BBB 2011: Stay With Me (Go Places) [Ryan/Spencer, PG13] Part One
Stay With Me (Go Places)
Ryan was late. Mrs. Fields had asked him to stay after AP English 4, and talked at him for nearly fifteen minutes about the importance of class participation for seniors applying to colleges, especially if that senior was hoping for scholarship money, and more to the point - an excellent recommendation letter.
“I know you have opinions, Ryan. I’d just like to see you raise your hand and share them with the class more often, instead of saving it up for essay exams. I worry when my students don’t know how to express themselves without the pressure of testing, you know,” she said, in what was obviously meant in a kindly manner.
Then Ryan had spent another ten minutes half-heartedly assuring her of his interest in academic achievement and promising to try to participate in discussions, all the while thinking, but it’s better if I do keep my thoughts between myself and my notebook. It, at least, won’t hold it against me. There would be no point in telling her how college seemed very far away, an impossible thing for someone who had no time for something as illusory as hope. Bishop Gorman High School was a routine he felt both comforted and trapped by. The misery had an expiration date. What would Ryan Ross be doing this time next year? Not attending Bishop Gorman. Bliss.
And now Ryan was too late to see Spencer practice ridiculous band formations and watch his face get more and more distant as he grew bored with “the endless fucking stupidity of wearing a stupid hat.” That was sometimes the best part of Ryan’s day.
Spencer was waiting at the edge of the bleachers, his orange jacket draped haphazardly over the benches. He looked up as Ryan approached and smiled.
That was something else Ryan loved about the written word. Once something was written down, you could tell if something had changed, if someone had reached out and edited for meaning, content, grammar. Ryan wanted to be able to see that in real life - to see the moment some god or laughing Fate had looked at the entry under Ryan’s personal encyclopedia for “Smith, Spencer James - the person who knows you best; semi-earnest explosion enthusiast; best friend” and added “the one who takes your breath away.”
If the basic definitions of Ryan’s life were going to change so radically, Ryan felt he deserved a look at the mastermind’s handwriting.
He remembered his lungs were for breathing. “So, no stupid hats today?”
“Nope! It’s too hot to put on our uniforms for practice, thank fu -the Lord,” Spencer replied easily. His expression turned gleeful. “You missed a great practice, though. That guy from the other school band, you know the one, the guy who’s excited about everything. So he took out an entire stack of folding chairs in an attempt to imitate the mascot dance. It was freaking amazing. Our director had to go offer first aid.”
“Wow, I’m heartbroken, Spence. Don’t tell me I now have to hold Mrs. Fields responsible for depriving me of the greatest pratfall to ever grace the football field of Bishop Gorman,” Ryan said.
Spencer got up and elbowed Ryan in the side good-naturedly. “Don’t be a dick. You’ll get to see them at the Homecoming game. Maybe he’ll stage a re-enactment.”
“Mmph.” Ryan had been so eloquent just that afternoon when writing about the angst of Frankenstein’s monster. Why couldn’t he say actual words when Spencer was being so wholly normal? He attempted to redirect his thoughts. “Wait, who are we playing for Homecoming again?”
“Palo Verde. The Panthers,” Spencer called over his shoulder as he led the way into the parking lot. “The team that won regionals last year. And the year before that. And the year before that.” He held the passenger door open for Ryan and patiently waited for him to get in the car. Ryan remained unaffected by this because he was not a girl. Spencer had been trained into it by his sisters. It wasn’t a big deal.
“Are you saying that you don’t read the articles in the very newspaper that you copy-edit?” Spencer’s grin as he shut the car door did nothing to straighten out (ha!) his thoughts.
“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, resorting to a habitual complaint. “I make the sophomores do the Athletics page. I’ve earned it after three long years looking at our mascot’s face. Why has no one realized his face literally looks like ass?”
“Yeah, yeah. Our mascot is uglier than your mom, I know. Now shut up. I need to drive.”
Spencer had practiced his driving over the summer and passed the test after their birthdays. He was currently obsessed with getting it all exactly right, because if they got caught in the car together while Spencer was driving, the restriction on driving non-family members could be extended another six months, which was such bullshit. Ryan would offer to drive, but apparently rediscovering your best friend as someone you would like to be intimate with like that went part and parcel with becoming the sort of horrible person who would ogle people on the sly.
