even listened to their full albums.”

Susan smiled coyly, stirring her steaming concoction.  “The show, darling.  Although, you should probably brush up on the records, too.”

Natalie’s jaw dropped.  “You want me to review the show?”

“Not me . . . them,” Sue purred, taking a sip of her tea.

“Them?  Oh, my God.  The editor had nothing to do with this.  I knew there was something funny about all of it.”  Nat skimmed her thumb along the rim of her cup.  “Who is them?  Robert?”  Her aunt looked artfully away.  “Wait, it’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”

Susan abandoned her tea, making her way to the bar.  “At the end of the day, does it matter, Natalie?  Good lord, you’re impossible to please.  Maybe they just want to do something nice for you to help you out.  A burgeoning writer and all that business.  And what if it was Robert?  I assumed you had a nice time with him.  You have no idea how hard it was to sneak away without you seeing me at lunch the other day.”

“Sneak away?  What are you . . .” Nat’s jaw dropped again as it dawned on her.  “You saw him come up to me.  There was no meeting with the architect.”  She frowned at her aunt’s giddy grin.  “What are you, some kind of twisted matchmaker?  I’m only fourteen . . .”

“Fifteen, you just said so yourself,” Susan chimed, wagging a finger in the air.  “Jesus, Nattie, I’m not trying to get you two together in that way.  At least, not yet.”  She smirked, exchanging her teacup for a thin, crystal flute.  “Listen, it’s a fantastic opportunity.  They’re notoriously crafty with the press.  They rarely grant interviews, and they wanted you specifically.”  She held up her glass with a glimmer in her eye.  “And when the kids from school see you’ve interviewed the band, you’ll be an absolute queen on the campus.”

Queen on the campus?  Jesus Christ.  “But what about moving into the dorm?”

“We’ll figure something out.”  Hands on hips, Sue expelled a weary breath.  “You cannot possibly be trying to worm out of this.”

Nat sensed there was more to it than just a random act of kindness.  Altruism didn’t suit the band.  Surely an ulterior motive was involved, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it would be.  She slunk back into her chair, resigned to her fate.  Sue’s right.  What does it matter?  There were definitely worse things than spending time with four handsome, talented musicians.  And funny and sweet and silly . . .  She clenched her fists, crushing the thought.

“So, that’s a yes, I presume?” Susan beamed triumphantly.  “Perfect!  Their albums are in your room, along with a brand new record player.  Courtesy of Christian, of course.  I also pulled some clippings from my personal collection.  I like to keep an archive on the bands that I . . . particularly admire.”  Sue popped open a bottle of Champagne, pouring a long, fizzy stream.  “And don’t worry, love,” she cooed, peeking at her wristwatch.  “You’re not meeting with them for another five hours.  You’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

Natalie tapped her pen on the pages in front of her, exasperated beyond belief.  The interview was an unmitigated disaster.  Bonzo and Jonesy hadn’t even shown up, and getting answers out of Jimmy was like pulling teeth.  She’d spent every spare minute preparing, even gotten a tiny bit excited, and apparently, it was all for naught.  He didn’t want to talk about anything personal, and she’d been shunned when she asked about life on the road.  Everything seemed off limits.  What was the point, she mused dejectedly.  Hadn’t they been the ones who wanted to do it to begin with?  And in hostile territory, no less.  Her gaze roved over the guitarist’s candle laden suite, landing on a trio of half-melted pillars situated on the coffee table.  A small book lay beside them, tattered and torn, and she squinted in an effort to read the title.  His clipped cough brought her gaze back to his.  A reprimand for being curious, she determined as she scanned his blank visage.  Prickly didn’t seem to do him justice.  Maybe leave off the ly.  Hell, he’s probably enjoying this.  How in the world was she going to put any of it together?  She ran through the options one more time.  Influences, go back to influences.  “So, um, what inspires you?  Are all of you into the same kind of music?”

Sighing dramatically, Jimmy rolled his eyes.  “Oh, God, not that again.”

