Page 45 of The Reaper
“I hope you don’t take what happened back then personally,” he stated. “You see, that chapel holds a special place in my heart. Years ago, my mother was a patient at the asylum. When I used to visit her as a boy with my father, we’d sit in that chapel and pray for her recovery. It was where I found my faith. It set me on the road that led me to my calling with the church. I would’ve hated to see it destroyed or desecrated in any way.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel some compassion for the guy. He must’ve had to deal with some shit too when he was growing up.
But then he added, “I’d really love to come and see it sometime. Maybe we can arrange that?”
He glanced between Leah May and me, and I knew she was thinking the same thing that I was.
Over my dead body.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” I replied, knowing that would be the last thing to ever happen. I glanced down at Leah and asked, “I have the car parked outside. Can I take you home?” Then I gestured to her dad. “Unless, of course, you have other plans.”
“No,” they both answered, and Leah gave a little laugh.
“You go on ahead and have fun. I’ll see you when you get home, love.” Father Johnson gave Leah one last kiss on her head and then said his goodbyes to me. “It was nice to meet you, Devon. Look after my girl, won’t you?”
“Always,” I replied.
ChapterTwenty
LEAH MAY
Iheld Devon’s hand as we left the venue and all the way to his car that was parked around the corner. I didn’t want to let it go, but he opened the passenger door for me and gestured for me to get in first. So, reluctantly, I dropped his hand and climbed into the car. I’d left my guitar behind with my dad for him to bring home, and I suddenly felt self-conscious and unsure about what to do with my hands as he got in beside me and started the engine.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching over to squeeze my knee before focusing his attention on pulling out into the oncoming traffic.
“Yeah, I’m still buzzing. I can’t believe you came.”
He smiled and gave my leg another squeeze.
“I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You owned that stage.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. It wasn’t that I was trying to keep it a secret, I just wasn’t sure if it was something you’d be interested in.” I knew I was rambling but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Anything you do is something I’d be interested in.” He turned to look at me and gave me a warm smile before turning back to focus on the road ahead.
I smiled too, but deep down, I felt a twinge of unease. I knew something had gone on between Devon and Niall back at the town hall. Niall could be an overconfident ass at times, and I guessed he’d rubbed Devon up the wrong way. Knowing that might’ve been the case, I started to witter on to avoid overthinking and worrying about something I couldn’t change.
“Did you know that Thom Yorke wrote the song Creep because he really liked someone but he didn’t feel good enough?” I was going to say that it was someone he loved, but I felt a bit weird using that word in the car. I don’t know why, but liked came easier. “He originally recorded it as an acoustic song back in nineteen-eighty-seven when he was studying at Exeter University. He hadn’t even formed the band Radiohead back then.”
“Cool. I think he’d like your version,” Devon said, navigating his way around a slow driver and letting me ramble on.
“The guitar blast, the one you hear on the version they released for radio, that was all John Greenwood. That was his contribution because he thought the song sounded weak and needed a stronger vibe. I guess Niall thought the same about my version,” I joked, giving a hollow laugh that I didn’t fully mean.
“Niall is an asshole,” Devon spat, and I fought down the butterflies that fluttered inside me as he spoke passionately about something I’d felt strongly about too. I didn’t want to lose the emotions of the song, but Niall had said people wanted the theatrics and excitement that’d come from his electric guitar. I’d disagreed, but my opinion hadn’t been loud enough to make a difference. I needed to rectify that. I should’ve stuck to my guns and kept things the way I wanted them.
“In the original” ––I kept going, my brain in overdrive and my mouth working overtime to catch up––“they sung,‘You’re so fucking special,’but they felt like they had to rerecord it to make it consumer friendly. I sang their cleaner version tonight because I didn’t want to upset my dad, but I agree with Thom, ditching the swear word made the song lose its anger. I like that it’s an angry song, you shouldn’t have to alter your art to please others.” I knew I was contradicting myself. I’d compromised my art in the same way, but I hadn’t liked doing it.
“I totally agree,” Devon said. “You don’t need to water anything down or change your art to suit anyone; your dad, Niall…”
He got me. More than anyone else I’d ever met, Devon got me. I loved that about him.
“And did you know that Thom Yorke received fan mail from murderers who wrote to him saying they could relate to the lyrics of the song? Well, so could I. So what does that say about me?”
Devon laughed, a kind, warm laugh. He wasn’t mocking me; he agreed with me.
“No, I didn’t know that. And it tells me you have empathy for people in all walks of life.” He rubbed his chin and asked, “Leah, is there anything you don’t know? Because I swear it’s like sitting next to the Encyclopaedia Britannica whenever I’m with you.”
I chuckled, he was right. I did have a thing for pointless knowledge. If I was working on something, I had to research and find out everything I could about it. I’d always been that way.
