Chapter Thirty-Nine
Diana pulled the
scarf a little closer around her neck and the hat a little farther down on her
head. It had been hell getting all her hair up under it, but not being assailed
by reporters right now had made it all worth it. And of course, no one would be
expecting any of them to be taking a trip so soon after the death of their
“Golden Boy”, as he’d been referred to in numerous accounts on the television
and print. In her hands, she held a newspaper, it’s front page emblazoned with
a photograph of she and her family, all gathered around the gravesite of her
second oldest son. It’s simple tombstone already in place, with only this
message:
Jordan Taylor Hanson
March 14, 1983 – December 18, 2000
The Music Lives…
She smiled, thinking Taylor would
approve of that last line, remembering the shirt he’d worn with the same quote.
And, for the moment at least, Hanson’s music was suddenly being played
everywhere. Radio stations and DJ’s who’d deemed Hanson not worthy of their play lists
before, now found themselves singing their praises. Taylor’s death
had caused a huge surge in sales for Hanson albums. CD’s that were going for
less than a dollar on eBay were now going for more than what they’d cost new.
MTV had gotten hold of a mysterious recording of the show and had played over
and over again shots of Taylor’s last performance and then his untimely passing
right there in front of his fans. The Hanson household was on a “no TV” rule at
the moment, because it had quickly spread to all the other networks as well.
No one was above showing the footage, albeit, with a warning ahead of time that
the scenes might be “disturbing” to some. “Disturbing…” what an understatement,
she thought. It was frightening, and sickening and heartbreaking. And people
were drawn to it like a magnet. A loud voice, announcing her departing flight
interrupted her thoughts. As she stood up, picking up the small bag that was
her only luggage, she prayed that she’d find what she was looking for in New
York City.
~~~~~
“Daddy, when’s Tay
coming home?” Avery asked, walking into her parents’ bedroom.
With a sigh, Walker
closed the closet door and turned to his daughter. Sitting on the bed, he
pulled her over to sit in his lap. “Honey, he’s not coming back, ever. You
know that.”
Avery looked at him.
“Where’s Mom?” She asked.
“Well, she went to
New York. She should be back in a few days.” Walker ran his fingers through
her wavy hair, “Ave? Can you…well, can you feel Taylor still?”
She bit her lip,
thinking. “No…not exactly. But, I can’t not feel him. Know what I
mean?”
He took in a shaky
breath, “Um, Mom went to New York to see that Lady. Do you remember her?”
“Yeah.” She
answered.
“Well, your Mom
thinks she might…know something about how Taylor died and stuff. So, she’s
going to see her. But, I don’t want everybody else to know where she is, ok?
We’re just gonna tell everybody that Mom went to visit Aunt Nancy, alright?”
Avery nodded. Walker stood up, setting her back down on her feet, and leaned
down to speak to her, “And Avie…listen, if you…you know…hear Taylor,
would you let me know? Just between you and me, ok?”
She placed her hands
on his cheeks and her nose against his, “Okay, Daddy. Just between you and me…”
then she skipped off, the only one in the house seeming to have any energy
left. Even Zoë and Mackenzie had been extremely quiet the last few days.
Shaking his head, he made his way into the kitchen thinking he’d better make
dinner, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite.
~~~~~
Kirk looked at the
screen in front of him. The internet was abuzz with all sorts of news and
opinion about Taylor’s passing. As expected, Hanson fans had all gone off the
deep end. Message boards were flooded with girls all searching for someone
feeling the same way they did. Websites were popping up in tribute to Taylor
and those already there were changing layouts and content to reflect how each of
them was taking the news. The venue in Alabama had become a sort of memorial,
much like the bus when Taylor had died the first time. Flowers, drawings,
letters, songs—their grief took many forms. With a sigh, he shut down the
computer. His eyes moved to the chair where Melanie lounged, sewing a small
purse, which she’d decorated with beads and sparkly thread. Her foot swung back
and forth as she hummed along to the music coming from the radio. “So, how are
the girls?” She asked, not looking up.
