Thirty 6 Black Bees

   Dean had no clue about the uproar of semblances inside the rock club, and he was light years away from knowing that E’s rendezvous with the beautiful blonde stemmed from the spirits that were searching for CJ.

   Even so; Dean was no idiot, and while he couldn’t really pin-point the ominous presence in the air, something in his gut had warned him about this gig—way back, when he first saw it on the list of potential cities for the tour. The Interlude in Savannah; it just made him leery.

   He wasn’t a worrier, though; he based his decisions on logic. As the backbone of the tour he knew it best to ignore the unusual events and keep an eye on the business end of things, which meant that he had to get back to the club.

   Being from London, he wasn’t used to driving around in an oversized SUV. He left the hotel before the band, claiming he needed some extra time to maneuver the bulky vehicle. Truth was; he wanted to arrive ahead of time to get a jump-start on the merchandising. The minute the dust settled in New Orleans and he’d finished logging the sales, Dean got on the horn and ordered additional merchandise for Savannah; even borrowing some product from the Charleston drop-shipment. And to make sure the extra stock would be plastered in everyone’s face, he had another display booth brought in as well.

   The sales in New Orleans had surpassed everyone’s expectations and Dean knew he got caught with his pants down. If the crowd in Savannah happened to buy merchandise at the same furious rate, he would be well stocked this time.

   The late evening sun was sharp on Dean’s eyes when he pulled in to the parking spot. He snatched his briefcase from the passenger seat and flung the door wide open. As he leapt out of the vehicle and closed the door, he noticed the flashing lights of a squad car in the side-view mirror. He turned around to see that a small crowd had gathered around a wooden guardrail, which was all that stood between River Street and the mighty, Savannah River…eighteen-feet below. Dean walked over to the railing just as a police van pulled up next to the crowd.

   “Somethin’ happen here, mate?”

   “Just an accident. Nothing to see,” a policeman answered, scribbling in his notebook without looking up.

   Dean noticed a set of black tire-marks on the road; they ran against the flow of traffic and led straight to the edge of River Street, where they were bookmarked by broken and splintered guardrails.

   Dean patted the damaged railing. “Looks like some wanker just drove through the bloody thing.”

   “Ya’ think?” The policeman answered; again, without raising his head.

   “Dean!”

   Dean turned around to see Brandon running towards him.

   “Dean, I gotta’ talk to you! Something strange is goin’ on here. I—” Brandon stopped talking when he noticed that the policeman was eyeing them. He placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder and spun him around, away from the policeman’s view. Brandon leaned in and spoke softly. “Listen, Dean…I heard that CJ was involved in this.”

   “CJ?” Dean's head perked up. “What would CJ have to do with a automobile…crashing through the…” Dean turned to the policeman, who’d already stepped closer so he could eavesdrop on their conversation.

   “What kind of automobile was it?” Dean asked the policeman.

   “Some guy in a white limo. A witness said he had a fight with his girlfriend. Then she drove him over the edge.” The policeman chuckled as he scribbled. “Literally.”

   “Bloody hell,” Dean whispered, turning to Brandon. “CJ warned me about her…” He put his hand to his lips. “I had no idea that—”

   “Do you know the suspect?” The policeman asked, taking another step closer.

   “Suspect? Sounds like more of a victim to me, wouldn’t you say?”

   “If I had a dime.” The policeman folded his pad and tucked it behind his back. “Just what do you know?” The officer threw a wary look at Dean and then faced Brandon. “How about you? Do you know the…victim?”

   “I…I came outside afterwards,” Brandon stuttered. “Some guy told me what happened. I didn’t really...I didn't see anything.”

   “Which guy was that? Do you see him anywhere in this crowd?”

   Brandon looked around for the vendor who had told him about the accident. “I don’t see him now. He was loading up…a truck… an old green truck.” Brandon pointed to his left. “Over there. He was pissed off.”

   “What was he loading?”

   “Looked like a bunch of…of wood…I guess. Some baskets and wooden crates...I didn’t really look at his stuff. I was…” Brandon put his hands in his pockets. “I was listening more than looking.”

   The policeman saw some pieces of wood lying in the street where Brandon had just pointed. He walked over and gathered a few splinters off the ground and held them close to his face.

   “How long ago was that?” the policeman asked Brandon, as he headed back to the guardrails and held the splinters next to the busted railing. After spotting the blatant differences in the two types of wood, he threw a suspicious glance at Brandon from the corner of his eye. “I’m gonna’ need your name and a way to reach you.” He handed his business card to Brandon. “I’m Officer Travis. Do you live in Savannah?”

   “Well, Officer, I—”

   “I might need you to fill out a report.”

   “Like I was tryin' to say, I have a show in a few minutes. Can I—” Brandon’s eyes popped out of his head when he realized what he’d just said. He faced Dean with a panic-stricken stare.

