Last Breath Page 2

  The fans roared once more.

  Prayers? I’d never heard my mom ask anyone for that. But after what we’d lived through in the past two days, I was all for it.

  I focused on Carly, my favorite backup singer. An African American with warm eyes and a caring heart, she was the one who’d prayed for me. She was the one who’d told me God was “always watching.”

  “And now,” Mom cried over the noise, “let’s have some music!”

  Stan’s guitar struck a chord, and the last song blasted. The fans shrieked.

  Ten minutes later, the concert over, Mom and I were back in her dressing room. She looked so tired as we gathered our purses and headed down the hall with Mick and Wendell. Outside, the limos waited to take us to the hotel. Ross had gone ahead and checked us all in. Our suitcases waited for us there, watched over by the bellmen.

  From the arena filtered the after-concert sounds of chairs being taken down, the stage being struck. Rayne’s own roadies, plus local hired hands, would be at work for hours, packing everything away. Vance would pull out with the bus tonight, along with all the trucks. They’d drive all night and be waiting for us in Albuquerque when we flew in tomorrow.

  “Sleep.” Mom ran a hand across her forehead as we hit the back private exit. “I just need sleep.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” But she had to be way more tired than I was. At least I didn’t have to perform.

  Outside, Mom took a deep breath of the night air and put an arm around my shoulder. “You okay, Shaley?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Your father sent me.

  The band members, plus back-up singers Carly, Lois, and Melissa, divided into two limos. Tall, skinny Lois hunched down to get into the limo with me and Mom. Carly and Melissa followed.

  “Hey, girl, how are you doing?” Carly gave me that wide, easy smile of hers, but her brown eyes searched mine for more than a surface answer.

  “I’m doing okay. I just want to get to bed.”

  Lois shook her head. “Don’t we all.”

  Three Denver police cars escorted us as we headed out of the parking lot, following the lead limo. Up ahead, where our privately guarded area ended, I spotted the paparazzi and reporters. Local security members lined our path, arms out and facing the crowd to keep them back from the cars.

  I cringed. Here it came. The cameras, the shouting. Everyone fighting to get around security. I hated it. Especially now. People we knew and loved had been murdered. We were still in shock. Why couldn’t everyone just leave us alone?

  We reached the mob. Flashes glittered the night. Sudden light from movie cameras shot through the window.

  “Rayne!” someone yelled. “What happened to Bruce?”

  “Why did Jerry shoot him?”

  “Why did your bus driver want Shaley?”

  “Shaley, talk to us!”

  “Tell us about Tom!”

  “Shaley! Shaley!”

  I scrunched down in my seat and covered my ears. Mom drew me to her chest. “Hang in there, honey. We’ll be at the hotel soon. Then nobody’s going to bother you.”

  Until tomorrow when we’d have to go out and do this all over again.

  Tears burned my eyes. I longed for Brittany. If only she was still with me. But that very afternoon her mom had insisted she cut her visit short and return home—our tour wasn’t a safe place for her to be.

  I couldn’t really blame a mother for that.

  The noise passed. I blinked hard and sat up. Took a deep breath. “Sorry. They just … get to me sometimes.”

  “After all you’ve been through?” Carly shook her head. “Little wonder.”

  Yesterday in a mall Brittany and I had been nearly trampled by reporters and photographers who’d rushed us out of nowhere. Bruce was with us. He’d fought to keep them back.

  Bruce. I pictured him lying on the hotel hall floor, blood seeping from his chest and gurgling from his mouth.

  Suddenly it all hit—memories of the terror and grief. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, fighting tears.

  We needed time to mourn and heal, Mom and me. And we wouldn’t get it, not as long as we stayed on tour. It was just go, go, go. Fight the paparazzi. And it would only get worse. The news stories of the murders on our tour would be on every TV station, in every newspaper.

  I just wanted to crawl into a cave. But I couldn’t. I had to find out about my father.

  We pulled into our hotel, following the lead limo. At least here it would be a quick trip up to our rooms, then into bed for me. I couldn’t wait to close out the world.