“Upset.” He said,
standing. “About like Camille.” He stretched and looked at the clock. “I
guess I better get going. Diana might get mobbed if anybody recognizes her.
Hope she’s in disguise or something.”
“She’s not stupid.
They’ve been doing this for years now.” She said quietly. She tied off the
thread and held up the little bag, “What do you think?” She asked, a small
smile on her face.
“Sweet. When are you
gonna make me one?” He said, peering at the tiny stitches.
“Oh yeah, you really
need a purse, Kirk.” She smirked.
“Hey, it could be one
of those around the waist kind of things. Besides, I’m confident enough in my
manhood, I can carry a purse if I want to.” He said, puffing out his chest.
“Fine. How does pink
sound?” She said, standing up and putting her arm through his.
“Hmmm…well, I was
really leaning more towards a nice basic black…” they stepped out of the room
and made their way down the hall to join the others.
~~~~~
Camille stood at the
foot of the bed, unmoving, unblinking. She watched him, waiting for any sign of
life. But, so far, there was nothing. She’d stood there since she awoke that
day, knowing it was the third day. She looked at her watch. Technically, it
wouldn’t be three full days until the hands landed at 9:48 pm…more or less.
Silently, she stepped around to the side of the bed and sat next to him,
examining his face closely. Tiny traces of blood still remained, probably only
visible to her eyes. She had cleaned his body herself, so she had only herself
to blame if he weren’t absolutely immaculate. There was no scent of death on
him, no smell whatsoever. His dark eyelashes rested against his pallid skin and
there was no sign of the tiny whiskers that sprouted on his chin daily. Lips a
grayish color to match the circles around his eyes. He looked dead to
her. But he just couldn’t be, she thought, closing her eyes. In her mind, she
called him. She’d been calling him for three days now, never to hear an
answer. As the door swung silently open, she didn’t acknowledge Melanie or Kirk
as they stepped into the room, she only continued her call. “Camille, you know
he’s not in there.” Melanie spoke, placing her hands on her hips. “Beatriz
said it would take three full days. And even then, he’s probably gonna
be sorta…freaky for awhile.”
Kirk stepped over to
the girl and put his arm around her shoulder, “Hey, do you want to go with me to
pick up Diana? It might take your mind off everything for a little while.”
“She hates me!” She
cried. Finally, her eyes had left the boy lying lifeless in the bed.
“She doesn’t hate
you…” Kirk tried to comfort her.
Now she was sobbing,
“Yes, she does! She hates me ‘cause I killed Taylor!” Her chest was heaving
and tears were streaming down her face.
“So what?” Melanie
said, “She knew it was coming and she knew why. I’m sure she’d rather Beatriz
do it than some band of assassins sent to get him by the elders. Taylor made
all kinds of choices. Granted, he didn’t make that first big one…but still.
You’re not the only one to blame, just the biggest.” Kirk shot her a
look as Camille began to cry harder. “What?” She said, flopping down on the
bed.
“Don’t touch him!”
Camille hissed, grabbing Melanie by the arm and pulling her back up.
“Geez! You think I’m
gonna hurt him or something?” Melanie groused. “In case you hadn’t noticed,
he’s dead, Camille!”
“Don’t say that!” Camille snarled.
“He’s gonna come back. He’s got to.” She said softly.
“Yeah, well, we’ll
see.” She said. Then she turned away, “I’m gonna go get something to fill my
stomach, wanna come?”
Kirk looked up, “It’s
gotta be quick, I got a plane to meet at 7: 45 and it’s after six already.” He
answered.
Camille watched them
walk away. As he got to the door, Kirk turned, “C’mon, we’ll take ya to
McDonald’s.”
“Oh God, how can you
stand to feed with the smell of all that nasty meat in the air?” She said,
wrinkling up her nose.
“Aw, it just means
they’ll have some fat and some protein in ‘em when I take a nice long drink.”
Melanie said. Kirk raised his eyebrows and Camille shook her head. Then
Melanie stepped back to the girl, “You know, it might take him days and days to
come out of that. You need to feed.”
