Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (23 page)

“Hey, I want to ask you a question,” I said as we walked along.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“What’s Killian’s deal?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s his deal’?”

“The only questions he wouldn’t answer in the car were about his love life.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, is he straight? Is he gay? What is he?”

“He told you about those two girls.”

“Yeah, but he might as well have said they were playing tiddlywinks. I know about Derek… and you told me about some of your adventures – ”

“Is that what they were?” he joked. “Not
mis
adventures?”

“Call them what you like, but at least you had them. And I’ve seen Riley in action – which is something I wish I
hadn’t
seen. But the entire time I’ve been here, Killian hasn’t so much as made a pass at anybody. The most I’ve seen him do is share a joint.”

Ryan was quiet for a moment.

“Maybe you ought to ask
him,
” he suggested.

“I did, remember?”

Ryan sighed. “I didn’t tell you this, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, this is off the record.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not sure Killian
has
a ‘thing.’”

I was quiet for a few seconds.

Then I whispered, “He doesn’t have a penis?”

Ryan burst out laughing. “NO, no, that’s not what I meant! I mean… I’m not sure he’s interested in
anybody.
Not like that.”

“So he’s asexual?”

“Maybe. I’m not really sure.”

“But you haven’t seen anything, either?”

“You mean, have I ever seen him make out with somebody, or take them to bed?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I haven’t. He mostly just keeps to himself.”

“Huh…”

“But you can’t print that without his consent,” Ryan cautioned.

“I won’t,” I promised. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

“Like what?”

“Wellll… he’s kind of… odd.”

“You noticed that, did you?” Ryan teased me.

“Ha ha,” I said, not laughing. “What’s with the always playing the guitar thing? I mean, it’s non-
stop.
And even for a rock star, his pot smoking seems a little bit excessive, don’t you think?”

Ryan was silent again for a few seconds.

“Again, off the record,” he said quietly.

“Of course.”

“I tend to think people self-medicate with drugs and alcohol.”

“Like… they’re easing their pain?”

“Or treating conditions that a psychiatrist would give them a prescription for. It’s just that they find something that works for them, and they use it to dull the pain, or help them cope, or whatever.”

“You think Killian is coping with something?”

“We’re
all
coping with something. Riley? There’s so much pain there I can’t even begin to describe it. That’s why she stays smashed half the time.”

“Really?” I asked, intrigued. It was the first hint I’d had that she wasn’t just a drunk horndog.

Actually, no, that wasn’t true. I suddenly recalled what she’d said when Ryan’s parents came to watch his concert:

It’d be cool if somebody came across the country to watch ME like that.

“You’ll have to ask her if you want to know more,” Ryan said. “I can’t betray confidences.”

“She confides in you?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “…yeah. Kind of.”

“You two are really close, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I guess we are. For being two totally,
completely
different people.”

“Yeah, you’re from Mars, she’s from Pluto.”

He laughed. “I think she’s actually from another galaxy.”

“What about Killian?”

“He doesn’t really open up that much to the rest of us. He’s a total genius at what he does, but he keeps everything else locked away. I learned more about him on the car ride over here than I ever knew about him before.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But you said you think he’s self-medicating.”

“Absolutely.”

“For what?”

“OCD, for one thing.”

“Obsessive compulsive disorder?”

“I don’t know that for sure… but have you ever seen anybody do something repeatedly, non-stop, the way he constantly plays the guitar?”

I considered. “No… no, I guess I haven’t.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s a musical genius, there’s no question about that. He’s constantly coming up with new material for songs, and we’ve incorporated a lot of stuff that he came up with when he was sitting around stoned… but seriously,
he never stops.
”

“What happens when he
does
stop?”

“He doesn’t.”

“But what if he can’t get to his guitar? What if you took it away from him?”

“Then watch out, ‘cause it’s not pretty. What’s even worse is if you take his weed away.”

“Why? What happens then?”

“It’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“Really.”

“We played a short tour of Asia one time. And by short, I mean we had to
cut
it short. The problem was that in some of those countries, you can get thrown in prison for life for smuggling drugs. So we absolutely would
not
let Killian take weed with him. Miles packed Killian’s luggage himself, and inspected all his guitar cases, even stripped him down to his underwear and had the roadies search him. Getting caught with pot in the US or Canada is one thing… but Thailand? Singapore? Malaysia? Unh-unh.”

“I thought Thailand was pretty permissive.”

“Not about smuggling in drugs, they’re not.”

“So what happened when he went cold turkey?”

Ryan gave a baleful little laugh. “He turned into the most ornery S.O.B. I’ve ever met.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. He was cranky, and angry, and short-tempered, and mean. Just an all-around a-hole.”