Hands in perfect ten-and-two formation, fingers lightly gripping the wheel, alert to hazards of suburban roads and minivans: the very picture of a competent driver. It was so unfair, Ryan thought, that Spencer could make anything look good. He could even wear the ugly khaki uniform shorts without looking like a newly discovered species of ungainly mammal. Ryan felt like he expended so much effort into just looking human some days. His eyes drifted to Spencer’s knees. No, definitely not a card-carrying member of awkward adolescence.
Ryan should post some more pictures to his Livejournal. Someone was bound to be appreciative. Maybe Spencer would see them and actually say something for once. Maybe he would tell Ryan to stop baiting old men and creepy girls on the internet like last time. Ryan sighed heavily and lifted his head to find Spencer already looking at him at the rear view mirror.
Spencer was looking at him oddly. Their eyes caught one another in the mirror. The moment held.
Ryan couldn’t breathe again.
Thankfully, the stoplight changed and Spencer brought his eyes back to the road before Ryan had to come up with a good reason he’d been staring at his best friend’s shorts. Only a few more blocks before Ryan might have to answer anything. He dared another glimpse into the rear view mirror. The idea of a smile hovered around Spencer’s mouth. But the blush skating along Spencer’s cheekbones had to be a trick of the light. A hazard of living in the desert.
They rolled to a stop in front of Ryan’s house. The yard needed weeding.
“We’re here,” Spencer said unnecessarily. “Are you going to come over for dinner before we go to my grandma’s house? I think it’s lasagna tonight?”
“No,” Ryan didn’t want to face putting all those question marks into an ordinary invitation. “I’ve got to do stuff. Homework. College guides. Application essays. Terrible things that will happen to you next year. I’ll drive myself so you won’t have to be exposed at such a young age.”
“Right. Next year.” Spencer shifted away a bit, and Ryan jumped out of the car before Spencer could do something horribly familiar like open Ryan’s car door again. Hoisting his backpack up from the car floor, he caught the abrupt movement of Spencer’s head turning to look in the other direction.
“Smell you later,” Ryan said. Spencer nodded, his smile banked down to ten percent genuine. Ryan headed towards the house and listened to Spencer drive off. He heaved another heartfelt sigh, appreciated the way it reverberated in his chest, more solid than any emotion he could name.
His dad wasn’t home yet, wouldn’t be home until late. Ryan blasted Blink-182 in the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to listen to his own thoughts as he scrounged up a meal from the meager contents of the fridge and did a few days’ worth of dirty dishes. The album ended while he was sorting bottles into the recycling bin, and Ryan went upstairs.
In his room, Ryan selected his tightest pair of jeans from the closet. The shirt he wanted was harder to find. It had been Spencer’s once, but Ryan had worn it one Saturday morning after sleeping over and just never given it back. The internet had loved it. Spencer had never mentioned it at all.
He pulled on the yellow shirt and looked at the band posters lining the wall behind his desk. Stubborn faces and angry eyes stared back at him. Those bands had made it out of the garage.
Pet Salamander had made for a fantastic summer, but Ryan wanted to stop playing cover songs and start playing their songs. He just hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet. Tomorrow he’d talk about it. Tomorrow he’d figure it out.
It was time for real band practice, and if Ryan was lucky, he’d only be a little bit late.
~~~~
Ryan heard the crash of cymbals as he walked up the driveway to Spencer’s grandparents’ house. He opened the door and followed the noise into the garage; Spencer stopped playing when he noticed Ryan there.
“So, late again, Mr. Ross,” Spencer said, but he was smiling and Ryan knew he meant that one. Ryan relaxed. It would be fine. Spencer never let Ryan upset him for long.
“It’s the theme of the day. I’m auditioning for the role of the White Rabbit. I’m very method, you know,” Ryan joked back, grateful to fall into the easy routines of their friendship. “Brent’s not coming today?”
“No, his parents said he has to finish up his history essay and ace the vocab quiz if he wants to take Valerie Lyle to the dance after the Homecoming game.” Spencer shrugged and stretched his shoulders. “And I guess he likes her more than he hates history.”
