The Fall of Sky: Part Four (The Fall of Sky #4) Read online

  I missed him already. He was such a good man, and it made me feel cruddy once more to know how epically I’d messed up. What would he do if he knew I was pregnant and that I’d cheated on him? Would he stay? Would he leave? What if the baby wasn’t his? All these questions plagued my head, causing it to tense enough for me to require a head massage. I kneaded my fingers though my scalp before running my brush though the tangles. Done, I tossed it across the counter and went to pull my shoes on.

  Nothing I could do about anything now. Best to keep mum about things, for worrying couldn’t possibly benefit anyone now. I could possibly lose the baby again. Nothing to worry about really.

  As I left the motel to walk to the nearby doctor’s office, my confidence built itself back up brick by brick. Everything will be okay, I told myself. Either way, I’d have to deal with the consequences, good or bad. There was no other choice.

  As I sat in the waiting room, I continued to attempt to convince myself that the sky wasn’t falling.

  But it was, and I could feel the pieces smacking into my head from above.

  Denial at its best.

  Chapter Three

  Liz

  The rain slapped turbulently against the windows where I sat on the edge of my bed, strumming my guitar. My melancholy mood plagued me into a somber space I couldn’t shake off. I’d been here before, in this melancholy place I often sought out when my mind was a jumbled mess and my heart was in splinters. Things were out of control, and I never saw it coming.

  Feeling the twang of strings under my fingers as I played my heart out, I let the hollow of the guitar vibrate the last chord until I couldn’t hear it anymore. The notes drowned into some oblivion I wished to slip into, and I wanted to follow it more than anything right now.

  “Fuck!” I yelled out into the emptiness of my hotel room. Well, it was more of a tiny studio apartment the record company was paying for while I stayed in the city for a couple weeks. Audrey and Saul had their own place down the hall, close enough to bother if need be, far enough away to garner some peace in my turbulent mind.

  I slid to the ground and rested the guitar on the shag carpet that must’ve been vacuumed a thousand times, for its ends were all twisted like tiny little dreadlocks. Running my fingers through it, I wanted to rip out the threads and toss them away. But I didn’t. I could barely sit perfectly still, unable to breathe in too deeply for fear it might wake up my senses and force me to face the hot mess of my life.

  I was pregnant. Positive about it. A woman didn’t need a doctor to tell her these things, though I’d picked up a test at the corner shop to verify it for myself. The two lines were undeniable, and I promptly tossed the plastic stick carelessly into the tiny waste receptacle in the hotel bathroom.

  What now? What was I going to do now?

  I groaned and ran my hands violently through my long, wild locks. I needed a trim; they were unruly and riddled with split ends. Even my black nail polish sat chipped and ragged on my short nails. I was makeup free, but there was nowhere to go anyway, so I didn’t bother putting any on. We were on break for a solid two weeks. No recording, no shows. Just as well. We needed it.

  Crawling toward the window sill which spanned the length of the wall along one side of the apartment, I leaned against the cool glass, watching the sheeting rain pour down onto the fire escape and the streets below. It was the worst time to visit this vibrant city; the weather was skewed, and frankly, I was surprised they even let us hole down here at all. The expense for two miniscule studios was still a small fortune in this city. New York City in late winter was a miserable hell in the weather department, but it should’ve been more exciting to be here, regardless.

  Tomorrow, I’d go outside. Maybe then the rain would take a break so I could wander the streets, listen to the street performers, buy some new threads, or maybe see a show. I always wanted to visit here, and it beckoned to me. Heck, it was still early enough, if the rain let up later in the afternoon, I was going to check out a bar down the street. It looked like a hip joint from the way it was always busy when we drove past it.

  I needed to shake these blues away, get some excitement going, since the lack of adrenaline from doing our performances was starting to leave me aching for a hit of something. I wasn’t one to sit still in one place for too long. I needed out of this cage before I lost my mind.

