Aerisian Refrain, page 2
part #1 of Beyond the Sunset Series
“No,” I finally stated in answer to her question. “I’m very happy with my career. I sing whatever I want to sing. I try to portray myself accurately. Honestly, I’d love more peace and quiet. I’d love to not have paparazzi following me wherever I go. But I guess that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“Of course, of course.”
She would know. The reason she could get away with charging such exorbitant prices wasn’t because she was the world’s best therapist. It was because she knew how to be discreet. I was far from her only celebrity client.
“If you don’t feel that’s it, then we will simply have to dig deeper. Clearly, something is bothering your subconscious. Maybe an incident from your past. Maybe it’s something you’ve forgotten, or suppressed, and it’s trying to work its way to the surface of your memory. Maybe…”
She waved her hands gracefully as she spoke. Her voice was quiet and low. She seemed like a nice person, so I tried not to look at her askance, but it was hard. I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of her psych-babble. Coming here hadn’t been my idea, but it had been a last resort. I reminded myself of that, reigning in my scattered thoughts as I went back to what she was saying.
“…after all,” she was summarizing, “it’s not as if your voice isn’t being heard. What is it they call you? The most famous woman in the world? Your voice is out there. Everyone knows who you are. Your voice has made you into a worldwide phenomenon. What we need to do is try and figure out why your mind feels this way. Maybe it isn’t even your voice not being heard that your mind is protesting. Maybe it’s your real voice. We’ll work on that during the next few weeks. I have good hopes that, together, we’ll be able to discover what that real voice is. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, sounds good.”
“Excellent.”
A warm smile. A subtle glance at her rose gold Rolex. “I’m afraid we’re out of time for today, but I’ll see you at eleven next Friday. Meanwhile, feel free to call me if you’d like to talk, or if anything occurs that might be important to your case. That’s what I’m here for, after all. To listen and to help.”
I nodded. “Thank you, I will,” I said.
I knew I wouldn’t.
Gil stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his slacks. Gathering up my purse, I looped the thin leather strap over my shoulder, rising as well.
“Thank you, Dr. Weathers,” he said, extending his hand to her. They shook hands, then she and I did the same.
“Hang in there, Annie,” she said, as she walked us to the door. “I’m confident we’ll figure this out. In the meantime, if you decide you need some help to…er…relax or sleep, it’s okay.”
We stopped in the doorway, and she took the opportunity to look me deep in the eye. “It really is. After all, if you’ve managed to stay off narcotics, drugs, even legal ones, in your profession for this long, you’re doing remarkably well. You wouldn’t believe how many people in your line of work— Well, let’s just say some problems are pretty common,” she grimaced.
I didn’t reply. What she was saying was no secret. From the onset, those closest to me had drilled into me no excessive drinking and no drugs or you could wind up in rehab with your career flushed down the toilet, like so many other budding celebrities.
We said our goodbyes and her polished door closed softly behind us. Her secretary smiled sweetly and asked about setting up our next appointment. Once that was taken care of, added to her computer, the calendar on my phone, and Gil’s meticulous planner, we left. Outside Dr. Weather’s suite of offices, Jack and Kym, two of a rotating team of six bodyguards, quietly fell into step behind us.
“So, what do you think?” Gil asked as we headed down long corridors of dark green walls and rich, glossy woods. Halls that spoke of money and people with power.
I shrugged. “Not sure. This is way beyond my comfort zone.”
“Most people where you’re from probably don’t blab to therapists about their problems, do they?”
“Most people where I’m from believe, or act like they believe, a lot of hard work and a few beers will solve any problem.”
“If only it were that easy.”
If only.
Despite years in my profession, I tended to agree that hard work, or maybe a nice, long run, could help me face any sort of problem. Nevertheless, the scars left by my mother’s battle with addiction and her sad, untimely death had taught me some problems needed help. I knew I needed help with mine. I simply didn’t know where to turn.
Chapter 3
Making a Choice
“You know what I think?”