“Holy shit…”

That did
not
sound like the Killian Lee I knew.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “And he doesn’t play nearly as well sober, either.”

“He plays better stoned?”

“Well, yeah… because he’s
always
stoned.”

It made sense. I knew a girl in college who was a big pothead, and always smoked out when she did her homework. She said that when she took her tests sober, she would always bomb them. It wasn’t until she got baked before a test and aced it that she figured out what the problem was: she studied when she was high as a kite, so she needed to be high as a kite to take the tests, too. Her state of mind had to match up.

“We all agreed to cancel the rest of the tour because he was just a monster to deal with,” Ryan continued.

“Worse than Riley?”

“Ten times worse.”

“That doesn’t seem possible.”

“At least Riley is basically fun-loving and playful. When Killian’s sober, all he is is miserable… and he makes everybody else around him miserable, too.”

I tried to wrap my head around that one. Tried to imagine the placid, easy-going guitarist a hundred feet down the road as a raging asshole.

Couldn’t quite do it.

“After we canceled the tour, we had a long layover in Amsterdam on the way back. The first thing he did was to go out and score some pot in the Red Light District. Within five minutes he was back to the kind, sweet-natured Killian we all know and love. It was bizarre – a 180-degree turn, just like that,” Ryan said, snapping his fingers.

“So Killian has OCD… Riley has issues you don’t want to talk about…”

“That I
can’t
talk about.”

“What about Derek?”

“What about him?”

“What’s he trying to deal with?”

Ryan shrugged. “His parents’ divorce… his dad… his step-dad… a whole bunch of stuff.”

“So Killian uses pot, and Riley uses booze. What does Derek use?”

Ryan looked uncomfortable. “…booze… mostly.”

I could tell he was evading the question. “Mostly?”

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say. “And attention.”

I nodded. “He
is
kind of an attention whore.”

Ryan laughed. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, exactly, but yeah.”

“You just wouldn’t use the word ‘whore.’”

Ryan grinned. “I suppose that’s part of it.”

I was quiet for a moment. Then I asked, “By ‘attention,’ did you mean women?”

He took a long time to answer.

“…kind of,” he finally said.

My stomach twisted a little.

“But I’m sure that’s all changed now,” he added hurriedly.

I wanted to say,
I know.

Of course it has.

But the truth was, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

Either way, I didn’t want to dwell on it. So I moved on.

“What about you?” I asked. “What did
you
self-medicate for?”

“Who said I did?”

“
You
did. ‘Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and the hat,’ remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Right. Forgot I told you that.”

“So?” I prodded. “What were you self-medicating for?”

“Because I couldn’t handle it.”

“Handle what?”

“The fame. The craziness. The absolute insanity of being in a world-famous rock band. Life on the road 200 days a year… everything.”

“And so you slept with a lot of women?”

He bobbed his head back and forth noncommittally. “…yeah.”

“Did you drink a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“What about drugs?”

“A little.”

“But now you’re back to the straight-and-narrow.”

He smiled. “Because I’ve been off the straight-and-narrow and didn’t like where it was taking me.”

“What about me, then? I mean, I just ate a bunch of mushrooms, for God’s sake.”

“So?”

“So you must think I’m terrible.”

He laughed. “I don’t judge, Kaitlyn. You’ve got to do what’s right for you.”

“I don’t know if it’s right or not,” I said morosely.

“‘The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom,’” he quoted.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. What do you use to self-medicate now?”

He smiled. “Music. Just music.”

Ryan and I got off of the heavy topics and onto some more light-hearted fare – how his sisters kept asking him for cell phone pictures they could show around school, how his mother kept trying to set him up with the daughters of her friends – when I started giggling uncontrollably at one of his comments.

“It wasn’t
that
funny,” he said.

“I know,” I said, slightly alarmed at my reaction.

“Well, thanks,” he joked.

That set me off giggling again.

“No, I mean… oh my God, is it happening?” I asked, suddenly remembering that I had eaten an illegal substance about twenty minutes ago.

“Could be.”

“Could be?”

“I don’t know. I never did mushrooms.”

“What did you do?”

“Cocaine, pot, some uppers and downers… nothing psychedelic.”

For some reason beyond understanding, that was the funniest thing I’d ever heard.

He just stood back and smiled as I doubled over in laughter.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I was more than okay.

I was absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

“I’m just…
happy,
” I told him. And it was true; the corners of my mouth ached, I was smiling so big.

“Okay, well, that’s a good thing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” I said. I couldn’t have been more overjoyed that we agreed on that fact.

“Do you see anything yet?”