“Shocker. Brent Wilson wants to get laid. ” Ryan ducked the jacket Spencer threw at him. “Alert the presses! Call VH1!” He collapsed into a chair next to the guitar amps. It felt amazing to laugh. The good times they had spent laughing at each other during the summer seemed very far away. They’d done their summer reading together, sitting in Spencer’s living room. Ryan had been animated over Dante’s Inferno and read entire sections aloud, and Spencer had called him a freak and began a debate over which of their teachers belonged in the circles of Hell. In return, Ryan had pretended not to notice Spencer tearing up over the last few pages of Tuesdays with Morrie and gone to see Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle twice without bitching about it.
And then a little over a month ago, Spencer had been teasing him about being elected Chief Copy Editor for the school newspaper (“Only you can hold up The Lance, Ryan! They are ‘supremely confident’ in your skills.”) Ryan had been ready to make a devastatingly witty rejoinder when he’d looked at Spencer’s happy grin and a little voice in his head had whispered: Yes. This.
It had been a very long September. October looked to fare no better. Ryan allowed himself the luxury of a tiny sigh. Hanging out with his best friend should not be so complicated.
“Can I ask you something?” Ryan hadn’t known his mouth could take control of his brain like that.
“You just did.” The “you freak” was implied in Spencer’s tone. But he added, quickly, his tone earnest, “You can ask me anything.”
Ryan frantically tried to come up with a suitable topic. What had he been thinking? “Um, well I was wondering. Since summer’s over and Homecoming’s coming up and. There’s just not that much time, and things might be different soon. So maybe, if you think it’s a good idea, maybe it’s crazy. We could stop being only a cover band?” He babbled.
That didn’t even make sense, Ryan thought miserably. Oh god, why isn’t he saying anything.
“Oh.” Ryan was instantly grateful that Spencer had no clue about Ryan’s complicated inner life. Spencer kind of looked like he had been expecting a cupcake and bit into a muffin instead. “Oh! You want to try writing our own songs?”
“Yeah, I think we could at least try a few…” Ryan trailed off, waiting for Spencer.
Spencer jumped in immediately, noticeably more enthusiastic, “Hell yeah! Let me just go get some more drumsticks from the basement. I broke one.“ And with that, Spencer fled.
Ryan was off-balance again. He had missed something.
~~~~
Following Spencer out of the room, he tripped over something wedged just next to the doorstop.
It was an old book. The spine was damaged, the pages were stained with age, and on the faded red cover, Ryan could barely make out the title. THE LABYRINTH, it proclaimed in worn gold lettering.
He sat on the couch, opened the book and read.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young man whose mother had run away to travel the world when he was merely a babe, leaving him in the care of his father. And his father had been a soldier and knew little about the raising of children. Soon his father became the tavern-keeper’s best customer and his heart lost the knack of caring for his son whenever there was an open pint to be found. Left to his own devices so often, the young man grew lonely and strange. Often the people of the village would whisper to their families, “Keep away from that one! Something odd is afoot.” So the only people who visited him were those who viewed him with cautious curiosity, and they soon went away. But what no one knew is that the prince of the goblins had fallen in love with the young man, and granted him certain powers. So one night, when the latest visitor had left him hollow with disappointment after what had seemed to the young man an almost friendly conversation, he called on the goblins for help!
If only my problems were as easy to solve as that, Ryan thought. He turned the page.
"Say the right words," the goblins said, "and we'll take the villager to the castle, and you will be free!" But the young man knew that the Goblin Prince would keep the villager in his castle for ever and ever and ever, and turn him into a goblin! And so he suffered in silence. Until one day, when he was tired from a day of drudgery, and despaired of ever finding someone to know him, and he could no longer stand it...
Ryan felt pressure on the back of his neck, like someone was staring at him. He turned, but no one was there. Weird. Spencer’s grandparents were out on Thursday nights. He and Spencer should be alone in the house.
There was another sigh building in his chest, which was unacceptable. Ryan was never going to be able to breathe normally again. He closed the book and tipped his head back to rest on the couch. “I wish the goblins would take my problems away.” His words fell into the unnatural silence.
Instantly, a gust of wind swept through the house, slamming all the doors open. The lights went out. The trees in the yard rapped on the window. Ryan heard the scurrying movement of many little feet heading towards the basement.