Blair, my bodyguard, calm, confident Blair, her long red hair slicked back into a no-nonsense ponytail, sat next to me on the balcony of a Seattle hotel. The autumn breeze off the mountains was chilly, and there was moisture in the air, but, luckily, no rain.
“What do you think?” I murmured sleepily, burrowing down further into the depths of my oversize hoodie and sweats.
“I think you need a break. The strain is killing you. You can’t hide it anymore. I don’t know why you’re paying that therapist those big bucks, because it doesn’t seem to be helping. You just need to get away from it all. Forget this. No career is worth ruining your health because you can’t rest. I’m not sure how you can rest anyway, with bodyguards and managers and agents and the press and tabloids and all that junk constantly in your face. You need a break. A real break from everything. You need to go home.”
I blinked a few times, considering. In the distance, Mt. Rainier glowed with the last rays of evening light. Snowcapped. Majestic. Beautiful. Towering over the landscape like an ancient guardian. We’d come to Washington to begin our fall tour; after pushing it back twice, the media was beginning to buzz. In order to quiet their never-ending speculations, I’d decided to go against Dr. Weathers’ advice, as well as that of my own team, and continue on. True, I wasn’t getting any better. In fact, the dreams were getting stronger. I slept only from sheer exhaustion, when lack of sleep forced me into it, but I awoke shaky and nervous. Dark circles had appeared under my eyes that my makeup team spent extra time trying to conceal. I didn’t know the answer. I had no solution. I wasn’t sure going home was it.
“There’s nothing for me there,” I said finally. “Not since Daddy died. You know that.”
“I know his ranch where you grew up is still there. You didn’t sell it.”
I hadn’t. Maybe I should have. Daddy had never approved of a career in the entertainment industry. I guess he saw it taking me away from him, just like drugs had taken Mama. Sadly, he was right. As the years went by and my popularity skyrocketed, the visits to the ranch that had been in our family for the past four generations had dwindled. All he’d ever wanted was his only child to take over running this family legacy. My path had taken me further and further away from that, from him. We’d never agreed. In the end, our phone conversations had become less and less frequent. By the time he died a couple of years ago, we hadn’t spoken in weeks.
No, I hadn’t sold his ranch, my inheritance. Daddy’s ranch manager, or foreman, was still managing it. As far as I knew, things were running smoothly. Dr. Weathers had tried to suggest maybe some of these troubling dreams—nightmares, really—were tied to unresolved guilt over my father’s and my broken relationship. Maybe she was right, although I couldn’t see how the two things were connected. Part of me was terrified to return to the place of my birth; terrified to cast light into the shadows of my upbringing, my past, my troubled mother, my rift with my father. The other part of me…
The other part of me was listening to Blair as she talked quietly about peace and quiet and nature. The other part of me remembered the vastness of the Oklahoma sky: how it stretched for eternity under the blazing sun, without stacks of buildings to break it up. The other part of me remembered what it was like to see atmosphere without smog, a nighttime sky packed with millions of stars, the sounds of birds chirping, insects droning, and frogs croaking instead of cars and vehicles and more cars and more vehicles. Some things a person never forgets or grows away from. Some things can bring healing.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said finally, turning to my bodyguard and friend. “Maybe going home and facing the past will help me heal. Maybe just—just leaving all this behind for a while will help me calm down.”
“Not to mention, I bet there’s unlimited room for running,” Blair grinned.
I chuckled. “Miles and miles of country roads. Not to mention hundreds of acres of pasture, if you want to do some cross country running. Couldn’t ask for better than that.”
“Sounds like a recipe for stress relief. Just what you need.”
“You’d have to come with me, though.”
The thought sobered me a little. Even way out in the middle of nowhere, lost in the Oklahoma panhandle, I’d need a bodyguard. You never knew what crazy would catch wind of where I’d gone and decide to follow. I’d had my run-ins with overeager fans and crazies a time or two. I didn’t care to repeat it.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to stay away.”