  Keeping my thoughts off Emilio, Jonas, and this pregnancy was difficult. It was going to take that and more to keep me from losing my mind. There had to be decent distractions available around here. The sooner, the better.

  This was no place to be cooped up forever.

  Closing my eyes, I listened to the melancholy drumming of raindrops splashing the exterior of the building. I could hear lyrics inside my brain aching to get out. Times like these wreaked havoc on my mental health, and the process of writing it out in lyrics and songs was therapeutic. I sighed and took one more glance out the window. There was nothing to do but move on. Keep going. Keep singing.

  I reached for my guitar, pulling my sound equipment along with it to sit near me, and leaned against the window. I tweaked a few knobs and hit buttons on the mini drum pad. Beginning with a slow beat to cycle through, I let the low vibration fill me up. Next, I set up my microphone so it crouched level with my mouth. I pulled the guitar strap over my head again and began to strum out chords. Hitting the record button, I sang a note into the mike, letting it drag on until it faded, before thumping the pad once more. Turning more knobs to get duplicate tracks running, I added more background vocals this way, synchronizing the music along with interchanging beats.

  It was time consuming at first, but once all the instruments were going and the recorded vocals harmonized in an endless loop, I started the song I’d been haunted by for days, already written out in my ever constant companion of a notebook.

  “Nothing stays the same

  No one ever does

  And the bitter face you own

  While you say you never have

  Doesn’t cover the lies you’ve told

  I’ve held your hand

  Kissed your wounds

  For I’d kill for you

  This I do willingly for you

  Drown in this river

  I would for you

  Sing until the notes run out

  Just for you

  There’s no one else but me for you

  But you don’t think that way

  How else do I prove this love to you?

  When you just walked away?”

  I paused, letting the beat continue without me. My background vocals echoed and haunted the apartment as they bounced across the walls and hit me like a gun shot. I let my mind wander to Emilio as I bobbed my head to the beat. The bastard hadn’t returned my calls this week. Sure, I’d called him at a time other than the agreed upon one, but I needed to talk to him. Maybe I’d tell him about the pregnancy. How could he profess his love and say he missed me when he didn’t even answer his phone? He could, I just knew it. But he didn’t.

  Then there was Jonas. He at least told me he was on business back in Mexico for a week. They were both down there now, and it made me wonder if that was why I hadn’t heard from either of them. What did they think of each other? Emilio knew about Jonas, and I was pretty sure Jonas knew something was going on with Emilio and I. Why put me through these forced separations from either one? Something had to be going down if Emilio was too preoccupied to receive my calls.

  Or maybe he was being monitored more than I’d originally thought.

  I groaned, rubbing my face until my cheeks burned hot. This all left me confused, hurt, and feeling casted off. It made my emotions span from wanting to cry my heart out to a raw anger, boiling in my veins and ready to set the place on fire. I shook off the feelings, finding tears streaking down my face and dripping onto my shirt, regardless of how hard I tried to keep it at bay.

  The music continued as I scanned the room. The bed was unmade. My clothes hung out of my s
uitcase and were strewed across the floor. Cables, equipment, and a sack of picks spread across the floor like snakes and frogs sitting in the pit, surrounding me. Snack wrappers littered what little carpet could be seen. One hot mess. I snapped out of my daydream and took it all in with a sickening horror.

  I’d fallen to pieces. That wasn’t Liv. She wouldn’t let herself stoop so very low and crumble like ash. How did this happen?

  I snapped. Slamming my hand on the power buttons, ripping cords out of amps and wall sockets with a ferocious fury. Tossing my guitar on the bed as I untangled myself from the mess of cords, I stomped off to the bathroom and took a good look at my face in the mirror.