“Spencer!” Ryan yelled, jumping off the couch. “Spencer!”
There was no answer as Ryan ran down the stairs. Ryan’s fingers slipped on the light switch. He couldn’t get them to work. He swore he heard giggles chiming in from upstairs. That was impossible. There was no one there. And even if there had been someone, the lights were out. How could anyone see?
Spencer was not there. Ryan felt chills crawling up his spine.
Where the fuck did he go? Aloud, Ryan called, “This is the worst joke ever, Spencer! You can come out now.”
More giggles. The hair on the back of Ryan’s neck prickled. He reached for the light switch one more time.
It came on, the flickering light illuminating the rickety basement steps. Ryan exhaled, slowly. The power outage was over. Everything would be fine. He turned around to look for Spencer again, and screamed.
“I’m hurt. That’s not very polite,” said the boy lounging on a pile of boxes marked “KITCHEN/BATH”. His legs were propped up against “CAMPING” and he wore the tightest pants Ryan had ever seen on an actual person -black leather and dripping in sequins. His loose white shirt was a beacon in the yellow light of the room. An incongruous top hat completed the outfit. He looked vaguely familiar.
Oh my god. Some lunatic from the Strip had a psychotic break and broke into the house, Ryan thought hysterically. “Who the fuck are you?”
“You invited me here to solve your little problem, Ryan! I’d heard all about how careless and distracted people are becomng in this modern age, but I’m still disappointed that you don’t recognize me. I’ll forgive you this time, though,” the boy pouted, coming to his feet in a motion Ryan couldn’t follow with his eyes. Light trails lingered in the air, following all his movements.
“I! am Brendon, Prince of Goblins, Duke of Those Forgotten Lands, Entertainer Extraordinaire, and your savior, even if you won’t recognize me as such.” Brendon’s smile was not reassuring in the slightest.
This isn’t happening. Stories don’t come to life! Ryan sat down against the wall, hard. Oh, shit. That hurt. This is a very realistic dream.
“I’m asleep. This is all a bad dream. I have a terrible case of food poisoning brought on by that turkey I ate earlier today.” Ryan glared at the vision across him in the basement.
Brendon laughed and snapped his fingers. Instead of the wall supporting his back, Ryan found himself on Spencer’s grandma’s floral patterned couch. The cushions made uncomfortable indentations in his ribs.
Brendon was suddenly right next to Ryan’s feet. The illuminated tracks of his approach made Ryan’s eyes close in protest, and he realized abruptly that he was blinking away tears.
“Now, now. There’s no need for that. I know you’re only too grateful, but there’s no reason to cry over my brilliance. How about a dance, instead?” Brendon suited words to actions, pulling on Ryan’s arms.
“wait,” Ryan said. He could barely hear himself, and pushed weakly at Brendon’s hands. “Wait. WAIT.”
“Yes, Ryan?” Brendon didn’t seem to care about the rejection, and began juggling sparkling objects high into the air.
“What happened to Spencer?” Ryan asked.
“Who? Spencer?” Brendon didn’t look at him. “Oh, you must mean that other boy who was bothering you. Why do you want to know?”
“Where the fuck is Spencer?” Ryan felt stronger by the second. Brendon would have to do more than a little fancy juggling to cow a Las Vegas native.
“You know the answer to that already. Spencer is at the castle -my castle -and will be staying there for the foreseeable future. He’ll make a very nice addition to my court, so thank you for the present.” The baubles continued their graceful arcs, Brendon’s hands making practiced, economical tosses.
“I want him back here.” Ryan said, remembering the paragraphs he had read. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I don’t want Spencer to - I don’t want Spencer to turn into a goblin!”
Brendon looked mildly interested and stopped juggling. All the objects hung suspended in the air. His face was the center of a lopsided constellation. “Well you are welcome to come for a visit with me, but you can’t have him back. It doesn’t work like that. You aren’t allowed to change your mind willy-nilly. We’d be out the family business then!”
He tapped his fingers faux-thoughtfully against his mouth and then offered: “How about a trade, then? You come visit my castle and I won’t turn Spencer into a goblin until after you decide to leave.”
“No!” Ryan exclaimed unthinkingly.
