“She is your mother—”
Beep.
Beep.
I pause and press my hands into the counter, the song I’m fixated on circling around that irregular beat. Up. Down. A green line scrolls across a screen.
Beep.
Beep.
I need to call Mads.
He’s the mastermind.
I tap over to his contact info, hit the call button, then put him on speaker as I continue tidying.
“Hey, Bon,” Mads answers on the fourth ring. “What’s up? Everything good?”
“Hey. I was thinking on the way home, what if we did something just like gnarly?” I say.
Mads’ deep chuckle radiates on the speaker. “Alright. I’m listening.”
“Just like… you listen to it, and the only words you can use to describe it is sick, twisted, evennasty—”
“Fucking gruesome?” he says.
“Yes.Hell yes,” I exclaim. “Just like a breakdown that’s disgusting and profound. Blow your fucking eardrums. It could be the part in the movie when the serial killer’s victim decides to fight back. Like they just mean fucking business.”
“I like it. What were you thinking with like thematics, vocals…”
“I think we should challenge Reed. Maybe throw a few rap lines in there. Extended screams and shit. And then some really throbbing, scary bass lines—Oh, what if we had the violins on there, too?”
“Sound like a fucking dream,” he says.
“It could be a big fuck you to people who doubted us,” I finish. “What do you think?”
“A big fuck you, huh?” Mads laughs. “I fucking love it, Bon. Hell yes. Okay. I’ll get to work on some things. Hey, play with it a little while you’re home. Send me a video or some lines later. We’ll make it happen.”
“Yeah?” I ask excitedly.
“Hell yeah. We’ll call it fucking Bedlam.”
“Fuck yes.” I slam the table in a rhythmic motion, muscles edged at the thought of this song coming to life. “Okay, I’ll hit you up later.”
“Yeah. Andi says to text her before you go to sleep,” he adds.
“Oh yeah, does she miss me already?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Just wishing you were in this building already. See, if you were here, you could come over and workshop this shit. We could lay it down and give Reed something to keep him busy while Wren is gone.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’m thinking about it. Really.”
“That’s all we ask.”
“Ha. Yeah, right. You’ll likely be sending me photos of the empty space later,” I say.
“Andidoeshave a free afternoon,” he replies.
