Elegy - Chapter 27

I was completely drained by the time I got home. After the funeral and having to hear how everyone was sorry about my mother, and then having to face the band and tell them we were going to have to cancel our upcoming shows, I honestly couldn’t deal with any other human beings today.

I waved off Mrs. Philips and Kat when I got home; just telling them I was tired and wanted some sleep. While I was tired, I wasn’t sure I could ever get to sleep again. My brain felt like it would never shut off, running through all of my worries, the fight with Dad, and the stuff that happened in jail. It was a never-ending loop of the worst week of my life.

I lay on my bed, just staring at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. I was pretty out of it, even though I was awake, and it took a while for me to realize the buzzing I was hearing was my phone. Picking it up, I saw Kent’s number.

Since Warren was at the funeral, I knew Kent knew about my parents and that the funeral had been today. Part of me didn’t want to answer. I assumed he was calling to offer condolences from the label or whatever, and I honestly couldn’t stand hearing that one more time. But it could be something else, and I’d had enough trouble with the label over the last several months, I didn’t want him thinking I was dodging his calls.

So I answered.

“Hey, Kent,” I said, trying not to sound like I was about to fall to pieces.

“Hi, Charlie. I know you’ve had quite the day, but I just got off the phone with one of your bandmates named Marco, and he had some disturbing things to tell me. Is it true that you were arrested for the murder of your parents, you’re currently on pre-trial release and you’re not going to be able to play the shows we set up for you in Philadelphia, Georgia, and Florida?”

I was honestly completely floored. Marco called him. Of course, he did. Marco would rather be proven right, that I was a liability, and let the entire record contract burn to the ground than try to find a way to make this situation work. My brain was reeling and I didn’t answer right away, causing him to repeat himself.

“Charlie, is this true?”

“Partially. I was charged with my father's death, and I do have pre-trial release restrictions that might impact some of our shows, but I’m taking care of it. The charges are bullshit.”

“But the pre-trial conditions are not, right? Are you really not allowed to leave the state or play in bars?”

“For now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re working on getting the pre-trial restrictions changed. I’m not going to end up in jail, Kent,” I said, trying to sound as confident as possible. “The DA has it out for me for personal reasons and has twisted this case to file charges. Even the local sheriff thinks it’s wrong. The DA also knows I’m a musician and that I play shows here and in other states, which is why he pushed for these specific restrictions, to further hurt me. It’s why he included both the out-of-state thing and the limitation on playing in places that serve alcohol. His case is weak, and it’s going to fall apart. We’ve already started working on motions to get him removed from the case. If I get a fair trial, this will all go away.”

“So you can’t play any shows until you go to trial?”

“No. We’re also filing for a change of pre-trial restrictions. My lawyer is confident he can get those removed, or at least get exceptions added that would allow me to still perform.”

That was the first outright lie I’d said so far, since Mr. Eaves had made it clear he wasn’t confident he could get them changed and that he was more focused on the actual charges and not my pre-trial conditions.

“Charlie, I understand you want to put a positive spin on this, but we need to know exactly what’s going on and how it’s going to affect the label and your tour schedule. Are you going to have to cancel shows or not?”

“I don’t know. I might get the conditions reversed this next week, in time for Philadelphia.”

“That means yes then. We need to give them some notice to replace you unless we want to burn our bridges with the venue permanently. We’ll rebook that show.”

“What about the tour? That’s three weeks away. How far out can we cancel?” I asked.

“We’ve already dumped money into those shows, and we’re already inside the window where we will be penalized for canceling your performances. This is going to cost us money.”

“But I might still be able to make those shows.”

“Most of the shows on that tour are smaller venues. If we stop the marketing, there’s no way we make enough to make the tour worth it.”

“What about Miami? That’s got a built-in audience, so you’re not having to spend anything to market that, and knowing later will not affect how much of an audience we have.”

“We can maybe wait a little longer on that, but not a lot longer. They need more time to fill that spot, and unlike one-off shows, the label has a relationship with the people producing that show. We can’t afford to cancel with them on short notice. I’ll give you a week from Monday, but that’s it.”

With our show a week from Monday, it seemed very unlikely Mr. Eaves would be able to do anything by then. So I was definitely kissing all of these shows goodbye, and almost certainly the Miami show too. This was a disaster. I knew it was possible, but I didn’t think it would all fall apart this fast.

“What I want to know is why you were going to wait until Monday to tell us all this. If you knew last week, you should have called us then, so we could have done something about it,” Kent said.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. In my defense, it’s been a very difficult week. After watching my father murder my mother, I was falsely arrested and spent until Wednesday in jail, where I couldn’t do anything, and as soon as I was out, I had to plan her funeral and work with my lawyer to do something about the charges. I’m not trying to say calling you wasn’t equally as important or anything. I just … it was a lot to deal with.”

