The Space Between

Blue Fairy Books § June 2009
Copyright © 2009 by
Erik
Tomblin
All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. The events, places, and characters portrayed herein are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people is completely coincidental.

Cover photograph by
Gabriela
Camerotti
Bertão

[email protected]

Printed in the United States of America

www.bluefairybooks.com

The cheers from the crowd pushed at his back and he practically stumbled into his dressing room. The second encore had been unplanned, and as Isaac Owens sat down with his guitar under a single spotlight for the last song of the last show of the tour, an expectant silence fell upon the audience like a spell. Even the occasional yell from an enthusiastic fan seemed muffled, and soon he could only hear the hum of the monitor in front of him. The beat of his heart vibrated through the body of his guitar, thrumming against his palm as it rested on the strings.

He played the song he'd written for Emily over a year ago; a song he'd only played once, just for her. He'd not even practiced it since, but after such a perfect show he was sure the crowd would allow him a mistake or two. He'd played it perfectly, however, and even when he choked up on the lyrics, the hitch in his voice seemed to work in syncopation with the song.

Isaac had felt the last of his energy slipping away as he neared the first chorus. The tour had been both exhilarating and exhausting, but the crowds and the experience itself had fueled him for the past four months. Seeing thousands of people standing and cheering your name, their faces pregnant with anticipation just to hear your songs was enough to make anyone feel as if he could move mountains. He'd almost come around to his old self, a self he'd not known for over a year.

But as he had stood behind the stage, soaking in the applause after the first encore and letting the realization that his dream had finally come true overcome him, Isaac felt that gray cloud roll back upon him from some hidden horizon. For so long he'd imagined Emily standing right there next to him at such a moment, pride beaming from her soft, brown eyes. Yet he stood alone and the joy of the moment was suddenly dull, lacking.

After the call for another song went on for ten minutes, he stepped back on the stage, waving away the rest of the band. He would do this one alone. It felt right, fitting. And as he pulled a stool from behind the drum riser, placing it under the lone spotlight, he felt exactly that: alone. Even the sweat that was rolling down his back seemed foreign, not a part of him. He sat on the stool, waited for the silence that was inevitable, and began the song not even his manager had heard.

Once he'd finished and the light faded to black, he went straight backstage. His manager was close behind, yelling over the crowd noise about the song, but Isaac shook his head and didn't look back. He knew he was probably coming off as the moody, eccentric musician he swore he'd never be, but he also knew that if he had to talk business at that moment, he was likely to lose it. And that would be worse.

He sat in the dressing room chair, examining the melancholy smile that occasionally touched his lips in the mirror. He should have known this feeling would catch up with him sooner or later. The tour had started quickly with the leap in album sales, and before he knew it, Isaac was traveling the country, headlining shows in all of the largest cities. Only a few months earlier he was playing in smaller venues, opening for bands and performers he grew up listening to.

Isaac knew he was headed down a road that always lead to guilt, so the knock at his door was somewhat of a relief, regardless of how physically and emotionally exhausted he felt. Mick Sears, his friend and attorney, entered the room with his wife and daughter.

"Hey, Mick. Who's suing me today?"

Mick's low, rolling chuckle preceded his entry into the room. "Now is that any way to greet 'He Who Keeps the Wolves at Bay?'"

"I apologize," Isaac answered, standing and waving Mick and his family into the room. "Glad you guys could make it out tonight."

"Are you kidding?" Mick answered, nodding toward his wife and daughter. "It was either that or wake up covered in honey and lying in a bed of fire ants." His wife lightly jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. The young girl just rolled her eyes at her father and then continued beaming at Isaac.

"How are you, Sandra?" Isaac asked, stepping forward to give Mick's wife a hug. He turned to the daughter, nine year-old Michelle, and gave her a peck on the forehead. "You enjoy the show?"

The young girl blushed and nodded. "You were awesome, Ike."

"It was incredible," Sandra piped in. "Especially that last song. That was beautiful, Isaac."

"Thanks," he said, and glanced back at Mick. His friend was watching him, a hint of concern in his eyes. Mick stepped forward and clapped him on the arm.

"Okay, ladies. I have to talk a little business with Ike. Maybe after that I can convince him to come grab a bite with us at the house."

"You should, Isaac. We'd love to have you." Sandra's pleasant smile couldn't camouflage her own concern.

Isaac nodded and waved to Michelle, still beaming and blushing from his kiss. Mick closed the door behind them and stepped back to stand in front of Isaac, his eyes narrowing a bit as he looked over his tired, sweaty friend.

"How are you, Ike? Really?"

Isaac smiled and shook his head, trying to shrug off his mood.

"I'm good, Mick. Really."

"You look a little beat."

"Four months on the road can do that."

Mick seemed to consider this for only a moment before brushing it off.

"You need a break."

Isaac sat back in his chair, but said nothing. Mick moved across the room to sit on the small couch.

"I'm not saying this as your attorney, but as your friend.
You need a break
."

"Come on, Mick. I'm just a little worn down."

His friend leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he put on his most serious look.

"How long have we known each other? Seven years, right?" Isaac nodded. "It's always been friends before business with us and always will be. That song tonight...well, I'm no fool. Don't get me wrong. It's probably one of your best. But I'm guessing you didn't play it for the fans, did you?"

Isaac remained silent.

"I didn't think so. Don't you see what you're doing to yourself by hanging on like that? Don't you see how beating yourself up over something you could do nothing about is affecting you?"

"And just how is it affecting me?" Isaac asked, unable to curb the bite of his words.

