“Okay, let’s take it from the top of the second verse. Remember, we need more oomph on the lines where you sing together, alright?”
Redd nodded gruffly. To his right, the new girl glanced at him nervously. This didn’t improve his withdrawn mood one bit: what did she have to be so nervous about anyway? She wasn’t the one screwing up the recording.
Through his headphones, the backing track kicked in. Dreamy keys plinked in time to the nearly absent tapping of the hi-hat. A mournful guitar riff drifted past his eardrums. The soothing wail of an electric organ added a rich depth to it all.
The music should have been lulling him into a zone of wallowing bliss. Why wasn’t it? The count for him to start singing kicked in.
Strangers passing in the street...
The new girl, what was her name? Emma? No, it was something fancier. Ennui. Something like that. He’d sung with her plenty of times, but she still felt like a stranger. A stranger who passed him in the corridor every day.
Help me understand the best I can...
He tried to put more heft into his words. But something was just out of reach. Why did he keep asking himself what it was, when he knew perfectly well where the problem really lay?
No one speaks, and no one tries tries tries...
It was happening again. He signaled for a stop, and tried to ignore the look of irritation on the sound guy’s face. But he couldn’t sing in time, no, scratch that, he couldn’t sing at all when the echoes began to bounce around in his head. He tried clutching his head in his spindly hands as the flashbacks started. It didn’t stop them.
“Redd, are you alright?” asked the girl worriedly. Was her name Etta? Elli? Vera? Why couldn’t he remember?
“I’ll be fine, just leave me alone,” he managed to say while fumbling with the door knob to the recording booth.
*
Days later, Enri found herself striding down a new corridor on the way back to her room. That was just one of the many weird features of this apartment: nearly every path eventually took her to her room. And she had the feeling that the same was true for all the other artists in here too. It should have violated some rule of sacred geometry, shouldn’t it?
She absently took a sip from her juice carton. It tasted more fermented than it should have been. She was alarmed at the dizzy feeling it gave her at first, but after a few seconds, she found it strangely... relieving. Hmm. She took another sip.
The carton was hissing with emptiness when she realized that she was outside Redd’s room. His door still had the nondescript brick pattern on it, with one of the faded grey bricks housing the name-plate “Mr. White” on it.
She hesitated for a bit, and then summoned the spirit to knock on the door. No response.
Enri bit her lip. She wished she knew what was going on with Redd; a small part of her was worried that the same thing might happen to her too.
She tried the door again. “Redd? It’s me, Enri.” Still nothing.
Then again, he had always been a brooding, introverted type. But the Redd she had met back when she was just starting out had shown her some of the ropes, and given her a space to be more herself in. That Redd had been more supportive of her progress, especially once they found out how well their voices went together. She wished he was here.
She looked at the brick pattern on his door. She wondered if it even was a door anymore at this point. She rubbed a finger along its textured surface. When had the bricks started piling up? Or had they always been there, and she’d only been just in time to see through the last few holes in the wall before they were closed up?
She tried the door one last time, tossed the juice carton into a nearby bin in frustration, and then walked away.
*
“Mr. White, you’re scheduled to have a rehearsal now. Remember that your performance at The Dark Side is this Monday! Mr. White?”
The secretary gave a worried glance to the two suits flanking her. She tried banging on the door a few more times.
“Mr. White, if you do not answer the door, then we will have to force it open! Mr. White!”
Distracted by the commotion, Enri took a detour from her trip to the studio. She arrived at Redd’s door just in time to see the two suits bash it open in a cloud of splinters and annoyance.
“Mrs. Diamond!” Enri gasped. “What’s going on?”
The secretary gave Enri a look as though she was rapidly judging how much the girl really needed to know. Then: “We’re about to find out.”
Enri gasped again when they all found Redd. He was passed out on the floor, his head at an odd angle, drool slowly crystallizing on his dry lips.
“Wha... how did he do this to himself?” she asked in shock.
One of the suits produced what looked like a child’s chemistry set.
“So, he found out about the juice. Or someone must have told him how...” muttered Mrs. Diamond to herself, before turning towards Enri. “Miss Callahan, please go to the studio and inform the others about this. Quickly now! We will attend to Mr. White.”
“I should have a talk with Dr. Floyd about this at some point, these incidences shouldn’t be allowed to occur so frequently. Not with all the money riding on the performances... ah, here we are!”
She turned towards the two suits.
“Prepare Mr. White for his... revitalizing, would you? His show must go on, after all.”