“No, Beatriz said it
would be three days, and she should know.” Camille pouted.
“Whatever.” Melanie
said. Then she turned to go.
“Hey…” Camille
stopped her, “where’d you get the new clothes?” She asked, noticing Melanie’s
lacy, plum colored dress that matched her hair to a tee.
With a smile, Melanie
cocked her head, “Remember that little tape I had? Well, I took it to those
assholes on Times Square and they ate it up! They were more than happy to buy
up that little snippet.” Her eyes lit up with excitement, “You know that Kurt
Loder guy? He was the first one I talked to—he’s such a dickhead, I swear. He
might not like Hanson when they’re alive, but he sure likes ‘em when they’re
dead!” She tossed her hair back behind her shoulder, “So, he creeped me out, so
I told ‘em I wanted to talk to that other guy…um, John Norris. He was actually
pretty upset and stuff, and he hadn’t even seen the tape yet, so I gave him a
bargain. Five thousand bucks!” She clapped her hands. “Of course, you and I
know, they probably sold it to everybody else for ten million or something, but,
I don’t care. They sure did get the word out! Every hour, on the hour! Or
whatever it is they do…sleezeballs. I hope Taylor goes there late some night
and scares the crap out of that guy…” Now, her eyes had taken on a dark quality
as she envisioned the scene in her mind.
Camille joined her
and a smile crept across both their faces, “If he doesn’t, I will…” She said,
her blue eyes glinting with mischief.
“Alright, alright.
If you two go off plotting the death of MTV personnel, I’ll never get anything
to eat tonight. Let’s go.” Kirk said, opening the door and stepping out into
the hallway.
Melanie looked at the
girl, “Are you sure you won’t come with us? It’ll be like old times.”
Camille looked over
at the bed. Nothing had changed. With a sigh, she turned her eyes to her
friend, “Naw, I don’t think so. Maybe later. After he wakes up. Maybe he
could go with us?” She said, her face brightening a tiny bit.
Melanie gave her a
sad smile, “Alright. When he wakes up, we’ll all party like it’s 1999!” She
kissed the girl on the cheek, and then she was gone.
~~~~~
Beatriz flipped the
channels, pleased that every network in the nation seemed to have picked up the
story, as well as every major newspaper. Magazines were scrambling for the
story and she had every person at her disposal supplying anyone in the media
with pictures, live footage, whatever they needed to write their accounts of the
untimely death of a young star. Mr. Jones had given an interview to ABC news,
explaining all the medical intricacies of Taylor’s death, even going so far as
to give a sort of play by play of the medics trying to save him. “The man on
the far right is giving an injection of blah blah blah, while the gentleman in
the center administers CPR…blah blah blah…” With a sigh, she turned off the
television, setting Taylor’s precious remote on the coffee table. Mr. Jones may
as well have been speaking Greek she thought, though really, she probably knew
more Greek than she did all those technical medical terms. She turned her head
as Kirk and Melanie stepped into the room on their way out. “Hello, my
darlings.” She said.
“Hello, Lady.” Kirk
said respectfully.
“Where might you two
be going? Please don’t forget you need to be at the airport no later than
seven.”
“We were just going
to get something, then head there.” He answered.
“Why don’t you take
Camille with you?” Beatriz asked, standing up.
“She doesn’t want to
go.” Melanie answered, “She’s afraid she won’t be here when he wakes up.” She
said, hoping the woman would give her some hint as to when she thought that
might happen.
“Very well, I hope
she doesn’t starve though…” she said, stepping past them and proceeding down
the hall to the room where Taylor lay.
Opening the door, she
slipped inside the quiet room. Camille sat on the bed, Taylor’s large hand held
in both her small ones. “When is he gonna wake up?” she asked. She watched as
Beatriz went around the room lighting candles. As their soft aroma filled the
air, she stepped over to the girl.
“Tonight, I should
think. But I know nothing for certain.”
“But you said—“
Camille started.
“I said it should
take three days.” Beatriz said, her eyes meeting Camille’s. “I am not God. It
could take longer if the damage was too great. But, in my experience, three
days is the way of it.”