Nat cracked, finished with the cat and mouse game.  “Dammit, this was your idea!”  She threw down her pen.  “What do you want me to ask you, then?  I’ve heard a couple of things about a shark.”

“Natalie, dear, you do cut to the chase,” Jimmy hummed, amused at the rise he’d finally elicited.

“Let’s just say that I’ve done my homework.”  She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering back to the book on the table.  “Would you rather tell me about your interest in, uh, more spiritual matters?”

“Ooh, I see you have done your homework,” Jimmy replied smoothly.  “In that case, why don’t you tell me?”

Recognizing Natalie’s stormy scowl, Robert hurriedly intervened.  “Come on, Jim, just answer the questions.  We asked for this, remember?”  

“Ah, fair enough,” Jimmy conceded reluctantly.  “Pity it has to be so one sided.”  With another heavy sigh, he resettled into the sofa.  “Well, I’d say we all have different influences, to some degree.  There’s a melding here and there, but I think that’s what makes us able keep it fresh and interesting.”

Encouraged, Natalie leaned forward.  “There’s quite a lot of blues in your records so far.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the root of it, I suppose.”  Jimmy glanced to his bandmate, who was clearly champing at the bit to have a word.  “What say you, Robert?”

“What we’ve tried to do is to sort of reinterpret some of the stuff from America . . . Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf.  It’s endless, really.  All those sounds, we kind of spin it round and round until we take it somewhere else.”

“Right, the expansion of it.  That’s important.”  Jimmy crossed his legs.  “I want to create, well, we want to create something that’s dynamic and keep pushing boundaries.”  He paused for a moment, searching for the right words.  “Something heavy that strikes you, and just when you’ve reached the edge, it softens.  Or vise versa.”

“Light and shade,” Natalie offered, grateful that he'd begun to open up.

Jimmy exchanged a look with Robert.  “Exactly.”  He turned back to her with a devilish smile.  “Sort of like making love.”

Natalie swiftly dropped her head, praying that the lighting was dim enough to hide the blush she felt racing onto her cheeks.  Her saving grace was Peter, who lumbered into the room.

“Let’s go, lads, interview’s over.  Ahmet just got back, and they’re ready.”

More than a little relieved, Nat closed her notebook and capped her pen.  “Thanks for taking the time.”  Even though it was mostly a waste of it.  She shoved them both into her satchel as Robert bounded up to her.

“Would you like to come and watch?  We’re just gonna run through some stuff, sort of a sound check.  It won’t last long.”  He held out his arm, his dimple deepening.  “I’ll take a request, if you like.”

Her lips curved at the prospect.  What did she have to lose?  “Sure.  Lead the way.”

Arm in arm, they plodded out of the room and into the hall.  As they reached the elevator, Robert peered behind him for the others, but they were still in the suite.  He punched the button, secretly hoping it would make haste so he could have her to himself for a few minutes.  His wish granted, the car arrived almost immediately, and he hustled on, selecting his destination as quickly as he could.  He caught a glimpse of Peter and Jimmy in the distance as the doors slid blessedly shut.  Mission accomplished, they were alone.  “You, uh, seem to know a lot more about us than I thought.  Very impressive.”

“I did some research,” Nat replied, basking in the warmth of his sideways smile.  “Aunt Sue is a pretty good resource.  Keeps tabs on certain groups that she finds . . . stimulating.”

“I bet she’s got quite a file.”  They shared a muted laugh.  “I take it you’ve listened to the albums?”

“Um, yeah, that would be part of my research.”

“Right.  Of course.”  Robert quietly cleared his throat.  “So, ah, what’s your favorite song?”  

Natalie pursed her lips as their eyes met.  “Moby Dick, I think.”

“The one about the whale, huh?” Robert teased, the corner of his mouth curling up.

“The one with no vocals,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Ouch, that hurt.”  Robert clamped his hand over his heart, and they shared another laugh.  “You know, you did a good job back there with Jimmy.”

Natalie snorted, shaking her head.  “You must be kidding.  I hardly got anything out of him.”

“You got more than most, believe it or not.”  A ping in the car signaled that they’d reached the first floor.  “Pagey likes you.  I can tell.”