“Well, I have plenty of money,” I laughed.
“Well, it’s not going to do you any good.”
Blair was a good friend. Honest. Blunt. Plainspoken. More than that, one of only two of my bodyguards who understood and shared my love of running. She got that, aside from music itself, running was my happy place where all the rest of the world faded away and there was only me against myself, me against the road. She understood it was my way to unwind, my method of fortifying myself against a world that constantly pushed against me. Back home, there would be unlimited time and distance for running, not to mention the option of plenty of physical labor. Maybe that would help settle my soul—dealing with my demons in the place where I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life. Either way, Blair was right. I couldn’t do this any longer. I had to call off this tour, these events. Even if it meant the end of my career, my life as I knew it.
I needed to go home.
Two days later, I hurried through a private terminal at the Seattle airport, carrying one bag and pulling my small suitcase behind me. Blair was a few steps behind and to the left. Davin, another member of the team, flanked my right. Even though we weren’t in the main part of SEATAC, we were all dressed as inconspicuously as possible. Thankfully, it was autumn. With a hat to hide my hair, and covered up in a jacket, jeans, and boots, I wouldn’t stand out to anyone I passed.
Just before we stepped outside to board our private plane, I saw a poster of myself and stopped. It was a poster advertising VIP seating and treatment for my Northwestern tour. No matter how many times I saw them—the posters, the cutouts, the advertisements, the billboards, the neon signs—staring back at me, it was still surreal. Surreal to realize the girl in those images, that confident, capable looking woman, flashing a calm, inviting smile to the world, was really me. Me, Annie Richards. I stood there studying it as objectively as possible.
There she was, there I was, in dark-wash flared jeans, a sparkling purple tank, and cowgirl boots, leaning against my favorite guitar. Hoop earrings, light jewelry, natural-looking makeup that, in reality, had taken my makeup team a good hour to perfect. My trademark haircut was ala Courtney Cox, the tousled layers not quite reaching my shoulders. The haircut would’ve been dated a few years ago, just like the choker I wore in the ad, but the 1990s had cycled back into fashion again, and so had the haircut I’d always favored. The girl in the picture was tallish, slim, and not particularly pretty except for the beige skin and high cheekbones inherited from her half-Cherokee father, and her unique violet eyes that were a gift from nobody knew which ancestor. The girl in the picture was me, but not as I felt now. I didn’t feel any of her confidence, any of her allure. All I felt as I looked at her was a peculiar mixture of sadness and relief.
Sadness that this way of life, this career that had marked and defined me for the past eight years, was possibly gone. Relief that this way of life, this career that had marked and defined me for the past eight years, was possibly over. Wonder at what was coming next. Both the excitement and the fear of possibly starting over. I knew I’d never be finished with music, or music would never be finished with me, but a musical career…that was another thing entirely.
Blair must’ve sensed something of what I was feeling. I felt her step up, lay a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Annie. It doesn’t have to be over if you don’t want it to be. This can just be a break. A voice like yours—you can always make it back on top.”
That was the thing, though. I didn’t know if I wanted to be back on top. Still, I didn’t know that I didn’t, either.
I smiled at her over my shoulder. “Thanks, Blair. You’re right. It’ll be okay.”
Collecting myself, I drew a deep breath, blowing it noisily out of puffed cheeks. “Okay, let’s go,” I said and walked away. From the poster, the woman who no longer existed. From that part of my life, myself. Maybe forever.
Chapter 4
In the Clouds
I buckled my seatbelt, laid my head against the headrest, and closed my eyes. The pilots went through their pre-flight checks. A flight attendant approached, offering drinks before takeoff. Davin thanked her for all of us, saying we were fine. The hum of the engines became a roar. The plane began to move, picking up speed, raising us off the ground. Opening my eyes, I looked out the window, knowing the spectacular view I’d get of Mt. Rainier and not wanting to miss it. After all, I didn’t know when, or if, we’d return to the beautiful Northwest.