“Okay. We’ll let you know what we decide on the shows,” Kent said, and abruptly hung up.

That wasn’t how I wanted the conversation to go. I was fairly certain they were going to have to cancel some shows. The Philadelphia one, at the very least, seemed impossible to make. I also knew it was going to cause me additional problems with the label. After everything my dad did last time, when he was trying to ‘manage’ my career, even though I didn’t want him to, I knew I was on thin ice.

What I hadn’t expected was getting no signal from Kent regarding where things were now. Clearly, he was pissed. That much wasn’t hard to pick up. What wasn’t clear was how I stood with the label now or what canceling these shows was going to do to my contract long term. Limbo was the last place I wanted to be.

After ending the call with Kent, I went back to staring at the ceiling for a while. Everything was falling apart, and I really didn’t know what to do anymore. What I really wanted to do was talk to someone. I didn’t want to talk to Kat or Hanna, not because I thought they wouldn’t be supportive, but because they were both still on the fence about canceling their plans so that they could be with me. I didn’t think I could mask how despondent I felt at the moment, and I was worried they might take that to mean that I couldn’t handle this on my own and go back to putting their lives on hold again. That was the last thing I wanted.

Then I started to think about Sydney. I really did want to talk to her. She’d clearly avoided me at the funeral, but it still wasn’t clear to me if that was her father steering her away from me or if she was doing it herself. We’d been in such a good place on my birthday, before everything happened, I really needed her.

I still vacillated whether I should call her or not, but eventually decided to give it a try. I just wanted to hear her voice again.

I dialed her number, and her father answered, which surprised me since I’d called her cell phone. For a second, I almost hung up, but I knew he could see on the screen that it was me.

“I was trying to get a hold of Sydney,” I said, although that was probably pretty obvious.

“She’s not going to talk to you, Charlie,” he said coldly.

“Can she tell me that? If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I won’t bother her again, but I’d like to at least hear it from her.”

“No, she can’t. Charlie, I’m trying to be patient with you because I know you have a lot going on, but I was serious when I said I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to see her anymore. You have enough going on right now, just leave this alone and focus on that.”

“But that’s exactly why …” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“Charlie, I’m serious. Stop calling her. I’m asking you nicely for the last time,” he said, and then hung up.

I almost dialed back but stopped myself, primarily because what would be the point? He had made himself clear many times about what he thought about the two of us dating, and if he was holding onto her phone, then there was no way I was going to talk to her that way. I also had to consider that I needed him to work with Mr. Eaves if I was going to get out from under these charges. He was probably the biggest piece of our defense right now, so annoying him was just going to make everything harder.

Unfortunately, that also didn’t tell me what Sydney really wanted, so for the second phone call in a row, I was left without any kind of resolution.

***

Monday, I finally went back to school. I’d only missed a week, but it felt like I’d been away for years. Everything felt kind of foreign and different. Not that I particularly loved school, but I really just wanted some semblance of normalcy back in my life.

The front steps and entry hall were packed as always, with kids talking and laughing, probably about whatever they’d gotten up to over the weekend. I didn’t see any of my friends, but that wasn’t unusual. My circle was pretty small, and I usually only saw one or two of them when we weren’t at lunch. Kat wasn’t even with me. Her coach had her getting to the pool early, before school started, to get some additional workouts in. We were only a few months away from trials, so they’d started kicking it into high gear.

I’ll admit, the part with none of my friends being around was also my fault. I could have called any of them over the weekend, but it had basically been one hit after another, to the point where I just didn’t have the energy for it.

Chef had come by in the afternoon, and we’d done some tai chi, which he insisted I start learning so I could do it by myself as a form of moving meditation. I’d mentioned to him that I was having trouble meditating on my own and getting my mind to focus, and he offered it as an alternative. Since I had movements to do, and they could always be done better, it gave my brain something to focus on, which actually helped in clearing it.

At first, I thought it was a little boring compared to my normal workouts with him, but once I started, I actually found it helpful. I’d done it again when I got up in the morning, and it really did help me start my day in a better frame of mind. Of course, that was in the safety of Hanna’s house.

I ignored the eyes that followed me and the conversations that seemed to quiet down as I passed by and headed for my locker. This I’d expected. Wellsville was a small place, and what happened with my parents was a once-in-a-generation thing, so I assumed I’d be the topic of gossip, or at least curiosity.