“How many times have
you done this?” Camille asked, her voice sharp.
“Enough to know it
usually takes three days.” She said, standing up taller. “Do not question me.
You brought this on him. You decided you wanted him and you took him. And now,
what do you have?” Camille didn’t answer, but the tears rolling down her cheeks
said enough. She shrugged her shoulders finally when Beatriz continued to look
at her. “Exactly. You don’t know and neither do I.” She looked down at Taylor
now, “You know, you may not want him back if he is changed now. A few things
are certain—he was once innocent, and now he is a murderer.” Her dark eyes had
gone back to Camille. “And perhaps more importantly, he’s lost the love of his
life. And I’m sure that neither you nor I can fill that place in his heart.
But, it had to be done, it was the only way to save him.” She reached in her
pocket and pulled out a rosary. It looked to be nearly as old as she was and
yet, it’s beads still sparkled in the candle light and the silver still shone
from years of being held and polished by cool fingers. Reverently, she brought
it to her lips, then she knelt down beside the bed and turned the small lamp
off, leaving only the warm glow of the candles to illuminate the room. “Leave
us.” She said to the girl. “Go feed, then bring Mr. Jones here. I need him.”
Camille stood and Beatriz took Taylor’s hand and held it as well as the
glittering rosary to her forehead, her eyes closed. “Hail Mary, full of Grace,
the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at
the hour of our death. Amen.” As Camille walked away, Beatriz soft voice
repeated the prayer and the sound of it was comforting, and yet, somehow
unsettling. It frightened her to think Beatriz in all her knowledge and power
felt the need to pray.
Sonya had returned
and was sitting on the floor outside the room when Camille stepped out. “Oh,
you scared me!” Camille gasped.
“Sorry.” Sonya said
glumly. She hadn’t felt so empty since her own children had passed away, and
they had lived long, fruitful lives. “Any change?” She asked.
“No.” The girl
answered. Sonya pushed her hair out of her face and leaned her head back
against the wall, her long braid hanging over her shoulder. “Sonya, why would
Beatriz pray?” Camille asked.
“Because it makes her
feel better.” She answered.
“But, she’s so
powerful already—“
“Beatriz is from a
time and a place where that’s what you do when you’re troubled or when you are
sorry for something. Her people believe, even though it was forced on them more
or less…” She said with a roll of her eyes. “Ask her about Cortez sometime—but
be prepared for an earful.”
“Cortez?” Camille
asked, not understanding.
“Oh. I guess you
never made it through world history.” Sonya sighed.
“Nope. I think that
was gonna be in the tenth grade. But, I know about U.S. History. Well, at
least up to the Civil War.” She said, thinking. “You know, I guess I’d be
graduating this year…”
Standing, Sonya put
her hand on the girl’s head, “Yes, I guess you would be. And speaking of the
Civil War, you should ask me about Sherman sometime. But not now—you go
on—I heard her tell you to get Mr. Jones. So you better get on with it.”
“Ugh. He’s so mean
to me.” She pouted.
“He’s been mean to
everyone lately. He’s taking this thing with Taylor pretty hard.” Sonya leaned
over to whisper, “Don’t tell him I said this, but I think he really likes
Taylor.”
Camille turned to
leave, “Well, I don’t blame him, I mean, what’s not to like? He’s beautiful,
he’s sweet—“
“He’s spoiled
rotten. And when he comes back, he’ll probably be worse.” Sonya said, her hand
on the doorknob.
Camille turned, “Do
you think he’s coming back? I mean, what if he doesn’t?” Camille was back to
sad.
“He did it once
before, he’ll do it again.” She said, and she went in the room and shut the
door behind her.