   Dean’s head sprung up, his face brimming with anxiety. “Flat out! The show!” Dean grabbed Brandon by his shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “Brandon… where’s CJ?”

   “I…I don’t really know, Dean. I was told…I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard …I mean…” Brandon hooked his thumb to the left. “I think the vendor was talkin’ about CJ…but I‘m not…I can’t—”

   “Brandon!” Dean shook him. “Where? Is? CJ?”

   The policeman barged in again, interrupting their apprehension. “Is this, ‘CJ’…the man who was thrown into the river?”

   Dean slung his hands up to his face. “Queen fucking Mary, no!” Dean peeked out through his fingers. “Tell me that’s not where he is!”

   “Umm…that’s what I heard,” Brandon mumbled.

   Dean rushed to the guard railing and pointed down at the river. “In there?” He seemed horrified. Then he remembered the vendors’ cart from earlier in the day, loaded with baskets of crabs and assorted fish on ice. “Over there!” Dean pointed at the pieces of wood on the street. “I remember the wagon!” Then Dean spun around in a three-sixty and pointed towards the river again. “Creatures from there!” Dean raised his finger in the air and approached Officer Travis. “He could be the bloke in the river...no ?”

   Officer Travis leaned in towards Brandon and pointed the butt of his pencil at Dean. “All this one needs is a silver glove.”

   A blaring megaphone suddenly interrupted the three of them. The policemen in the river were calling up to the ground crew because the scuba divers needed some light. A bright spotlight suddenly lit up from high on a police van and sent a faint, white circle dancing across the surface of the water. One diver took a giant step out of the police boat, followed by another diver, who rolled backwards into the river.

   All of a sudden the river erupted from an explosion deep underwater. Big white bubbles started churning on the surface of the water, filled with river debris and small fish. Dozens of seagulls began swooping down to feast on the easy treats.

   The crowd made a collective gasp when a body emerged and started bobbing up and down some ten feet away from the river wall. The remaining diver in the boat tried to shoo the seagulls away, but the corpse sank back down before he could get a clear view.

   A head gushed up from the river just then; it was one of the divers and he was holding a shiny, silver object high in the air. He looked to be in a panic because of the way he thrashed through the water, swimming as fast as he could with just one arm. The little boat pulled up to collect the diver, who tossed the silver object into the tiny vessel before climbing on board.

   After the scuba diver had been pulled out of the water the spotlight returned to the surface of the river, but as soon as the spotlight hit the water, the small boat started bouncing around violently. The little vessel unleashed an array of snaps and popping sounds—as though an entire case of firecrackers had been set off. The scuba divers hurled out of the boat in all directions—barely dodging a wicked surge of shimmering, blue lights that whisked about and circled the cavity of the boat. The display offered the audience on the street a spectacle unlike anything they’d ever seen before.

   The ghostly streaks of light crisscrossed with the speed of a strong wind, twisting and curling and intertwining with no apparent purpose until suddenly, the thrashing lights huddled together in the front of the little boat—as a swarm of insects would do. When the rally of lights came to rest, they took the shape of a rolled up carpet or a large, blue cocoon. Then the blue figure began to slowly fade away.

   As the mysterious, blue shape vanished, Zwie began to materialize in its place, lying in a fetal position on the bottom boards of the boat. She appeared all too vulnerable as she slept like a baby…with a few dead crabs still clung to her body.

   The divers in the water couldn't see any of this transformation but Brandon and Dean had front-row seats; they’d been watching the entire episode from River Street, alongside the crowd of spectators who began taking pictures and holding their cell phones in the air—capturing videos of the phenomenon.

   Brandon began to recognize these lights; it was the peculiar, blue flash that caught his eye. He had seen that same type of light in New Orleans…when CJ had projected his so-called movie-clips onto the stage.

   He glanced at Dean…wanting to mention it, but he stopped himself because he had no idea where to begin. And this probably wasn’t the best time to engage in an open-minded conversation.

   Brandon was positive that CJ had something to do with this; he hadn’t figured out how, but he knew. In fact Brandon suddenly realized that every time he’d witnessed something odd in the past few days, CJ had an explanation for it. CJ also had a reasonable answer for the strange people on stage, in New Orleans. And come to think of it…CJ always had an excuse for not being around at certain times; like now.

   Brandon had no clue what a Hayson was, and even though he’d held one in his hands just a few hours before, he had no idea it had something to do with ghosts. But after meeting Mr. 5008 earlier in the day, and now watching Zwie appear out of thin air; he knew he was one step closer to connecting the dots. Not only had he begun to identify these bizarre occurrences, but his curiosity level had just gone up another notch.