  “Oh, no.” Mom peered out the window to our right. Her voice dropped low. “They’ve found us.”

  No. I leaned toward the glass. Under the shimmering lights of the wide, covered hotel entrance, dozens more reporters, photographers, and camera men milled. The minute we got out of our limo, they’d descend on us like rabid dogs.

  Some staff member at the hotel must have talked.

  My veins went cold. This was never going to end. Suddenly that walk to the privacy of my room seemed a million miles long.

  3

  I searched deep inside myself for flecks of energy, sweeping them together into a meager pile.

  “Wait.” Carly craned her short neck to look out the limo window. “At least I see policemen out there.”

  “Yeah.” Mom sighed. “The manager probably called when they saw this crowd. But it’s too little, too late.”

  Bruce, I thought. We needed him. Two bodyguards weren’t enough.

  As the first limo edged up and aligned with the door, police and hotel security moved the mob back on both sides. Mick and Wendell got out of the limo door nearest the hotel. The photographers and reporters surged toward them.

  Our car waited behind.

  “Everybody stay put.” Mom’s voice was sharp.

  Police and security closed in along with Wendell and Mick. The still cameras raised and the red lights of TV cameras glowed. “Stay back!” an officer shouted as Stan and Rich emerged from the limo. The mob yelled and pushed.

  Kim and Morrey appeared. The crowd jostled and shouted all the more.

  “Shaley, where’s Shaley?”

  “Where’s Rayne?”

  “Is it true your bus driver killed Tom and a bodyguard?”

  Stan and Rich worked their way toward the wide hotel door. Policemen flanked the door on either side, preventing the crowd from following once they entered. “No!” one of the officers shouted to the reporters. “None of you are going in!”

  Raucous voices protested. “It’s a free country!”

  “You can’t keep us out!”

  The crowd pushed and yelled, but the policemen stood firm.

  Mick and Wendell surrounded Kim and Morrey as they moved toward the hotel. Morrey’s tattooed arm was around Kim, but she walked straight-backed and confident, ignoring the chaos.

  To our left, other hotel guests were pulling up in their cars to unload, gawking at the scene. Bellmen in bright red uniforms ran around, waving at them to move down farther. One of those bellmen almost got hit by a car going too fast.

  In front of us, Mick and Wendell shut the first limo’s door. It pulled away.

  Our car edged up behind it.

  The crowd went wild, shouting my name, Mom’s name. Their voices echoed off the portico. Police fought to keep everyone back as our limo door opened.

  Mick stuck his head inside. His face was calm, but his jaw was set. “Carly, Lois, Melissa—come out first.”

  “Shaley!” someone outside screamed.

  “Rayne!”

  “Shaley, how do you feel about Bruce’s death?”

  “Is it true your bus driver took you hostage?”

  “Will your tour continue?”

  Grim-faced, the three women scooted across their seat and exited the car. For a few seconds, the noise outside lulled. They were waiting for me and Mom.

  I focused through the tinted glass, looking for the familiar faces we
hated. My muscles were tight enough to cramp. “Look.” I pointed with a trembling finger. “There’s Frog and Vulture.” We had nicknames for the paparazzi who hounded us the worst, based on what they looked like. “I don’t see—”

  I gasped. “Yes, I do! Mom, Cat’s here!” Fear and indignation shot through me. This guy had just been bailed out of jail. He already faced numerous charges because of the things he’d done to me. And he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near us. What would it take to make him stay away?

  Mom’s expression hardened. “Where?”

  At that moment, as if he felt our eyes on him, the ugly, despicable paparazzo we called Cat shot past security and sprinted around the back of the limo. His long, bleached-white hair with two-inch black roots flipped in the breeze as he ran, his gangly arms pumping. In one hand he clutched his ever-present camera.

  “How could he be here?” Mom’s eyes slitted. Her fingers sank into the leather seat, and her teeth clenched. “They told him to stay away from us!” She reached for the door handle next to her. “I’ve had it with this guy.”

  I grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  She shook me off. “I will not have him hounding you anymore, Shaley.”