I looked around. “No, I don’t – uh… wait…”

I’d been expecting giant crocodile skeletons in the sky and fire hydrants with feet, so I missed it at first. But as I scanned the horizon, I noticed something odd.

The land kind of moved in… and out… and in… and out. Slowly. Like respiration.

“It’s breathing,” I whispered.

“Breathing?”

“Yeah… it’s like I can see it pulsing… real slow…”

“What is?”

“
Everything.
”

“O-kaaaay…”

I looked down at my right hand and was suddenly enthralled.

All the tiny, tiny lines – the creases in my palms, the quarter-millimeter grooves in my skin – were suddenly as distinct and obvious as if I were looking at them under a microscope. The blue shadows of my veins were absolutely
fascinating
as they twisted and branched under the pink of my skin.

Patterns.

Just like Derek had said.

And then my fingers – first the ring finger, then the middle, then the pointer – sloooowly grew longer, maybe a quarter of an inch… and then sloooowly retracted back to their former length.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I’m tripping.”

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked in concern.

I looked up at him.

And started grinning again like the Joker.

“I’m AWESOME,” I announced.

He laughed. “Okay, good.”

I looked down the road. Derek was standing out amongst the cacti and rocks, legs spread wide, arms flung out in the air like he’d just won an Olympic gold medal for… something. Probably for being Derek.

Killian was slowing turning around beside him, taking in the whole world in wide-eyed awe.

I gave Ryan a questioning look. “Is it okay if…?”

“Go ahead,” he smiled. “Have fun.”

I whooped, threw my arms around his neck and hugged him, and then ran off to join Derek.

When I ran up to him, he was beaming. “Did it kick in?”

“Yes!” I giggled.

“Isn’t it AWESOME?!”

“YES!”

He took me in his arms and kissed me, and for a moment, it felt like I was on the verge of exploding with happiness. All I was conscious of was that he was kissing me, and I was kissing him, and together we were sharing one perfect moment of absolute bliss.

It was all downhill from there.

There are a lot of things about hallucinating that are really only interesting if you happen to be the person on drugs. In general, though, I can tell you this: the colors were amazing. Everything was vibrant and beautiful.

And just like Derek said, there were patterns everywhere. Every line and edge among the rocks and scrub brush was fascinating, seeming to interweave with others until they formed a tapestry put there by the Universe and Nature and God, a wonder of design totally ignored by the average person until mushrooms lifted the veil and allowed them to see.

And everything pulsed. Everything was
alive
– and by that I mean in an organic way, like the earth and the desert and the rocks were all part of some living, breathing organism. It was astounding.

I was also giddy beyond belief. I could never remember being that happy, that overjoyed at the mystery and beauty of creation.

I would say that the first hour of that trip was one of the best of my life.

Unfortunately, the next three hours were among the absolute worst.

Everything was fine at first. Derek and Killian and I were laughing and pointing out things and oohing and aahing, while Ryan followed at a distance, watching the proceedings with a benevolent smile.

And then the sun started to go down.

The closer it sank to the horizon, the more unsettled I began to get. I didn’t realize it at first, the shift was so gradual – but I went from hilarity, to happiness, to contentment, to vague unease, to mild anxiety, to raging fear… and with no understanding of
why
.

In retrospect, it was obvious. There are two things I absolutely hate: being cold… and darkness.

I think my problem with darkness is more about feeling safe. My apartment at night is tolerable.

New York City streets at 2AM? No.

A strange, alien landscape getting swallowed up by shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon?

HELL no.

And the lower the sun went, the more rapidly the temperature fell.

By the time the sun was gone and the sky was a haze of pink and orange, I was starting to shiver.

I should have been totally geeking out on the beautiful colors in the sky.

But it wasn’t possible, because I was cold, and it was getting dark… and because of one other factor which nobody had warned me about.

I had thought that taking mushrooms was going to be like special effects in a movie. A bunch of amazing sights – CGI on steroids – but nothing more. I would otherwise be in my right mind, totally in control of my emotions.

Not so much.

I began to get paranoid, for one thing. I kept imagining Santa Bob racing up the road with an FBI SWAT team, and all of them screaming at me to get on the ground.

How I was going to explain it to my parents, I had no idea.

More than that, though, I lost my sense of time and reality.

This one is really hard to describe, because we take it so much for granted. But I’ll try.

For instance, if you wake up in the morning, then go to work, then go out for lunch, then work some more until quitting time, then go to the grocery store, then fix dinner, you could tell me the exact order in which everything had occurred. More than that, you would
know
what order it happened, on a deep, experiential level. You could feel it in your bones, the same way you know 2 + 2 = 4 or the sun rises in the east. It just
is.