Brendon pouted. “I want your unswerving devotion, your still-beating heart, and to take you to a school dance!” He noticed the involuntary lowering of Ryan’s jaw. “They look like such fun! We haven’t had a party like that in the Underground.” Brendon’s eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “Say yes?”
“No!” Ryan sputtered, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Please, just let me have Spencer back. It was a mistake, I swear. I didn’t mean it.”
“Wouldn’t you like your dreams come true instead?” Brendon plucked a sphere out of the air and kissed it. “This pretty thing will let you live the life of your dreams, Ryan. You’ll never be miserable again. You will never have to worry, never have to cry. You’ll be tremendously happy -just take this and smile your days away.” He wrapped Ryan’s fingers around it.
“See! It likes you. It’s blushing!” Brendon said proudly. And it was blushing, or rather, it was pulsating a gentle pink. It certainly didn’t look horrible. Ryan gazed at his palm. It was a small reddish stone. Surely it wasn’t out to get him.
“That’s right. Isn’t it pretty? It just wants you to decide. Are you going to take the offer?” Brendon wound his arm around Ryan’s waist and whispered hotly into his ear.
Ryan shivered. All his dreams, sitting in the palm of his hand. He could just hold on and make a wish…
“No,” He said hoarsely. “How do I get Spencer back?”
Brendon drew away from him, looking displeased. “Is nothing good enough for you? First I take your troubles away because you ask. I offer to love you forever more. I place your every heart’s desire in front of you. No wonder your people are considered fickle. Always changing their minds.”
Ryan swallowed, trying to put moisture back in his throat. “Please. It would - it would make me happy.”
The Goblin Prince threw his hands up in the air and jumped on the couch. “Fine, then. I don’t have a choice. But when this turns out badly for everyone, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And before Ryan could protest, Brendon snapped his fingers and a twirled of his top hat, melting the familiar surroundings of Spencer’s grandparents’ house into a sea of swirling color.
~~~~
Ryan opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Spencer was going to laugh at him if he came back from the basement and found Ryan napping.
But he wasn’t anywhere near the basement.
He was on a hill overlooking a gigantic maze. It stretched endlessly into the horizon.
“Welcome back,” said Brendon, startling Ryan into movement.
“What is this place?” Ryan asked. It was the first sensible question he’d asked in a while, he was sure.
“Home. Welcome to the Underground. This is the Labyrinth,” Brendon gestured expansively, moving in a demented shimmy down the hill. “The castle, as you can see, is right at the Heart of it all.”
Ryan could make out the tall towers of a fairytale castle, distressingly far in the distance.
“And in order to rescue your friend, you must reach the Heart of the Labyrinth and claim your victory. Only then will you both be free to go back to your world.” Brendon threw Ryan a flirtatious look over his shoulder. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to stay with me and have a ball? I’m considered an excellent dancer.”
“I’ll take my chances with the maze, thanks. Should be a piece of cake, right?” People solved mazes all the time. Ryan could do it, too. He started determinedly toward the entrance.
“Oh, Ryan! I forgot to tell you something.” Brendon waited until Ryan was looking at him again. Waving his arms, he conjured a huge clock bigger than both of them. The guy was such a show-off. “You have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth!”
Ryan started to object, but then he looked more closely at the clock and noticed three things: 1) The clock was marked up to 13. 2) All the numbers were backwards - the 9 was where the 3 should be. And most disturbingly, 3) The clock was already counting down from 12:34.
“Hey! What happened to the rest of my time?” He demanded.
“You were asleep! The clock starts when we get here. Time flies when you’re having fun.” And with an exaggerated wink, Brendon vanished into a cloud of glitter.
~~~~
At 11:13, Ryan was overheated and right back where he started. He’d gone for the entrance first, but the doors had tried to ask him some stupid riddle, and fuck that, Ryan had been climbing the tree by Spencer’s window since he was nine. He’d scrambled over the thick hedge, spared a second to bemoan the inevitable destruction of his clothes, and turned left, keeping a hand on the wall. He’d read before how all mazes had tricks and one of the most common keys was sticking close to the north wall and turning left. Ryan had figured it couldn’t hurt to try.
Now he was staring at the huge clock sitting on the hill, ticking softly. If he climbed over the maze wall he’d be back where it all began. He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, and then winced. Chattering pixies had bitten him a few precious minutes ago for trespassing on their flowers.