  This had to stop. This deconstruction of Liz. I could tolerate a lot of things but not this. I couldn’t disintegrate so easily. I wouldn’t let it own me regardless of how dysfunctional I could be. I turned the sink on and splashed my blotchy face with cold water. After drying off, I smeared make up on, rubbing it in until it was smooth and immaculate. Finishing up, I smiled at the composed face I’d created—every line in its place. Then, I raked the brush through the nest of hair I’d let go awry. Finally smoothing it into a manageable mane, I pulled it through a headband and tucked some of my hair into it, allowing most of it to fall out for a half swept up look.

  Finally, slipping large hoop earrings onto my ears and swiping a bright fire engine red lipstick onto my lips, I stepped back and sat on the edge of the tub, studying the reflection of a very vibrant and confidant young woman staring back.

  It was time to get back to reality. Damned be anyone who stood in my fucking way.

  Chapter Four

  Audrey

  “I’m sorry to tell you this…but…I couldn’t detect a heartbeat.”

  The doctor gripped onto the manila folder in her tiny, pale hands. I didn’t really hear her speaking, for I knew what the words would be. I stopped listening before she was done, my eyes drifting out the small window near the compact sink and counter across from me.

  The sky was so blue. Not just the normal blue, but a vivid azure that taunted me with a happy vibe. I didn’t want the happy right now. I wanted to scream, grab the stupid metal table that held all the gynecologist’s instruments on its brushed nickel surface and fling it at that stomach twisting happy blue to shatter it into a thousand little pieces.

  “Miss Westing?” I blinked back toward the doctor, feeling the tears still stinging behind my eyes but willing them to hold behind the fierce dam of anger building inside. “Are you alright?”

  I gave her a weak nod and forced a dim smile onto my face.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor. Can I get dressed now?”

  Dr. Lanister watched me pensively, eyes full of sympathy. I wanted to tell her to shove it down her petite throat. I wanted none of it.

  “Yes, you may get dressed. Just check out at the desk when you’re finished.” She threw me a quick, practiced smile, full of grace and gentile. I focused on her stethoscope and brilliant white lab coat as she made her way out the door and then clicked it softly shut behind her.

  She didn’t know the pit of despair sucking me into its bottomless abyss inside my stomach. How could she? I’d seen her desk when I’d first come here. The pictures of wide smiles and laughing blonde children that graced the shiny frames arranged at the corners of her desk told me everything I needed to know about her sympathy. I wanted none of it.

  I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I would need another procedure if I didn’t begin to bleed soon and expel any material left in my womb. That’s what they called it. Material. Not dead baby, not fetus, embryo or fertilized egg. Material. Like it was an unwanted ream of linen waiting to be cut away from my insides. How callus. How absolutely blind she truly was to what I felt inside. She knew nothing of empathy for a person like me.

  I ripped off the paper gown before shoving it into the trash can. Dressing as fast as possible, my hair flew up with static as I tugged my head through the collar of my sweater. I hated this place. I hated being here. I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to return. Finally slipping my shoes on, I tore the door open and hurried to the desk where I signed and dropped a payment of crumbled twenties on the counter, for the visit, with the doctor’s secretary. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and waiting for the receipt to print out was agony. Maybe I didn’t need it.

  I had to get out of there. I was going to suffocate for lack of air. Snatching my receipt, I barreled out of the office, past other women, pregnant or here for checkups, and out the door. Even the hallway was oppressive as I slammed a finger on the elevator button. Waiting for it made me want to slam a fist into the wall, for I couldn’t bear standing here any longer.

  Right when I’d decided to find the stairs, the elevator dinged open. Thankfully, the carriage was empty and I stepped in, praying it wouldn’t stop on any other floors and would give me the mercy of dumping me onto the ground floor.

  Luckily, it heard my tiny prayer. Still feeling on the verge of a hypoxic episode, I ran out of the elevator, down the hall, accidently tapping shoulders with others who were entering the medical building, and out into the streets.

  I couldn’t go home yet. I had to find a place to hide until I stopped crying and could compose myself to get back to Saul. Without too many choices available, I ran into the garage of our building where the smell of gasoline and emissions filled my nose.