I didn’t have that anymore.

For one thing, the things I
imagined
seemed almost as real as actual memories. As my paranoia built, I pictured myself running out into the desert, screaming in panic – and I kept thinking,
Oh my God, maybe I already WAS out in the desert screaming, and I just don’t realize that I already did it. Or worse, maybe I’m running out in the desert this very moment, and I just don’t realize that I’m actually DOING IT RIGHT NOW. I only THINK I’m still back here on the road, when I’m REALLY out THERE, running around and screaming.

That’s not a fun place to be in mentally.

Time was gone, too. There was no past, there was no future, there was only the present. The furthest back that seemed real was the car ride here… and in my mind, I felt that I had been on the road forever in that 1969 Mercedes, and that nothing before had ever really existed. I could remember my parents, and my brothers, and my entire life… but they were like fleeting memories of movies I had watched and half-forgotten. What seemed more likely was that I had been travelling eternally up until a few hours ago, and now that I was here, this was all that would ever be until the end of time.

It was fucked up.

It didn’t help any that Killian’s guitar playing became weirder and weirder as time went on. More disjointed, more atonal, more… strange.

I felt like I was hearing the soundtrack to my own private horror movie.

Then there were the odd fragments – movies I’d seen, things I’d read – that suddenly became vitally important to retaining my sanity.

When I was a senior in high school, we read
Heart Of Darkness
by Joseph Conrad
.
It’s about an Englishman in the late 19th century who is hired by a trading company to journey on a steamboat deep into the heart of the Congo to retrieve the mysterious Mr. Kurtz, a company employee who has gone insane and declared himself a god amongst the African natives.

After we’d read the book, we watched
Apocalypse Now
by Francis Ford Coppola – the same guy who directed the
Godfather
movies. It’s a 20th-century retelling of the same story, where an Army captain played by Martin Sheen gets sent by the military on a riverboat deep into the heart of Vietnam to assassinate the mysterious Colonel Kurtz, a special forces officer who has gone insane and become a sort of god to the indigenous peoples.

One quote from the movie kept playing in my head again and again:

Don’t get off the boat.

There’s a scene where one of the crewmembers named Chef wants to get off the boat. Martin Sheen won’t let him go alone, so he accompanies him into the jungle. They walk and talk… and then all the birds and insects go quiet. The soldiers think that the Viet Cong might be out there, so they ready their guns and wait…

And then a tiger leaps out of the jungle and almost kills them.

They fire off their rifles and run for the boat, screaming all the way. Once they’re safely back on the river, Chef keeps repeating, “Don’t get off the boat! Never get off the boat! Don’t get off the fuckin’ boat!”

That became my mantra:

Don’t get off the boat.

Killian and Derek kept wandering off the road into the desert. I would get freaked out, go and grab them, then haul them back to the path.

“Don’t get off the boat,” I would whisper.

They thought it was absolutely hilarious.

Derek knew what I was referring to, and would start quoting the movie:

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like… victory.”

“Charlie – don’t – surf!”

“The horror… the horror…”

And for awhile, he and Killian would stay on the road… but then they would invariably wander off it again. I would go after them and haul them back, telling them in all seriousness, “Don’t get off the boat.”

Yeah.

I’m not kidding.

Then there were the obsessive thoughts, the unbreakable loops I found myself trapped in.

At one point I went up to Derek – who was having a gala time wandering around the desert, with no visible hint of fear at all – and said, “We should go back.”

“Why?” he asked, mystified. He was having too much fun to consider anything but staying out here forever.

“Because it’s getting dark.”

“So?”

“It’s getting cold, too.”

“So?”

“If it gets too cold, we might die out here.”

Now, in reality, there was probably no danger we would die. It was probably going to get chilly, yeah, but not low enough for hypothermia to set in.

But in my drug-addled mind,
I
didn’t know that.

And as soon as I said we might die, I had an image of my body, dead and cold, being found the next morning by a search team. And I began thinking,
Oh my God, maybe I’m already dead and don’t know it! Maybe I’m actually lying dead on the ground, and I just THINK that I’m wandering out here in the desert!

Which freaked me out even more.

“We might die out here?” Derek asked, as though I’d said we might find a field mouse or a lizard alongside the road. He sounded interested, but not at all concerned.

“Yes,” I said, getting more and more afraid.

“Oh… well, that’d be alright,” he said in the most unconcerned voice imaginable.

“No it wouldn’t!” I cried out.

“Why not?”

“Because… because…”

And I couldn’t think of a good idea why it
wouldn’t
be okay.