~~~~~
Beatriz didn’t know
how many Hail Mary’s she’d recited, but she was certain it would be better to
say too many rather than too few. Sonya stepped into the room quietly, glancing
around at the candles. The soft glow made Taylor’s skin less ashen than before,
but it only exaggerated the dark circles around his eyes. She stepped over to
the window and looked out at the city. Darkness had fallen and holiday lights
made the skyline even more beautiful than usual. Turning, she leaned up against
the wall, watching. Beatriz took the silver crucifix that dangled at the end of
the rosary, pressing the sharp edge to her finger until blood pooled there in a
tantalizing orb. She carefully placed her finger, running it down his upper lip,
leaving a crimson line that started under his nose and ended at the base of his
bottom lip, the red color in stark contrast to the purplish gray of his lips.
Standing, she pulled a clump of brightly colored feathers, tied together with
red string from a bag on the table. These she placed on Taylor’s chest. She
then placed the rosary on top of them. With a soft kiss to his forehead, she
backed away from him. Turning to Sonya, she spoke for the first time, “Did you
feed? I want everyone here tonight.”
“Yes, I’m in for the
night.” Sonya answered.
“Good.” Beatriz
stated. “Make sure Camille goes. I want her here. Sometimes she can have a
calming effect on him. I don’t know why...” She said with a sigh. “I find her
maddening.”
“He’s used to girls
being around him. It’s familiar.” Sonya said, stepping closer, inspecting the
feathers, but not touching them. She never questioned Beatriz’ odd customs that
sometimes seemed to appear out of nowhere. She knew some childhood beliefs
would never change for her, just as she had her own. And yet, she couldn’t
resist asking, “Is Montezuma going to have a tail left when I go in there and
see him?”
“He was not happy,
but he has done his duty.” Beatriz answered seriously.
Just then, Mr. Jones
stepped into the room followed by Camille. He looked at Taylor, shook his head,
then turned to Beatriz, “Well, I see you have all your bases covered. Not
taking any chances, are we?” Her response to him was something in Spanish,
spoken very quickly. “Yes, Madam.” Was all he said in reply.
Beatriz then turned
her eye on Camille, “You know, the gods would probably smile more brightly on a
vampire sacrifice than a human one. If you do not go and do as I told you, we
shall all find out.” She said, through gritted teeth.
Camille turned and
practically ran from the room. “What did you need me for, Lady?” Mr. Jones
asked tiredly. “I was on the phone with Teen People Magazine. It’s good to
know they cover pain and suffering as well as all the latest prom fashions.”
Beatriz looked at
him, puzzled for a moment. Then, with a tiny shake of her head, she put aside
her confusion. “That can wait. I want you here. I don’t know what to expect
when he wakes up…” Sonya and Mr. Jones looked at each other for a moment.
“Don’t you mean
if
he wakes up?” Mr. Jones asked.
Beatriz shot him a
look, “Oh, he will wake up. The question is when. And how.” She put
her finger to her lips, thinking. “I don’t suppose you have any elephant
tranquilizers in your little black bag, do you?” She asked.
Again, Sonya and Mr.
Jones looked at each other. “Um, Beatriz,” Sonya said, stepping close to her,
“what are you expecting? I mean, is he going to be violent when he wakes up?
You’re actually starting to scare me here.”
Beatriz turned and
looked at the boy, “I don’t know what to expect. He has been dead for three
days. What if he encountered…I don’t know…demons or spirits?”
Sonya’s eyes widened,
“Is that possible? That’s ridiculous. That’s not possible. He was dead, I’m
sure it was no different than sleeping. He wasn’t like that the first time.”
She said, looking over at him with a new found curiosity.
“He was innocent
then. And now, he is not.” Beatriz said ominously. “But,” she continued.
“You may be right. He may only awaken to find himself here rather than on a
stage in Alabama. My point is, anything could happen and I want to be
prepared.”
Mr. Jones stared at
her. Beatriz usually seemed so sophisticated, that when her superstitious side
showed itself, he always found himself amazed. And yet, it was a big part of
her. Now and then he would find some sort of strange concoction of feathers, or
rocks, or any number of things. He didn’t even know where she could come across
such things in New York City, but she did. “Lady, you are forgetting, that
perhaps he came across angels in his travels, or good spirits.”
“True.” She said,
walking away. “I hope that was the case. After all, he really isn’t a bad
boy.” She left the room, leaving the other two shaking their heads.