Page 7 of Echoes of a Muted Song

I’d get him for that.

Just as soon as I figured out a way that wouldn’t involve being so severely outmatched it would take weeks to live this defeat down. Now that he’d reminded me that he played as hard off the stage as he did on it, I was eager to strap in for the wild ride ahead.

Chapter 5

(Johnny)

I cast a furtive glance at the door, willing it to stay closed until after I’d finished touching bases with my attorney. It was bad enough not being able to go down to the restaurant to sit across from Draven at one of those candlelit tables, but I couldn’t deny that he was right about the potential of being recognized. We’d already had it happen in the hot tub, after we’d pruned ourselves in the pool and climbed out shivering and desperate for a way to warm up. The couple had been nice enough, though and only fanned out for about a minute after dropping into the hot tub across from us. Too bad we both knew from experience that things didn’t always go that way, so we’d lingered long enough to get warm and not seem rude, then we’d headed in to dress, walking past the packed restaurant as our stomachs growled, a reminder that we hadn’t had anything to eat since we’d parted ways withthe rest of our bandmates at Rocktoberfest.

Since I’d stayed behind in the room, I’d only bothered pulling on a pair of shorts after a brief rinse to wash the chlorine off. Bored, I’d sprawled across the bed, fully intending to lose myself in someCall of Dutyonly to discover that I’d missed three calls from my lawyer since we’d left the room, and each had been punctuated by a message informing me that we needed to talk.

That couldn’t be good.

“Oh good, you got my messages, I was beginning to worry,” Mr. Sousa declared when he picked up the phone.

“Yeah, well, now you’ve got me worried, so what’s going on?”

My heart was hammering in my ears as I waited for the answer, knowing I was going to hate whatever it was. It was after ten on the east coast, which meant that whatever this was, it had unfolded after business hours had concluded for the day.

Shit, that was gonna fuckin’ cost me and this whole mess was costing enough as it was. I was gonna wind up having to book myself for children’s birthday parties if we couldn’t get some shows organized soon. My bank account was looking that bad already.

“Stephannie McCall passed away tonight after suffering a hemorrhagic stroke as a result of intracranial hypertension following the head injury she received in the accident,” Mr. Sousaexplained. “You are now facing two charges of vehicular manslaughter instead of one.”

For a moment I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t even think about breathing, all I could think about was the furious grandmother of the three children who’d now lost a second parent and how she’d vowed to make sure that I rotted behind bars for all eternity for killing her son-in-law. She’d done everything in her power to try and get the judge to deny me bail while we waited for the trial, including speaking to countless reporters, even ones from the dirt rags, claiming I was being given special treatment. I’d surrendered my passport, which helped, as did not having property anywhere else outside of the apartment building I owned in the city I’d grown up in, and I only had that because I’d inherited it from my grandparents.

She’d organized protests outside of the courthouse, blasted my address on social media resulting in several unpleasant encounters with lurkers until I’d started going out the back way and hopping the fence into a neighbor’s yard. Fortunately for me, they’d known me forever and didn’t believe for one minute that I’d caused that wreck, which I hadn’t. I just wished I could prove it. Sadly, if I’d actually been on my phone and driving distracted the way she and her lawyers insisted, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, because I’d have video footage of what happened. Footage they’d accused meof scrubbing from my phone before handing it over to investigators when they’d requested it. I hadn’t even forced them to get a subpoena for it. Right from the very beginning I’d cooperated fully, not that they’d cared when faced with a grieving family and three fatherless kids.

“Johnny, did you hear me?” Mr. Sousa asked, his voice sounding distant, like it was fading in and out.

“Y-yeah,” I stammered, trying to clear the spots from my vision. “I heard you, now what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do unless more evidence turns up,” Mr. Sousa explained. “As I’ve mentioned before, putting Mr. umm, Hellcat on the stand isn’t an option I’m in favor of.”

“It’s Halketts, and Rebel was the only other one there that night.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Mr. Sousa explained. “But given his condition at the time, I don’t see where his presence can work in your favor.”

“Maybe because it was his car and the only reason I was driving it was because I was the one who was sober,” I growled. “Between that and the toxicology report you can at least show proof that there was no recklessness going on that night. I was just trying to get my buddy home when some maniac came whipping around me and went lane hopping like he was playingGrand Theft Auto.”

“Unfortunately, the lack of evidence provingyour claim that there was another vehicle involved that night has yet to be substantiated due to the extensive fire damage done to Mr. and Mrs. McCall’s vehicle. The only statements we have remotely collaborating your story are flimsy at best, considering Mr. Halketts condition at the time of the accident and the head injury suffered by Mrs. McCall who couldn’t be certain that there were two pairs of headlights reflected in the passenger’s side mirror or if the image was distorted due to the rain that had collected on the glass.”

“And because I’m the idiot who stuck around after the accident, the whole mess falls on me when we both got run off the road by the same asshole that night,” I growled. “And therewasanother vehicle, besides the one that ran the McCall’s SUV off the road. I just wish the fucker in the green van would come forward and admit to what they saw. They were right there, like two car lengths behind me. The asshole driving like a pinball hell bent on destruction had to have cut them off, too. I don’t see how they can keep quiet about it with how publicized the incident has been.”

“As I told you right from the beginning, you may need to offer a reward in order to get someone to come forward.”

“Why?” I snapped, springing up from the bed to pace and shove my fingers through my hair until it was sticking up everywhere. “I shouldn’thave to pay for the truth. And what if I do offer a reward? What’s to stop that Doolings lady from claiming that it was a bribe to try and get someone to lie for me? It seems like I’m damned no matter what I do at this point.”

“Then you have nothing to lose by offering the reward. If it is an issue of finances, then it might be time to liquidate what assets you have in the hopes of having a future after this trial is over.”

“What assets? My apartment? I inherited the building and there is a clause that states that it cannot be passed outside of the family. I sing, I don’t have a bunch of expensive instruments I can sell and in case you missed all of the articles Mrs. Doolings printed and turned over to her lawyer, I’ve got a bit of a party boy reputation, which means I wasn’t exactly shoving money in the bank as it rolled in. If I hadn’t just played Rocktoberfest I’d be worried about paying you right now, so where am I supposed to get reward money from even if I was willing to offer one, which I’m not?”

“I wish I had another solution to suggest, but I’m afraid that it looks like we will be stepping into the courtroom with very little in the way of options outside of the plea deal you previously turned down. In light of recent circumstances, I see little chance of that going back on the table.”

“Good, because I’m still not willing to admit to something that I didn’t do, even with the promise of less time behind bars,” I snapped. “Ididn’t cause that accident.”

“And I believe you, wholeheartedly,” Mr. Sousa declared. “But the judge and those jurors aren’t going to care what I believe, they are only interested in what I can prove, and right now, all I can prove is that you were there that night and attempted to render aid to the victims after the accident. While that might help you with sentencing, it can just as easily work against you because of your refusal to admit guilt and accept responsibility for what happened. That is, unfortunately, the way the legal system works.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks. No wonder innocent people rot in jail or flee the country, they know no one cares about the truth, just about punishing someone for what happened so they can make themselves feel better about having done something. Maybe it’s time that I took to social media and then sat down and contacted some of the reporters who first reached out to me. There’s no reason for me to keep sayingno commentwhile that Doolings lady spins the narrative however she wants.”

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