Angels on Sunset Boulevard (16 page)

“So he booked,” Nick said. “The night of the Viper.”

“Yeah. I guess. I don't know what happened. I felt bad. Maybe I was too harsh on him. It's why I kept the show going—I was trying to tell him that wherever he is, it's okay. I forgive him. He can come back; it'll be all right. I'm not angry. Whatever happens … I mean, it's not like it's so bad to sing someone else's songs, right? That Jeff Buckley song he always played on his show—‘Hallelujah'? Buckley didn't write it. It's a
cover. Johnny never even knew that. He thought that song was so great, I didn't have the heart to tell him.”

“Taj.”

“Yeah?”

“What about the postcard?”

“I have no idea who sent you the postcard, or why.”

She was lying. He had found other things in the notebook. He'd ripped them out before showing her. Pages and pages of notes: “Wish List Requirements”; “Angel-X?”; “Angels' Practice: a Manifesto.” Odd scribbles of pronouncements—“Allegiance is required”; “Membership is final”—and weird recipes, as well as notes that looked like incantations, and rules. “Goddess Worship.” “Scheduling.” “Phenomena.” “Experiments.” None of it made any sense. And if it was her notebook, were they her notes, too?

She isn't who you think she is.

Nick drove off the parking lot and into traffic. “This is fine for me, thanks,” Taj said when they reached the fringes of West Hollywood. “I can skate home from here.” She hopped out of the car and shouldered her backpack and skateboard.

“Sure?”

“Yeah, I feel like being outside anyway.” She
paused. “Hey, Johnny was a good guy. He didn't do anything wrong, you know? He just wanted to be a star. Don't think too badly of him, okay?” she asked. She probably meant,
Don't think too badly of me.

IT HAD BEEN A RELIEF TO FINALLY ADMIT THEIR
secret to someone else. She'd been holding that information inside for so long, she hardly believed it was true. Maybe she was just dreaming it; maybe Johnny had written all those songs. But seeing her old composition notebook again brought it all back to her.

All those nights sitting alone, listening, writing, dreaming, doodling … the words coming out of a dark secret place.

She hoped Nick wouldn't judge Johnny too harshly. They had only been doing what seemed best, for both of them. Johnny had wanted it so much, and she had loved him so much she wanted him to get everything he wanted.

The way it started had been so innocent. She had shown him her lyrics, and he'd played a few chords on the guitar. She'd suggested different ones, ones that worked better.

Then they'd recorded a few songs with his computer. Scratchy, Velvet Undergound-type lo-fi technology. It sounded awful, really, but they'd put it up on the site, under the name Johnny Silver. Johnny had posed for it, and they'd made up the whole background for him: the homeschooled rumor, the weird fetishes—they'd made him up. Johnny Silver didn't exist, really. He was their creation. It was a costume, like the skinny suits Johnny wore. Although the hair and the eyes were real enough.

They'd tried it first with the MiSTakes, but the four-way group didn't catch on like Johnny Silver did.

They'd never meant for it to get this far. But Sutton, he'd forced them—no, Taj thought, they'd been willing accomplices. Sutton knew everything. That Taj wrote the songs and Johnny sang them. Knew their secret all along.

And he'd shown them the workings of TAP. Thank God Nick hadn't found all the other stuff that was in there. The stuff they'd been working on. She had to tell Sutton it was over; they had to stop it now. They'd gone too far. The missing kids. Johnny's disappearance. It was getting way too freaky. That's not
what she had wanted when she'd volunteered to help with the project.

But the roller coaster had already taken off, and she was strapped in her seat. She only hoped she could get off before it plunged over the cliff.

THE CALL CAME WHEN NICK LEAST EXPECTED IT. THE
conversation with Taj was still bothering him. He was wondering if he should confront her with the other things he'd found. His head was swimming. He didn't know what to think. But if she was so involved with Johnny, what was her relationship to TAP? Wasn't TAP just a front to sell Johnny's records, then? What was her relationship to Sutton? And what did a made-up rock star have to do with those weird Friday night parties in the back room? How did it all tie in together? And the wish list rule—what was that all about? All these questions buzzed in his brain.

The voice on the phone was calm. “Is this Mr. Nick Huntington?”

“Yes.”

“We've got your sister here. Says she wants to come home.”

Fish was in the hospital in Altadena, a half hour away from the city in the San Gabriel Valley. How had she ended up there? When Nick arrived, he was shocked to see how pale she looked, and how thin. The hospital explained that someone had dropped her off there that morning, leaving without identifying themselves. They'd found his number on her cell phone.

David and Evelyn were flying home. “Of course she's fine,” they said. Even the fact that their daughter had been found in a hospital didn't shake them from their belief that this was just an elaborate prank she had pulled to get attention.

“What happened?” Nick asked. “Have you been here all this time?”

“I don't remember. I blacked out.”

“You've been gone for two weeks.”

“God, really?” Fish asked.

“Yeah.”

“That's so weird.”

“Fish …”

“What?”

“You sure you don't remember anything?”

“No. Wait. Yeah. Maybe. I remember being home sometimes. But then I would wake up and I would be somewhere else. I'm confused,” she said. So she had been home. She had been the one stealing.

Fish began sobbing quietly. “I don't know what's happened. My mind is all blank. I'm trying to remember, but I can't, and I'm scared, Nick. What's happened to me?”

“Do you remember something about the back room? Something about a drink? It's red. It makes you feel … dreamy, sleepy,” Nick said.

Fish's eyes lit up. “TAP … I remember that. I took that drink and then, I don't know … nothing.”