The flowers hadn’t even been that nice. A particularly uppity daisy had scolded him for not wearing a cravat. Ryan had momentarily felt a keen solidarity with Alice. But then, Alice had woken up, hadn’t she?
What was he going to do? He was pretty sure the hedge was alive too, or at the very least, not exactly stationary. Eyes had followed him everywhere. The pixies had been vicious, the caterpillars suspicious, and the goat he had asked for directions to the castle had suggested he give up to save them all the trouble. It seemed no one had conquered the challenge of the Labyrinth in living memory. Human teenagers need not apply.
Ryan eyed the hedge calculatingly. Could it hold his weight if he tried to stand on it? Perhaps it would be easier to climb over all the shrubbery and risk more fashion advice. That way he could keep the castle firmly in sight and avoid going in circles. He placed his hands gingerly on the branches, wary of any more territorial pixies, and began to pull himself up.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a voice from just over Ryan’s shoulder. He lost his footing in shock and crashed back into tan arms covered with tattoos.
“Whoa there. Hey. I’m Pete,” said the man, setting Ryan back on his feet. He didn’t look anything other than human and friendly, but Ryan remained silent. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what Pete made him think of….
“And you’re Ryan,” Pete continued gamely, pretending Ryan hadn’t just been staring. “The one trying to beat the Labyrinth.”
“How do you know that,” Ryan asked, suspicious.
Pete waved his arms around, “Everybody knows. The little bumblebees know. The bears know. The trees know. It’s been a while since anyone wished something away to the goblins. We’re a practically defunct kingdom. It’s just not that popular of a story anymore. Advertising ain’t what it used to be.”
“Advertising,” Ryan parroted.
“Yeah! You had a kid you couldn’t afford or was abandoned, easiest thing in the world to wish them away to the goblins,” Pete rambled on, his passion blinding him to Ryan’s distress. “Nowadays the same things happen but people call an agency instead of the goblins. Fewer awkward questions, I guess, but really people just don’t believe anymore.”
Ryan didn’t know what to think. The way Pete was saying it, the Underground was a charitable institution designed to rescue kids from shitty situations. “But, doesn’t it ever happen to the wrong people? What if you don’t want to wish someone away?”
“That’s what the Labyrinth it for. It’s a balancing system. If the person decides, ‘No, I don’t want the kid back,’ then they don’t run the Labyrinth. If they honestly didn’t mean it, they agree and try to beat the clock. It’s a bit tough, but if someone is a crappy enough person to wish a kid away in the first place, maybe it’s better for everyone if they don’t win.” Pete was utterly matter of fact.
Ryan was going to cry.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you! You didn’t know it would actually happen!” Pete swung an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and started hauling him down the path. “It’s been so long since I was Above that I forget how backwards everything seems at first. But you’ve got to move back to go forward sometimes.”
Broken out of his thoughts by Pete’s alarmingly quick pace, Ryan asked, “So could you tell me how to get to the castle, then?”
“Of course I can! I’m going to take you there myself. True love, right? A totally worthy cause.”
Ryan stammered out, “How did you know? Even he doesn’t know.”
“I am older and wiser, Ryan.” His already too-wide grin transformed itself into a leer. “Do you want any tips for winning his heart?”
“No!” Ryan said, more forcefully than he expected. He hoped, in a resigned sort of way, that Pete wouldn’t turn out to be some kind of pervert. Ryan had already been touched more today than he was used to.
“Alrighty then. If you change your mind, just say so. And we’re off to the castle!”
~~~~
As the clock tolled the ten o’clock chimes, they were rounding the corner of what Pete assured Ryan was “a very tricky section”, when Brendon appeared before them.
“Having a nice walk?” he asked. He looked meaningfully at Pete’s guiding arm around Ryan. Pete removed it, shrugging casually. Brendon had changed into an old-fashioned velvet suit and his top hat had a bit of ribbon festively tied on the brim. The pixies that had been so nasty to Ryan earlier were dancing joyfully around the crown.
“Your Highness,” Pete said in a low tone. “To what do we owe the pleasure.”
“Well it’s a lovely day, Pete, and you two have come so far already. I came to ask if our guest would like to take a little sightseeing tour, maybe a picnic. We could waltz around the lawn and smell the flowers.” He smirked. “I can protect you from the biting fairies.”