  Reaching the rental car the record company paid for us to share while we spent our time in New York, I slammed the door shut and sat inside its cool interior. At least here I could hide. Here I could let the ugly cry rampage out and no one would see me. I couldn’t breathe and felt like my heart was going to burst if I didn’t somehow fix it. Closing my eyes, I felt the tears burst and slide down my cheeks as I concentrated on each breath.

  Breathe in....three…two…one….

  Hot warm tears dripped off my chin and down onto my shirt.

  I wanted to drop and sink into the ground like them, forever.

  How was I going to tell Saul about this? How would I even be able to accept that I probably can’t ever get pregnant? The doctor told me that was possible. There was just too much scarring involved to ever have a decent chance of conceiving. I couldn’t even imagine a life without a family. It was something I’d always wanted. But life had a cruel way of being so fucked up and unfair without any good reasons on why. It just was, and I had to face the music regardless of the outcome.

  But how do I get through it?

  Chapter Five

  Liv

  The line clicked to voicemail, so I punched the end button on my phone with a harsh tap. Emilio was still avoiding my calls. I actually only spoke with him when he called first. I didn’t understand. My jealous heart was feeling fairly underfed, and this affection anorexia was getting old. I hadn’t told him about the pregnancy, and I was three months along now. Even so, I didn’t know if I was going to tell him about it at all.

  There were so many things I had to think about, things that mattered to me, and things I had to consider for my future. I hadn’t even told my sister yet. How could I when I didn’t have any idea on what I was going to do about anything?

  “Hey, Liz, are you heading to the studio today?” Audrey leaned on the doorframe of my room. She visited today to make sure I had groceries in the dinky little motel fridge the place provided. I had a small kitchenette to cook on, but I rarely did. I didn’t know why she bothered with anything fresh besides fruits; I always let them go bad. She stocked me up with easy stuff to microwave too, but it got old fast. I preferred to eat out to anything I could whip up here.

  “Yep.” I shook off my thoughts and took a deep breath. “So we’re recording at this new studio, huh? What happened to the one back in Cali with Random?”

  Audrey shrugged, dropping her head to study the ugly motel carpet. “I don’t know. Random said we’re to record at this one now and he’s working with a new band back in Cali. Must be some weird contractual thing Jonas set up for us. I have
no idea. Random never says much about anything.” She sounded bitter, but I failed to wonder why. She peered up and watched me getting ready, running the brush through my tangled locks. “Do you think Jonas is going to sign us to a bigger company?”

  I laughed. If only.

  “Can he without our consent?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. We signed all the management to him and his party. His cousin’s company handled the recording as a contractor. I guess he could. Anything is possible.”

  “Sounds scary.”

  “Yeah.” Audrey’s furrowed brow made her look overly concerned.

  “You feeling alright?” I inquired. I knew she battled a nasty stomach flu over a month ago and was probably over it, but she still appeared paler and frail than I remembered her to be. I hoped it hadn’t had any residual effects.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Totally better now.”

  “You eating? You’re always forcing me to down shit. Maybe you should do the same for yourself.” I shook my brush at her, throwing an accusatory look her way.

  “I’m eating. I just don’t have much of an appetite lately.”

  “Well you look like Skeletor…”

  “Enough about that. I’m fine,” she snapped. Walking toward the door, she stopped before exiting and turned toward me. “I’ll be waiting in the hall. Better hurry. We don’t want to be late if we’re going to meet new people today.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Alright, be out in a few minutes.”

  She clicked the door shut behind her, and I gave it a stare down, studying the scuff marks at the bottom of the frame. I hated to admit it, but what she said made me even more nervous. I was more than ready to quit the band because of Jonas and Emilio, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do it to Audrey and Saul. There was no way I would ever leave them hanging with a dangerous man like Jonas at our throats. Even in his absence, his grip on us was apparent, wearing us down, whittling our souls like driftwood, shaping us down until we were what he’d envisioned. But if he whittled too much and our tiny skeletons broke under his knife, what then?