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Monday morning comes way too quickly. I spent all day yesterday on my sofa binge-watching old horror films. It’s my guilty pleasure. Now, it’s unfortunately time to get back to reality. The more I thought about Reverb, the more I wondered if something was going on with the actual music. I recall that seminar I attended on the psychology of music with the handsome professor. I distinctly remember him sayingsomethingabout music and its effects on emotions. Except, all I can remember when I try to think back on the specifics of that particular detail is how the man saying the words was affectingme.
I pull up my internet browser and search for professors at Blackthorn University. A few clicks later, and I’m face-to-face with Mr. Handsome himself.Riven Reilly. I say it out loud, hating how good it sounds coming out of my mouth. It has beenquitethe dry spell. I shake my head to clear the reckless thoughts.
A quick investigative background search on Mr. Reilly tells me that he’s thirty-two, an Aries, and that he graduated from Blackthorn University with a Bachelor’s in the Science of Psychology. He also finished with a 4.0. Sexyandsmart. I’m able to find that he lectures regularly at the university and does occasional fieldwork at a local psychiatric facility in Hollowcrest.His parents were divorced, and his mother passed away from breast cancer when he was twelve. The thought of him losing his mother at such a young age makes me sad for him. As for his dad, there’s very limited information on him. He has one sibling, a younger brother named Raithe, who bears a striking resemblance to him. Lastly, and for research purposes only, it would appear that Mr. Reilly isnotmarried.
I call Blackthorn and ask for Riven Reilly’s office number. They tell me he doesn’t have one, which I suppose isn’t that unusual. I lie, telling the nice lady on the other end of the line that I’m a student of his in need of reaching him for a project that I’m working on. To my absolute amazement, she gives me his cell. That wasentirelytoo easy. They really should work on their security.
I pick up my cell, take a breath, and dial Riven Reilly’s number. Here goes absolutely nothing. It rings three times before I hear a deep, “Hello,” on the other end. The sound of his voice sends an unwarranted shiver down my spine.
I smile into the receiver, flipping on my very best journalist voice.
“Hi. Is this Mr. Reilly?”
7
Riven
Sabel threw me for a loop during that meeting. It wasn’t a surprise to her that I murdered Gideon Keenan. After all, it is the main reason I’m trapped in this bullshit social experiment. It wasn’t even a surprise to her that he was the father of Sloane. What surprised Sabel was the fact that Sloane was at the concert, and it drew my attention to something else that might be going on. What if the reason Sloane was there wasn’t an investigation of our music or the frequency persuasion, but of her father?
I hadn’t considered this angle, and I’m mentally beating the shit out of myself for it. How fucking stupid of me, considering she’s aninvestigativejournalist. Last I checked, Sloane wasn’t even close to her father. I hoped that some small part of her was glad he was out of her and her mother’s lives. Could I be wrong? Sloane may not even be aware of all the horrible things herfather has done. I’m sitting in the back of the Sprinter, headed back to my place, when I get a text from Cal.
Cal:Got him. Meet at my place…sooner than later.
Riven:Got it. Headed home. Be there in 10.
My house is located outside Hollowcrest, away from the noise and prying eyes. It’s tucked deep into the forest, just how I like it. I don’t have neighbors, street signs, or hardly any cell service. I like that, too. The car makes it up the gravel path that’s hardly visible if you don’t already know it’s there. We snake around the last bend of trees before my house comes into view. The house features matte black wood siding. The tall, narrow windows adorning it resemble the slits in a cathedral. The large redwoods of the forest around it crowd in closely, as if anchoring it to this place. Caleb parks the car, and I hurriedly hop out.
“Gotta go, man. Thanks,” I say, jogging toward my black garage off to the side of the house. I press the automatic button as the door slides open, ducking below it to get inside quicker. I open up the door to my ‘67 raven black GT, climb in, and start the ignition. No telling what condition Kai is in, so I can’t waste any time. I back out and down the gravel road, and then floor it once I reach the main road. I weave through the back roads with ease, while “Sleepwalking” by Bring Me The Horizon blasts on the stereo. I make it to Callum’s house in exactly six minutes. I hop out and walk straight through the front door without knocking.
“Where is he?” I yell out, almost running right into Callum.
“Whoa, Riv.” He pauses, righting himself. “Come on, he’s in the room.” I follow behind him. When I walk into Cal’s spare bedroom, I see Kai lying across the top of the midnight blue duvet, looking like death incarnate.
“Jesus fuck, Malakai,” I spit out, moving directly to his side. “What the fuck did you take?”
His red-rimmed, light blue eyes flutter open for a second, and he moans. He grabs his stomach, rolling over and vomiting right off the side of the king-size bed onto Callum’s pretty white carpet.Yuck. I audibly gag. Give me all the blood and guts, butdo notvomit in my presence. That shit isnasty. I shake it off, looking away.
“Have fun cleaning that up.” I wince, running a hand down my face.
“Kai, man, what did you take?” I ask again sternly. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits up and immediately falls back against the bed, unconscious.
“Fuck!” I leave the room to grab the Narcan bag. We invested in one after Kai’s first overdose a couple of years back. Until today, we haven’t had to use any of it, so I know it’s fully stocked. I grab the bag and head back in, pulling out a nasal syringe preloaded with the appropriate dosage, and head over to Kai.
“Sorry, buddy. This isn’t going to be fun,” I say, as I shove it straight into his left nostril and push the plunger in. He immediately wakes up, groaning, confirming my suspicions of an opioid on board. Like I said, it’s not our first rodeo.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Malakai?!” I ask, shaking his shoulders a little too violently for the condition that he’s in.
“Come on, Riv, take a beat.” I hear Cal’s voice, and then I feel his hands on me as he’s pulling me off of Kai and shoving me out of the room.
I place my face in my hands and try my best not to scream. It’s been two years since Kai’s first overdose. Twofuckingyears. I thought he was better. I thought he found a way to work through things that didn’t involve him ending up in a fucking body bag. What did I miss? Something has to be going on thatI didn’t see, and that makes me even angrier because now I’m blaming myself. I’m their leader. I should have seen the signs.
“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself, Riven. This is not your fault,” Cal says, reading my thoughts. “You know Kai has his own problems. Let’s get him through this, and then we’ll figure it out.”
My hair falls over my eyes as I sit on a bench seat in the hallway, staring down at the dark mahogany wood flooring. I don’t engage in Cal’s attempt at a heart-to-heart. Cal is usually stone-cold and has little to offer in these types of situations. Having to talk to him about emotions might do me in. Cal knows as much, which is why he places a comforting hand on my back for only a few seconds, and then proceeds to leave and check in on Kai.
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