The light went out of her eyes suddenly. Nick was concerned. The loud little stepsister he'd known was nowhere in that bed. Fish was a shell of her former self, almost as if she'd been drained—literally—of her entire personality. Sucked dry and spit out.

“Leave me alone, Nick,” Fish said, turning her back to the wall.

The drug. The angel factor. He had to find out what was in it. Had to find out what it was really doing to kids.

IT WAS GOING TO BE THE BREAKTHROUGH
performance of a lifetime. Johnny Silver was back! He'd been gone for a while, but he'd returned. He was playing at the Hollywood Bowl, and Taj wouldn't miss it for the world, even if she knew that that wasn't Johnny up there with his guitar.

First she had to see Sutton. This had gone on long enough. She didn't want any part of it anymore. And she wanted to know where Johnny was. Wanted to make sure he was really okay. Sutton had been kind enough to send her several tickets and backstage passes.

There was the usual mad chaos backstage, and Taj found him conferring with the stage director on lighting issues.

“You're really going through with this,” she said.

“Trust me, it's not how I planned it. I'd always wanted Johnny to come back himself, but he's forced me to find an alternative.”

“Where is he, Sutton? I know you know. Where have you been hiding him?”

“Like I told you the other day, he's gone, Taj. He doesn't want anything to do with TAP anymore.”

“So he just left? He's just poof—disappeared again?”

“I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. You know Johnny. He can take care of himself.”

“Well, that's it for me. I'm getting out too,” Taj said.

“Out? What do you mean, out? We haven't even begun yet,” Sutton said. “And baby, I don't think you have much of a choice. You knew what was in TAP You knew what was required. Plus, you knew what would happen if you really tried to get out.”

He was right. She'd known all along. She had been the one to suggest they play Johnny's songs in the back room. She'd been the one who'd discovered Johnny, really Who'd created the myth around him. And there was the angel factor. She'd been the one who had discovered how to make it, had suggested mixing it with Kool-Aid, giving it to kids in the back room at the parties.

“I don't care—I'm getting out. Or at the very least
I'm taking the songs. They're mine. I wrote them. I own them.”

“Wrong again, Taj. Did you ever see that little disclaimer on the page? ‘All contents on the TAP.com website are owned by TAP.com. Copyright TAP.com. No reproduction without permission from TAP.com.' Everything anyone puts up on the site is owned by TAP and by Werner Music. It's the same with any website—Amazon owns the reviews people write. Think about that next time you put something up on the Web.”

Taj frowned. She hadn't figured that. “Fine. You own the songs. I can write others. But what I need to know is why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you let the gifting get out of hand?”

Sutton shrugged. “Why not? Why not see how far it could go? Besides, you know kids. They want more and more. They want stuff. They want friends. They want to be famous. They want to feel good. We provide all this. You and me, Taj.

“We've—if you'll forgive the pun—really tapped into something here. The gossip—that was your brilliant idea, about controlling behavior. The wish lists. Creating a desire. Keeping the cows dumb. Keeping everyone content. Distracting them. So that they don't see what's really out there.”

“It was only supposed to be an experiment, a prank, nothing real,” Taj said. “Nothing that would affect anything in the real world.”

“It's very real, Taj. You know as well as I do.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You sent Nick that postcard, didn't you?” she said.

“Nick.” He grimaced. “You should stay clear of that guy. He's never going to get it. He's a nonbeliever. Lots of bad energy.”

“You wanted him to hate me,” Taj said softly. “Maybe he already does. Did you know his friend is missing now too?”

“Oh, that kid. Yeah. We gave him a little scare. Told him to stop hacking into systems he shouldn't be concerned about. He's all right. I think you'll find him much chastened.”

“Where are those missing kids, Sutton? What happened to them?”

“Most of them should be waking up now. It's a sad side effect of the drug. The angel factor isn't quite stable yet—it causes an allergic reaction in some. A pity.”

“Where's Nick's sister?”

“She woke up. She's home. They're all home
now. You see? Like I told you, there's been no harm. And hopefully she's learned her lesson. That's what happens when you get behind. When you try to leave.”

“Fish was trying to get out?”

“She said she couldn't afford it anymore. But that's irrelevant. It's not part of the rules. Just because you can't score doesn't mean you can stop playing the game. Remember that, Taj. Remember what you promised.”

“You're sick. And this cult you've created—”

“'Cult' is a strong word, Taj. You say cult; I say gathering of like minds.”

“You're using the Web, and Johnny, as bait. He brought more people into TAP than anyone else. You used him to recruit kids.”

“Oh, no—they came to us. But yes. So useful, your creation. Johnny Silver.”

“Why?”

“Because every cult needs a messiah, Taj. And rock stars are perfect for it. I had thought Johnny was special. I had bought into it just as hard as anyone. It was a revelation when you told me the truth. Then I saw all the possibilities.”

“You're crazy.”

“Like I told you at the hotel, I had thought
Johnny would be the one to take TAP to the next level, but he was only a vessel, able to receive and send, but not able to create. But you, Taj …”

“Me?”

“Those songs you wrote. Those ideas you had. You're a natural. Don't deny it. And besides, it's too late now.”

“What's it all about, Sutton?” Taj sighed. He was right. It was too late. She'd signed her name in blood. She'd made the pact. They all had.

“The usual story.” Sutton shrugged. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Isn't that what every teen wants? And fame. Yes. Fame is a new thing now. Did you know that sixty percent of America's teenagers believe they will become famous? For no reason at all. Not talent, certainly. But they believe it. And they put up their TAP pages and they wait for the call to come in. For almost all of them, the call will never come, but in the meantime, there's TAP”