“No.” Ryan replied. “I want to walk to the castle myself.”
Brendon grew agitated, “You guys are no fun! I get a visitor for the first time in forever, and no one wants to play. Fine, then. If you won’t make it easier on yourselves, I’ll just have to wait a few more hours.” He snapped his fingers and all the hedges rotated sharply to the right. The way in front of them was blocked.
Ryan was almost becoming accustomed to the cloud of glitter that appeared with Brendon’s dramatic exits.
“We’d better hurry,” Pete said grimly. “If we dawdle the castle itself might move.”
“But that’s not fair!” Ryan couldn’t help himself. It had been going so well.
“That’s just the way the game is played, kiddo,” Pete said.
They walked for a few minutes before Pete turned abruptly on his heel and asked “Hey, do you want something to eat? I’ve got food.” He presented Ryan with a sandwich. “We’ll just take a little break. I’m gonna go make sure we’re still on the right track.”
Ryan sat down and watched Pete consult with a butterfly. “Pete? How did you get stuck down here?” he asked.
Pete’s reply came just as Ryan was chewing: “I wished someone away.”
~~~~
Ryan is on stage, having the time of his life. The roar of the crowd is deafening. His fingers fly over the strings of his guitar effortlessly. There are so many people that Ryan can’t even see the edge of the club. It’s like the walls are being stretched to fit.
The set’s almost over, he knows. The vocalist comes over to Ryan’s side of the stage and hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder. The crowd screams in approval.
They stay like that through the rest of the show, the music thrumming through their connection. It’s like a cat purring, Ryan thinks hazily. He is flying with happiness.
He feels like he is burning up - the hot stage lights on his face, the velvety roses crushed beneath his guitar, the sweat dripping down his face, the body plastered to his back-but he is a rock star, and this is best job in the world.
The crowd takes up the chant for an encore, and they oblige. Ryan wants to stay on stage forever.
He turns to grin at the person behind him, and stares. He knows this guy. His haircut and smile, his long coattails and skintight pants.
Their faces are very close together now. “hey,” the nameless guy whispers, their noses almost touching. “great show.”
“The greatest,” Ryan says because it is the truth. He wants that feeling. Again. Now. But the mystery of the guy’s name is throwing him off-balance. It’s not a difficult question: What is the name of your lead singer?
Surely he’s answered that question in hundreds of interviews.
Nameless must notice his bewilderment, and pouts. “Let’s go get you a drink,” he decides, and leads Ryan offstage.
Ryan follows easily, nothing more natural than following where your bandmates lead, and looks around. At the club. At the lights. At the stage. They must have overdone the smoke machine. Ryan can hardly see who else is on stage with him. He just feels Nameless’ hand moving him along.
The smoke must thicken some more, then, because Ryan can’t see the drummer at all. He knows they have one, of course. He could feel the beat in his bones not five minutes ago.
Ryan makes out the edge of the raised drum platform and a flash of light that he thinks might be reflecting off the cymbals. He concentrates a little harder and breaks out of Nameless’ grip.
No, that’s not a reflection. That’s a light-up drum kit.
Spencer would love that. They should get him one.
Wait. Where is Spencer?
He hasn’t been able to find Spencer in so long. Why is he lost?
Ryan runs toward the drum riser. He hears shouts behind him, the sound of rushing air. He crashes through the drum kit, hits the stage backdrop and keeps going, pounding his fists against what has to be an illusion. He spins around, frantic.
Brendon is standing not twenty feet away, looking despondent. Ryan feels this pull to fix it, fix the band. He moves forward.
Ryan picks up the chair that should be Spencer’s and smashes through the stage, once, twice, three times…
~~~~
And woke up gasping for air, choking on a piece of bread. He spat it out and threw the rest of the sandwich away violently.
“What the fuck, Pete.” But Pete was nowhere to be found. Ryan collapsed on the ground and stared into the blue sky. It had been a trap. One of those tests for horrible people who wished people away accidently. Pete had all but told him.
Ryan was so stupid. Now he didn’t know what time it was, where he was, or what to do next.
He got up, brushed off his shirt, and chose a direction randomly. It was time to get moving.
[ Part Two ]