We were just a dot before the mighty mountain that filled my window. All the fame, power, and money in the world were quashed into nothing before this raw reminder of nature’s power and majesty. I let my mind dwell on that until the mountain faded into the distance, then I sank back into the seat, closing my eyes once more. The sun was sinking into the horizon, evening was coming on, and the muted roar of the engine lulled me to sleep. I prayed I would have no nightmares.
For a little while, the world faded away and I was at peace. I flitted through my dreams, flashing through scenes of last night’s closing concert—maybe the last concert I would ever play. Blair on the balcony. Dr. Weather’s office— “What do you think this means?” Even Stella— “Poise, Annie, poise.” Flashes of home, of the cattle ranch in the Oklahoma panhandle. A magnificent Oklahoma sunset. Nothing scary, nothing frightening, until…
I was standing on the empty plains, the house and stables and barn somewhere far behind me. Nothing was there except for me, a sea of waving grasses, and the sunset sky overhead. It was so beautiful, so right. I knew I’d made the best decision for myself in coming back. And then—and then I felt it. The whisper of a presence. A raven soared overhead, drifted towards the ground, lighting on the earth a few feet away. It eyed me with its beady black eye, and I could’ve sworn there was humor on the bird’s face.
You’re losing your mind, I thought. Birds can’t show humor.
Then I was seized. The presence. It had crept up on me unaware. It grabbed me with a pair of invisible hands; I was frozen by its strength. Abruptly, the raven took flight, soaring into the air. I rolled my eye upwards, all that I could move, to see an entire flock of ravens materializing out of nowhere, flying in circles over my head. I could hear the beat of their wings. Their beaks opened, but they made no sound. They were all eyeing me sideways as they flew. I was shaking, trembling. I opened my mouth to scream, but instead of my voice, I heard another’s.
“Speak to us. Come to us. Help us.”
The presence had never spoken to me before. The voice in my head was masculine, soft as a whisper, smooth like silk, but deadly like a blade.
“Help us. Speak to us. Come to us,” it whispered again.
The power of that voice, of the presence, was folding in on me, pressing into me from all directions. I was going to suffocate or implode. More and more ravens joined the flock, the air from their beating wings tousling my hair, tugging at my clothing. I tried again to scream.
“Speak to us. Come to us. Help…”
“Help! Help!”
Someone was screaming, but it wasn’t me. It wasn’t the presence. My eyes bolted open as the plane jolted in the sky, rocking us all to the side. I glanced around wildly, saw Blair, seated across from me, staring at me wide-eyed with fear. The flight attendant was still screaming. The turbulence had knocked her off her feet and sent her skidding into the wall. She’d dropped a tray, and hot coffee had splashed all over her. Davin was resisting the pressure that had suddenly filled the cabin, trying to unbuckle his seatbelt and go to her.
The captain’s voice filled the chamber.
“Everyone please…stay…seated…remain…calm…”
It sounded like he spoke through clenched teeth. Likely, he did, as he fought to control the plane, which was now bucking and bouncing in the clouds. The flight attendant couldn’t get to her feet. Davin couldn’t get to his. I was pinned to my seat as the pressure in the cabin expanded and strengthened.
I’ve never been in turbulence like this. What’s happening? We’re going to crash, aren’t we?
I glanced out the window and saw a sea of clouds, a sea of fluffy, floating cotton balls tinged with sunset colors: red, gold, purple, orange, pink. It looked so peaceful out there, so at odds with the shuddering plane. For a second, the plane righted itself, levelling back out. The pressure eased. I cut my eyes to Blair, who was struggling to push herself upright, her hands fumbling for the seatbelt. The flight attendant stopped screaming. The pilot’s voice came back on over the intercom.
“Hold tight, folks, I think we’re past that bit of turbulence, and—”
From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of ebony. Again, I turned to look out the window, only to see a raven alight on the wing of the plane. My eyes widened in disbelief.