Redd nodded gruffly. To his right, the new girl glanced at him nervously. This didn’t improve his withdrawn mood one bit: what did she have to be so nervous about anyway? She wasn’t the one screwing up the recording.
Through his headphones, the backing track kicked in. Dreamy keys plinked in time to the nearly absent tapping of the hi-hat. A mournful guitar riff drifted past his eardrums. The soothing wail of an electric organ added a rich depth to it all.
The music should have been lulling him into a zone of wallowing bliss. Why wasn’t it? The count for him to start singing kicked in.
Strangers passing in the street...
The new girl, what was her name? Emma? No, it was something fancier. Ennui. Something like that. He’d sung with her plenty of times, but she still felt like a stranger. A stranger who passed him in the corridor every day.
Help me understand the best I can...
He tried to put more heft into his words. But something was just out of reach. Why did he keep asking himself what it was, when he knew perfectly well where the problem really lay?
No one speaks, and no one tries tries tries...
It was happening again. He signaled for a stop, and tried to ignore the look of irritation on the sound guy’s face. But he couldn’t sing in time, no, scratch that, he couldn’t sing at all when the echoes began to bounce around in his head. He tried clutching his head in his spindly hands as the flashbacks started. It didn’t stop them.
“Redd, are you alright?” asked the girl worriedly. Was her name Etta? Elli? Vera? Why couldn’t he remember?
“I’ll be fine, just leave me alone,” he managed to say while fumbling with the door knob to the recording booth.
*
Days later, Enri found herself striding down a new corridor on the way back to her room. That was just one of the many weird features of this apartment: nearly every path eventually took her to her room. And she had the feeling that the same was true for all the other artists in here too. It should have violated some rule of sacred geometry, shouldn’t it?
She absently took a sip from her juice carton. It tasted more fermented than it should have been. She was alarmed at the dizzy feeling it gave her at first, but after a few seconds, she found it strangely... relieving. Hmm. She took another sip.
The carton was hissing with emptiness when she realized that she was outside Redd’s room. His door still had the nondescript brick pattern on it, with one of the faded grey bricks housing the name-plate “Mr. White” on it.
She hesitated for a bit, and then summoned the spirit to knock on the door. No response.
Enri bit her lip. She wished she knew what was going on with Redd; a small part of her was worried that the same thing might happen to her too.
She tried the door again. “Redd? It’s me, Enri.” Still nothing.
Then again, he had always been a brooding, introverted type. But the Redd she had met back when she was just starting out had shown her some of the ropes, and given her a space to be more herself in. That Redd had been more supportive of her progress, especially once they found out how well their voices went together. She wished he was here.
She looked at the brick pattern on his door. She wondered if it even was a door anymore at this point. She rubbed a finger along its textured surface. When had the bricks started piling up? Or had they always been there, and she’d only been just in time to see through the last few holes in the wall before they were closed up?
She tried the door one last time, tossed the juice carton into a nearby bin in frustration, and then walked away.
*
“Mr. White, you’re scheduled to have a rehearsal now. Remember that your performance at The Dark Side is this Monday! Mr. White?”
The secretary gave a worried glance to the two suits flanking her. She tried banging on the door a few more times.
“Mr. White, if you do not answer the door, then we will have to force it open! Mr. White!”
Distracted by the commotion, Enri took a detour from her trip to the studio. She arrived at Redd’s door just in time to see the two suits bash it open in a cloud of splinters and annoyance.
“Mrs. Diamond!” Enri gasped. “What’s going on?”
The secretary gave Enri a look as though she was rapidly judging how much the girl really needed to know. Then: “We’re about to find out.”
Enri gasped again when they all found Redd. He was passed out on the floor, his head at an odd angle, drool slowly crystallizing on his dry lips.
“Wha... how did he do this to himself?” she asked in shock.
One of the suits produced what looked like a child’s chemistry set.
“So, he found out about the juice. Or someone must have told him how...” muttered Mrs. Diamond to herself, before turning towards Enri. “Miss Callahan, please go to the studio and inform the others about this. Quickly now! We will attend to Mr. White.”
She waited until the girl had left the room before rummaging in her suitcase.
“I should have a talk with Dr. Floyd about this at some point, these incidences shouldn’t be allowed to occur so frequently. Not with all the money riding on the performances... ah, here we are!”
She turned towards the two suits.
“Prepare Mr. White for his... revitalizing, would you? His show must go on, after all.”
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