  Cat reached our side of the car and pressed his face to the window.

  Mom cursed and yanked the handle. She threw the door open, forcing Cat backward.

  “Mom!”

  She jumped from the limo and slammed the door. Cat recovered, swinging up his camera. Mom strode toward him in her high heels, both hands up. “Stop it, now!” She grabbed his camera, tore it away, and threw it on the ground.

  “Hey!” Cat’s face went crimson. He leapt toward the camera.

  Mom kicked it away. “You stay away from my daughter!”

  Everyone in the mob jerked around. Spotting Mom alone, they surged around the car toward her.

  “Rayne!” Mick cried. He started shoving through the crowd.

  Carly, Lois, and Melissa reached the hotel door. Wendell left them and came running too.

  Cat whirled and faced Mom. “I’ll sue you for this!”

  “Go right ahead!” Mom jabbed a finger at him. “You’ll be doing it from jail!”

  Pounding feet surrounded the limo as reporters and paparazzi pushed around it. I whipped my head toward Mom, then back to the right. How far away were Mick and Wendell?

  Cat screamed curses, his long arms jerking up and down. Mom yelled back.

  “Rayne!” Mick reached the right rear of the limo.

  Reporters and paparazzi closed in on Mom, TV cameras rolling.

  My whole body flushed hot. Mom needed help! I went for the door handle.

  Cat scrambled for his camera. Mom went after him.

  I shoved the limo door open. It hit a reporter in the back. He cussed and yanked around toward me. I darted out of the limo.

  “Shaley, no!” Mick shouted.

  Cat scooped up his camera and twisted back toward Mom. He shook it at her. “I’ll be wherever I want!”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Mick burst through reporters to my side and shoved me back in the car. “Stay there!” I landed hard, half on the seat, half on the floor. He smashed the door closed.

  I pressed my face against the window, looking straight ahead for Mom.

  An engine surged.

  My focus spun to the left.

  A car approached in the loading lane next to ours. Even before it slowed the passenger door was opening, another photographer jumping out.

  Cat yelled something. I turned toward him and Mom just as Mick was about to reach them. Cat and Mom were three feet apart. She was shouting at Cat, her back to the approaching car.

  Cat’s lips pulled into an animal-like grimace. Without warning, he rushed into Mom and knocked her hard. She stumbled.

  Brakes squealed.

  For those few terrible seconds it all seemed to warp into slow motion. As if in a dream—a nightmare I couldn’t stop—my wide eyes saw the car coming, Mom flailing into its path. Mick and Wendell yelling. Photographers turning, aiming their cameras …

  The scene jarred into real time.

  Mom’s body hit the car with a sickening crunch. The car screeched to a stop. Mom bounced off, sank to the pavement, and lay still.

  I shot out of the limo, screaming.

  4

  Mom! Mom!”

  My voice nearly drowned in all the noise. Chaos swirled around me, people yelling, pushing. Three policemen forced reporters and photographers back. They obeyed as little as possible, their cameras snapping, TV film still rolling. The photographer who’d jumped from the moving car stepped up onto the floorboard of his passenger side door to shoot down at Mom. The driver of the car slipped out his door, pale-faced and shaking.

  I saw all of this in a blur. My heart nearly burst from my chest as I fought toward Mom.

  Mick and a policeman were kneeling on either side of Mom when I reached her. She was crumpled on her left side, moaning. Another officer posted himself nearby, talking into the radio clipped to his uniform. Calling for an ambulance.

  Sobs choked my throat. I flung myself beside Mom, trying to call her name. No sound would come.

  “Stand back, Shaley. She needs air.” Mick nudged me away. He leaned down. “Rayne? Can you hear me?”

  Mom groaned. Her head moved in a tiny nod.

  “Okay, good. Help’s on its way.” He patted her shoulder. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

  Mom’s eyes fluttered open, then shut. Pain creased her face.

  I pressed both hands to my mouth. Every bone in my body shook. This can’t be happening, I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Get back!” a policeman shouted.

  Kneeling there, hard pavement against my knees, I smelled a dank mixture of dirt and gasoline. My stomach churned.