I ignored it the best I could and tried to go about my day, hoping things would settle down eventually.

I’d just gotten my locker open when Officer Peck, our school resource officer, appeared next to me. I was on alert considering that every time I’d dealt with him had been because of whatever new obstacle Mr. Packer had decided to try and place in my way.

“Yes?” I said, trying to be as friendly and non-confrontational as possible.

He was a police officer, and I didn’t know how far a conversation with him would have to go to be considered ‘contact with the police,’ which was one of the things I had to avoid to keep from breaking the terms of my pretrial release. For a second, I wondered if Mr. Packer had sent him to talk to me just so I did violate my terms, but that seemed unlikely. There had been wording in there that made it only count if it was ‘negative’ contact and not something required during the normal course of my day. I assumed this counted as the latter.

“I need you to collect the things from your locker and come with me,” he said.

“Uhh, okay.”

I pulled the textbooks I needed for the day, put them in my backpack, and was about to close it when he said, “No. I need you to take everything from your locker.”

Now I was nervous. I couldn’t think of any reason they might need me to empty my locker that didn’t involve me getting expelled. Considering I’d been back on school grounds for all of ten minutes, it seemed impossible that I’d actually broken any rules already.

I didn’t argue, though, still conscious of the ‘no negative contact’ thing, and just shoved everything else from my locker into my backpack and slammed the locker closed. Mr. Packer was waiting when I got to the office, he had a smug expression on his face that told me what was about to happen. He waved for me to follow him, a bounce in his step. He was probably savoring this.

I sat in one of the chairs in his office while he went around the desk. He was still smiling, like this was the best day of his life. When he started to speak, he was trying for the serious, official tone he liked to use, but he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding how giddy he was that he was finally getting rid of me.

“Mr. Nelson,” he started. “Due to recent events, the faculty and I have decided that, for the safety and well-being of the other students, you are not going to be allowed to attend classes here any longer until your legal issues are dealt with. You are to consider yourself suspended, starting immediately.”

“Suspended? Why? I haven’t violated any school policies, and I haven’t been convicted of any crimes. Hell, even if I had, that shouldn’t keep me from attending classes here, especially if they didn’t occur in school. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“I didn’t bring you in here to debate your suspension. We have reviewed your suspension with our lawyers, and they assure us that we are taking the correct legal action with a student like you. While you’re correct, you haven’t broken any school rules recently, we are allowed to remove students who pose an imminent threat to the student body or who create an unsafe environment for other students. A student arrested for the violent murder of his own parents and a long history of violence with other students is clearly a safety risk for the student body and puts you well into that category. In all actuality, the suspension itself is just temporary while we go through channels for approval to expel you from this school and the school district entirely.”

“I haven’t been convicted of anything,” I argued. “I cannot be punished by the district for something that I allegedly did. What about the whole ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing?”

“School is not a court of law, and your guilt or innocence doesn’t matter, just the potential for the danger you pose. Your objection is noted and dismissed, Mr. Nelson,” he said smugly. “This suspension is effective immediately. When we finish here, you are to leave the school grounds at once, and you are not allowed to return unless specifically invited by the administration or district, or until your suspension is lifted. You are also banned from attending any school events, even as a spectator. You will be considered to be trespassing if we find you on school grounds, and we will have you arrested. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear Mr. Campbell got his money’s worth,” I said.

I don’t think he expected me to know about that, and for a split second his facade slipped as he tried to determine how much I knew. I guess he figured I was just guessing because the smug mask returned, and he made a shooing gesture at me.

“We’re finished. Please leave, Mr. Nelson.”

I stormed out of Mr. Packer’s office and down the hall, shoving past the other students, which really wasn’t like me, but I was just so angry. All I could think about was his stupid, smug face and how much he was enjoying this. He’d been trying to get rid of me for so long and now he’d finally won.

The second I was out the front doors, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Mr. Eaves’ office, hoping he might be able to do something to stop this. Of course, with my luck lately, his secretary answered instead, letting me know he was in court at the moment. She promised he’d call me back as soon as he was finished, but who knew how long that might be.

For a minute, I just stood there, staring at the parking lot in front of me and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do now. I’d been so ready to get back to some semblance of normal that I hadn’t really considered this might happen. I should have, after everything Mr. Packer and Mr. Campbell had already put me through, but I’d been stupidly hopeful.

Defeated, I climbed into my car, tossing my backpack into the passenger seat. I turned the key in the ignition, but then just sat there with my hands on the wheel, overcome with a feeling of total helplessness. My whole world felt like it was collapsing around me, one piece at a time, and I had no idea how to stop it or put it back together.