“Good God, what does he do to the people he doesn’t like?”

Robert snickered as the elevator doors surged open.  “Nothing.  That’s what.”  

They navigated through the lobby and into the casino, winding around the masses and entering a cavernous room toward the back of it.  Natalie slowly canvassed the drafty space, examining the ancient looking wooden planks that made up the ceiling.  They were cracked and peeling, in need of a facelift.  Hell, a full renovation, really.  “It’s like a matchbox in here.”  She meandered to the wide glass windows overlooking the pool, which was empty, save for a fully clothed woman reading a book.  “Are you guys all set up?”

The floor squeaked underneath Robert’s feet as he padded to the front of the stage, inspecting the equipment.  “Yeah, looks like everything’s here.”  He gave her a wide grin.  “So, what would you like to hear?”

“I don’t know.”  Natalie surveyed the scene, nodding at Jonesy and Bonzo as they passed by.  “This is kind of a lot.”

“If you’re going to be a music journalist, you might want to get used to it.”

Natalie jumped at Jimmy’s words right behind her.  Shit!  Where had he come from?  Probably just thin air.  She spun around, her brow wrinkling.  “A music journalist?  Who said that?  I write articles about castles and history, not . . .”

“This is history, history in the making, darling, and you’re in the center of it all.  It’s fate.  Can’t you see that?  You’d be a fool not to take advantage of your position.”

Nat studied the guitarist warily, at that point quite sure that there was more to the situation than met the eye.  As she pondered her response, he turned on his heel, making his way to the stage.  A group of men in suits were taking their seats beside the platform as pops of bass and the rattle of drums shook the rafters.  Grabbing the microphone, Robert sidled up next to Jimmy, and the four musicians engaged in a few seconds of hushed deliberation.

“As it appears that our little Natalie can’t make up her mind what to request, I think, ah, I think we’ve got something to dedicate to her, yeah?”

The opening strains of Chuck Berry’s “Nadine” filled the room, and Natalie giggled as Robert substituted her name instead.  It was a rowdy, lighthearted rendition, and she was reminded of his silly serenade two nights before.  How anyone could classify him a some Rock God or sex symbol was beyond her.  He was simply too goofy for the label.  At the end of the song, they launched right into a poppy Elvis tune, and then another that she remembered as a child.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught shifting shadows at the door to the theater.  She watched Robert nod to the large man that was serving as a guard of sorts, and people began to file in.  She pored over their faces, some giddy, some disbelieving, all transfixed as the Elvis number morphed into Buffalo Springfield, which somehow seamlessly transformed into a rollicking “Good Golly Miss Molly.”  It was evident that the boys were completely attuned to each other.  It was tight, but still lively and fun.  They were obviously a great band, but as she followed Robert’s bouncing figure across the stage, she couldn’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about.

Robert beamed, flushed from the applause and cheers of the burgeoning audience.  He glided his eyes over the crowd, delighting in their delight at the unexpected show.  “We’d like to do one more.  It’s from the first LP, and it’s something I hope you’ll like.”  His gaze landed on Natalie at the foot of the stage.  “Particularly one of you.”

Nat could feel the stares of those around her, and she grinned as he winked at her, his gravelly voice cutting through the din.

“I can’t . . . quit you, baby . . .”

In an instant, her grin vanished.  This was different than the other songs.  Very.  Her body shook from the ear shattering boom of Bonzo’s drums and the thunderous bass and guitar that accompanied it.  

“Woman, I think I’m gonna put you down . . . for a little while . . .”

Robert’s wail made her mouth fall open as a wall of sound like she’d never heard before roared around her.  Bluesy and seductive, it enveloped her, heart and soul, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.  He was nothing like the silly serenader on the trail.  This side of him was new, completely alien to her.  She swallowed as a wave of heat rippled through her, a current of electricity the likes of which she didn’t know existed.  As her wide eyes locked on his knowing ones, she finally remembered to breathe.  Jimmy was right.  History was in the making.  And she fully intended to take a piece of it for herself.