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“The contest ends today! And we’ll be drawing the winner right after the next song! So stay tuned. But first, another song by Nightstalker. Here’s ‘Gather the Souls.’”

34

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Clarity

Tristan stood at the shore, gazing out at the endless Pacific Ocean. The sun scorched his skin, and the heat made sweat pour from his pores. Not far from him, a couple was kissing, the man holding the woman tightly as her black hair gently blew in the wind. A little further ahead, some children were splashing in the shallow water. There were barely any waves; even the sea seemed sluggish in the heat.

After Leaf had left, Tristan felt like he couldn’t breathe. The confinement of the memory-laden rooms had driven him out of the apartment. Swallowing his pride, he grabbed the car keys from Milo’s room and took off in the Chevelle. First, he drove straight to a car wash, as the car was covered in leaves and had cat paw prints on the windshield. Inside, everything was spotless—Milo had always taken care of that. The ashtray was clean, and the tank was full.

Without thinking too much, Tristan had driven to Santa Monica, then taken Highway 1 north to Topanga Beach. He and Milo had often been here, goofing around and celebrating their freedom. Making plans and promising each other the world.

“I believe in you, little brother,” Milo had said. “You’re going to make it big. But never forget, I’ll always have your back. No matter what.”

Tristan exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. The bright light blinded him, even though he was wearing sunglasses. He felt exhausted and dazed, with a sense that his life was slipping away from him, like a chain slipping through his hands, following a heavy anchor to the bottom of the sea. It seemed there was no lever to stop it. Maybe a crowbar would help, but Tristan had no idea where to wedge it to halt the fall.

Time and again, Leaf appeared before him, peering at him as if he were a mess he himself had trampled on. How could someone bear so much guilt? He didn’t need to. All Tristan wanted was to kiss Leaf, hold him, and tell him everything would be okay. He would keep saying it until Leaf believed it himself, because Tristan knew it was true, even if it didn’t feel that way yet.

The six days he had given himself were almost up, and he had done nothing to improve the situation. But what had he expected? That by returning, everything would go back to normal? Definitely not, as long as he didn’t have himself under control.

Exhaustion and weariness were evident in Leaf’s appearance. The needle marks on his arm were burned into Tristan’s mind. Was there still time to avert a catastrophe? The fact that his partner and best friend was fighting a battle with himself and wouldn’t let anyone help him felt like a paralyzing electric shock. When he had confronted Leaf about the needle marks, it had been one of those rare moments when Leaf couldn’t hide his fragility behind indifference. His lips had quivered, those beautiful lips of his.

Tristan sighed in exasperation. He adjusted his sunglasses and tied his curls with a rubber band.

O Captain! My Captain!

What should I do?

There must be something.

Anything.

Or had he reached the point where he needed Dr. Snider? Someone to tell him what he already knew?

“What do you want, Mr. James? Because if you don’t want to go out, not on stage, not home, I can offer you refuge here.”

It felt like a blow to the head when Tristan realized he hadn’t lied to Dr. Snider. He thought he did, but in truth, he had only lied to himself and told Dr. Snider the truth.

I want to be on stage.

Fuck …

The realization brought Tristan to his knees. Slowly, he crouched down and sat in the sand. It felt like he had lost sight of the most important thing. He thought it was music, his lyrics, and poems that would bring him back to the land of the living; he had been so sure of it and had tried to put himself first to give the band the feeling they could make it. But that was wrong.

It’s impossible without Leaf.

He was the one who gave him the necessary support and strength to master this life, the drive to keep going, writing new songs, and performing. Leaf was above the band, because without him, Tristan couldn’t show the world that he was back. And Leaf was about to be swallowed by the darkness.

I can’t let that happen.

The tightness in his chest gradually eased, and Tristan breathed in the salty air. It smelled of peace and gave him confidence and strength, recharging his empty batteries and clearing his confused thoughts.

When he returned to the Chevelle, his heart felt lighter. On the passenger seat was the phone Andrej had given him. Tristan had only taken it because he was afraid the car might break down somewhere. Despite financial problems, Milo had always taken good care of the Chevelle; he would never have given it up to pay off any debts, as the car’s value far exceeded any amount of money. But the old Chevelle had died more than once at some street corner. Yet it always brought a smile to Tristan’s face when he turned the key and the engine started.

Tristan took the road back to Santa Monica, heading down Highway 10 toward downtown and turning onto 405 North. Driving toward Hollywood, he knew what he still had to take care of today.

In the late afternoon, he reached Picot Records and parked the car in front of the office building. In the lobby he went to reception and let Carol know he was there.