  This isn’t happening …

  I started to fall over. Wendell appeared out of nowhere and caught me.

  “It’s okay, Shaley, she’s going to be okay.”

  “No, she’s n-not. She got hit.”

  “But she’s talking, that’s a good sign. And the ambulance is coming.”

  Weakly, I leaned against him, head lolling back. My blurry gaze rose to the crowd of people. They looked on like vultures. Even now—even when a paparazzo had pushed my mom into a car, and another paparazzo had hit her—even now every one of the cameras was rolling, clicking, recording.

  White-hot rage shot through my veins. I yanked out of Wendell’s arms and shot to my unsteady feet. “Stop it!” My hands waved like a maniac’s, my voice so screechy I didn’t even recognize it. “Stop it, all of you!”

  Dozens of cameras turned on me, clicking, filming.

  “Shaley, whoa.” Wendell pinned my hands to my sides.

  I fought wildly. “No, no, let me at them! Where’s Cat? Where is he?”

  A female officer moved in. “We should get her inside.”

  “No! I’m not leaving my mom!”

  “Shaley.” Wendell’s voice sharpened. “Stop it now. You want to help your mom? This isn’t helping.”

  Just like that, all the anger drained out of me. I slumped against Wendell and sobbed.

  Kim and Morrey rushed to us, followed by Stan, Rich, and Ross. Kim threw herself down by Mom. “Rayne, honey.” She took Mom’s hand, leaning over her and rocking. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

  More police cars were pulling up. I yelled at the closest officers to find Cat. One of them had already pulled aside the driver who’d hit Mom. But Cat was nowhere to be seen.

  Sirens in the distance. The ambulance was coming.

  “Move back!” Policemen struggled to clear the lanes for the approaching ambulance. It pulled into the entrance drive and carved through the crowd to a stop some twenty feet behind us. The siren’s keen fell away like the last wail of a wounded animal.

  Medics spilled out and pushed us back from Mom. Carefully, they turned her on her back. Her chest hurt, she said. Her breaths came short,
wheezing. Her face was bruised, a bump bulging on her forehead. One hand hung limp.

  The medics loaded her onto a gurney.

  “I’m going with her!” I cried.

  “No, Shaley.” Mick pulled me back. “We’ll go in a limo.”

  “No—”

  “It’s okay.” A young female medic held out a hand to me. “There’s room for you, Shaley.”

  She knows my name, I thought stupidly.

  Of course. Everybody knows my name.

  Feeling numb, I climbed inside. My mind went fuzzy, like I wasn’t really there. Maybe I was asleep—in my own bed at home—and this was just a terrible, horrible nightmare …

  Sitting next to Mom, swaying as the ambulance rounded corners, I held her right hand—the one that wasn’t hurt. The siren was so loud. Everything seemed too big, too noisy, too bright.

  “Mom, I’m here. I love you.” I squeezed her hand.

  Feebly, she squeezed back.

  Did the ride take forever or mere minutes? I didn’t know. My brain was filled with such panic over Mom, I had no sense of time. The next thing I remember, the ambulance was surging to a stop.

  The back doors flew open. Medics hurried about, pulling Mom out, rushing her through the emergency entrance. I ran after them on weak legs. The first limo slid to a halt behind us. I heard Kim call my name as the doors closed behind me. I didn’t stop.

  Nurses rushed to meet the gurney, exchanging information with the medics as they wheeled Mom across the floor, around a corner. I moved alongside like a zombie, not wanting Mom out of my sight.

  We reached a room. The gurney swept inside. I started to follow.

  A nurse stepped in front of me. “You need to wait out there.”

  “No, I—”

  “Yes.” She gave me a firm look. “No farther. Stay in the waiting room. We’ll come out and give you an update as soon as we can.”

  The door closed in my face.

  5

  Alone and shaking, I wandered around the corner.

  Kim hurried to me and drew me to her chest. Over her shoulder hung both my and Mom’s purses, taken from our limo. Stan, Rich, Morrey, Mick, and Wendell milled behind her, looking around with shocked expressions.