   Zwie was starting to wake now; she slowly raised her head and glanced around with a terrified look on her face. She placed her hands on the rim of the boat and peeked over the edge. She tried to get her footing, but standing inside the boat seemed to be too awkward. She couldn’t seem to grasp the swaying motion. Zwie remained motionless, poised in an awkward bend. She clung to the outer-edge of the boat and glanced at her surroundings, trying to figure out where she had woken.

   The water bubbles had dissipated by then and the seagulls had all flown away, leaving the divers with a clear view in all directions. One diver called out to Zwie and she jerked her head around in horror—clearly frightened of the creature in the water.

   When the diver began swimming in her direction, Zwie panicked and did a few more quick head-spins. By the look on her face, she realized that she was out of her element. She clutched the side of the boat and lowered her shoulders to a hunting stance. Zwie then locked eyes with the diver and stared him down like a lion stares down its next meal.

   The divers’ arms went stiff and he stopped swimming, leaving him to coast forward until his momentum ceased. Without flailing his hands or gasping for air he began to go underwater. Zwie placed one foot on the rim of the boat but kept her eyes fixated on the sinking diver, while she slithered over the side…slow and easy.

   A diver went under to prevent his hypnotized coworker from drowning. That’s when the spectators went into a frenzy. They began shouting out gestures and barking commentaries at the divers. The uproar got Officer Travis’ attention, so he pushed his way through the crowd to get a better view, leaning over the guardrail just as Zwie slid into the river without so much as a splash.

   Another diver immediately dipped underwater to save her.

  “Why would she do that?” Brandon asked.

   Dean and Brandon watched for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the divers to bring her back up. The divers continued to surface and give each other hand signals before going underwater again. After fifteen minutes or so, the divers started removing their headgear when they emerged. None of them had pulled Zwie out of the river.

         ********************************

    Sara, Dean’s office manager, had just closed shop at Intertwine Music, in New York City, and she had just reached the curb to hail down a cab when her phone rang.
    “Sara, here.”
    “Yeah, Sara, I’m lookin’ for Intertwine Artists. That’s you…right?”
    “That’s us,” Sara replied. “Who’s calling?”
    “My name is Jonan…I work for Bruce Benjamin. I’m the big cheese; head of the Tour Management at Saymore Records.”
    Jonan is a cocky young man; who lives by the words allegro, smanioso, and spiritoso. He moves as fast as a symphonic piece of music—written entirely of thirty-second notes. His business demeanor is pushy and aggressive and while he gets the job done, he falls short when it comes to having people skills. It's been said that his personality is like alcohol on a fresh cut.
    “I wanna’ know about this tour with Dustins Dance.”
    “What is it you’re interested in, Jonan?”
    “Well, I got some reports about the stage show. I hear it’s pretty hot. Now…you have holograms… right? Is that correct? Am I right?”
    Sara had to stop and think…‘holograms’? She was clueless. “I don’t handle the mechanics of the show, Jonan. I handle more of the contracts and bookings.”
    Being a seasoned pro, Sara knew that there are times when it’s beneficial to brag about a show, while other times; it’s best to just play dumb. This is a part of the business where crumb-snatchers start stealing ideas, but turn around and sue the originator to get some media hype. Sara hasn't even seen this show, so she couldn't spill any details even if she wanted to. Still, she knew it was best to play the game.
“I’m afraid I won’t have any answers for you, Jonan. Any and all technical details about the stage-show would go through Alan. He’s the stage manager. I’ll let him know you called.”
    “Yeah; ok, so…can you put me in touch with your stage manager...tonight? What’s his name…Alan?” Jonan asked, getting pushy. “I want to know more about what I’m hearing.”
    “I’ll be glad to take your number and pass it on, Jonan, but I’m afraid that’s all I can do tonight.”
    “Great, do that. I went to your website…says they’re in Savannah right now; Charleston on the nineteenth. Am I right?”
    “I update the website often; I keep it accurate. I’ve got to run, Jonan, but I’ll hand your number over, ok?”
    “Well, let’s cut to the quick, Sara. Get my number to CJ,” he ordered. “Call him tonight. I’ll hold.”
    “If you knew CJ was on board; why the runaround, Jonan? Look...I'll get your info’ to the crew and someone will call you as soon as they can. Ok? I promise, now good—”
    “Sara, sweetie...I need you to call CJ…and I need you to call him now—tomorrow is too far away; we don't move that slow here.”
    Sara laughed. “Does your hearing work? CJ rides a loaded tour. He moves faster than the two of us combined. I’ll hand your number over to Dean Autry, Ok? If anyone—”
    “I don’t want Dean, and I don’t want Alan! I want CJ! Get my number to CJ!” Jonan barked. “You might want to look us up. Do you know who we are?”
    “Why, yes…I know just who you are,” Sara chuckled. “You’re a snippy little bottom-feeder who gets paid to torment people. I‘m hanging up now.” Sara killed the call and tossed the phone in her purse.