Everybody dies, right?

It’s a normal part of life – right?

And because I couldn’t think of a good reason why, a feeling of complete peace and acceptance swelled up in me.

“…I guess it
would
be okay,” I murmured.

He smiled at me, and turned back to the desert.

A few moments later I would shiver and think,
I’m cold,
and I wouldn’t like that. Then I would look around and notice it was even darker than before, and I wouldn’t like that even more. Then I would say, “We should go back,” and the whole conversation would start over again from the beginning.

That whole cycle had to have happened at least five times in a row – but each time, Derek acted like it was the first time he’d heard me say it.

And it felt to
me
like it was the first time I’d said it, even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t.

But no matter what, I couldn’t break myself out of the loop.

Until Ryan tapped me on my shoulder.

I wheeled around in terror, imagining that maybe it was the SWAT team or the search and rescue guys.

Ryan was staring down at me, his brow furrowed. “Kaitlyn, are you okay?”

No.

No, I’m not.

“I’m cold,” I whispered.

“Come here,” he said, and wrapped his arms around me.

Warmth.

Comfort.

Safety.

I sank into him and held on for dear life.

“Hey guys, I think we need to head back,” Ryan called out.

Killian and Derek turned around and immediately began complaining like ten-year-olds.

“What?! Why?!”

“But it’s just getting good!”

“Kaitlyn’s cold,” Ryan said.

Killian began pulling his jacket off – which was quite an ordeal, considering the guitar strap over his shoulder and how stoned he was. “Here, she can have my jacket!”

“Do you want his jacket?” Ryan asked me gently.

Killian held it out, but the stink of marijuana clung to it like poison gas.

I shook my head ‘no.’

“No, that’s okay,” Ryan said. “But it’s getting dark. If we wait much longer, we’re not going to be able to find our way back.”

“That’s okay!” Derek hooted. “We can spend the night out here!”

Killian must have thought that was the funniest thing ever, because he doubled over giggling.

“We need to head back,” Ryan announced.

“But – ”

“WE NEED TO HEAD BACK. Trust me on this one, guys.”

There was some bitching and moaning, but Derek and Killian finally acquiesced, and we started the long trek back to the cabins.

I clung to Ryan the entire time, absorbing as much of his warmth as possible. His body and arms comforted me; they were the only things I had to latch onto that felt real. And his calm, quiet presence was the only thing that could break me out of my downward spiral of dark thoughts.

Derek was oblivious to my suffering; he was too caught up in the wonders around him. He and Killian kept stopping to stare at things along the side of the road and engage in bizarre, disjointed conversations that ended in uncontrollable laughter.

“Guys, come on,” Ryan would prompt them, and they would begin walking again, only to stop twenty feet further down the trail to stare at something else.

I had forgotten about the dogs this entire time. They had always been a presence, just over the horizon, distantly barking and yapping, but never visible. But as soon as it got dark, they reappeared from the wilderness and looked at us like,
You DO know it’s time to go back, right?
When Ryan turned us all around and began leading us back towards the cabins, they raced on ahead, barking and yapping their way home.

All except for one scrawny little guy, who kept circling back and staring at us until we caught up. Then he would race on ahead… disappear around a corner… and circle back, waiting patiently for us all over again.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been for that dog, we might have really gotten lost out there. The light was quickly waning. The pinks and oranges turned to dark purple and indigo. Stars came out over the far horizon, and began appearing further and further up in the sky as the deep, rich colors gave way to the darkness of infinite space. It would have been so easy to get off the dirt road in the shadows and wind up on some footpath, and then find ourselves out in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how to get back.

But the scrawny little dog kept showing up, nudging us along, showing us the way.

This is how far gone I was: in my zonked-out state, I wasn’t completely sure if I was alive and walking upright, or dead and lying in the dirt the next morning… but I was convinced of a couple of things beyond any doubt.

One: Bob was God.

As in the Creator of the Universe.

He just looked like Santa Claus in a short-sleeve flannel shirt, that was all.

Two: his dogs were angels.

Literally.

Just with fur instead of wings.

Three: Bob/God knew we would get lost, and he had sent his angels with us to guide us back.

This I was absolutely sure of.

Oh, wait, it gets better.

When I was a kid, my mom went through a holy roller phase, and read a whole bunch of Christian books. One of the ones she passed on to me was called
Hinds’ Feet On High Places.
It was a spiritual allegory like
Pilgrim’s Progress,
all about a character called Much-Afraid who travels with two companions named Sorrow and Suffering through a barren landscape. They follow the Shepherd – a.k.a. Jesus – who leads them through trials and tribulations until they reach a place of happiness and love.