"I can't remember the last time I talked to the
real
Ike Owens. Even before the tour, it's been like talking to a zombie. You're still caught up in something you had no control over. And those last few songs you've written? Jesus, Ike, they're like doses of audio morphine."

The last comment stung, but he knew Mick was right. He hadn't been himself, even with the distraction of the tour. He'd only written three songs in the past year; only a fifth of what he was capable of. And those songs were more depressing than a bag full of Quaaludes.

"All I'm saying is take some time to get away from everything. When's the last time you went out and did something just for you? If you don't start thinking about yourself and stop thinking about her, then you better remember this night because you just peaked."

Isaac closed his eyes, knowing the anger he wanted to let loose was unjustified. His friend was right. Music was an easy distraction from life, but if you were the one creating it, your life came out in the songs. Guilt and depression could only enhance creativity for so long before you became redundant or stagnant.

After a moment, Isaac looked up at his good friend and nodded. He didn't want to speak just yet, not sure if he would be able to hold it together after such a display of true friendship and care. It was something he hadn't really allowed himself to feel in quite a while.

"Okay," Mick continued, his voice making an easy transition to a lighter tone. "We have some quick business to discuss. Fortunately, I think it may be relevant."

"Yeah?" Isaac was instantly curious.

"I'm not sure you're
gonna
believe this," Mick began, leaning back and resting his arms across the top of the couch. "It seems you have a secret admirer. Or did, anyway."

"Someone send another dozen roses to your office?"

"Even better. Try a few dozen acres, out in Logan County, Georgia. It's on the outskirts of a town called Holden."

Moments passed with nothing but silence between the two men. Isaac, usually very perceptive when someone was trying to pull one over on him, could detect no such intention in Mick's voice. Besides, even if it was a joke and Mick was ballsy enough to try it after the past week, it wasn't a very funny one. Isaac could easily afford a few acres in any rural area down South. He'd already bought his sister and her family twenty acres in western Tennessee, just an hour's drive from his apartment in Nashville.

"You still with me, Ike?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Did I hear you right? Someone's giving me land in Georgia?"

"Already gave, actually. It's coming out of a trust set up over ten years ago. The small firm in charge won't disclose who it's from, just that it's been held under the benefactor's instructions to give it to you now. Forty-eight acres in Holden, Georgia, complete with a house and barn. By looking at the map of the town online, I'd say you might be lucky to have some of that new-fangled indoor plumbing to boot."

Isaac wasn't sure what to say. Gifts from fans were not uncommon, but this went far beyond a box of his favorite cookies or bottle of expensive wine.

"Wait," Isaac finally spoke. "You said it was set up in a trust over ten years ago?"

"That's right," Mick affirmed. "Just over ten years ago."

Isaac fell silent again, doing a quick bit of math in his head. Ten years ago he'd been only twenty-two and just released from an extended college career. His long days were spent elbow-deep in hot, soapy water at Little Piggy's BBQ Shack in the heart of Memphis. His even longer nights were spent with his guitar in hand, strumming a few covers along with his extensive repertoire of originals, in any venue available: bars, restaurants, even street corners. It wasn't until just three years ago, after the release of his first album, that anyone outside of those Memphis streets would have known who he was.

"I guess you see the big mystery then?" Mick asked.

"It's kind of hard to miss," Isaac answered, his voice soft with wonder.

"No relatives out that way?"

"In Georgia? Not that I know of. All of my mom's family stayed in this area. My dad's clan are all up north and probably wouldn't be caught dead south of Ohio."

Isaac was about to speak again when Mick continued, ending any other possible line of questioning.

"Well, Ike, I wish I could be more help. Hell, I'd like to know a little more about it myself. Maybe I can sweet-talk one of the paralegals with their firm. Other than that, you might be able to dig up some info when you go check it out."

No response again from Isaac, who was still trying to sort through what little information he had been given.

"You're at least going down there, right? It could be exactly the break you need. Nice country air and all that. Plus, for all you know, you could be sitting on a goldmine. And I, of course, would be more than happy to handle the sale of such a nice chunk of potentially commercial land."

Mick's humor brought Isaac back around. "I'm sure you would. I guess it couldn't hurt to check it out. Can you send me an e-mail on the specifics?"

"Will do. I'll also send you a copy of the letter from Ferguson, Davis & Rainwater, and copies of the deed and plot. I'll send the keys as well, once I make a copy."

"Sounds good," Isaac agreed.

After a few more pleasantries (usually exchanged prior to Mick relaying
bad
news), Isaac walked Mick to the door, promising to catch up with him and his family for a late-night bite. He sat back down in the chair, staring out the small window into the thick, gray sky hanging over the Country Music Capital of the world. The sound of traffic and city life drifted up at him, but fell upon deaf ears. Mick's words kept replaying in his thoughts and his own questions rang along with them, eventually forcing Isaac to shake his head and come to a resolution.

He had two months before his presence would be required for any pressing business matters. As long as this backwoods town had phone lines, he couldn't think of a reason not to go and at least see the place. He could just as easily hire a realtor and sell the property without ever stepping foot in the town, but where was the fun in that? Emily would think him a-

There he went again, trying to include Emily in his life choices. Unavoidable, he knew, but he still scolded himself each time, even if his own opinion coincided with what he believed hers would have been. Getting away for a short while might help — he still lived in the same apartment they had shared for only three months. His sister had finally talked him into letting her "redecorate," thus removing any influence Emily had managed to have upon the dwelling in her short time there.

Still, he couldn't paint over the memories and ghosts that wandered around with him, slipping in and out of his thoughts like fog. A change of scenery without the hectic schedule of touring could be exactly what he needed before the music of his life became work again. If the place was as rural as Mick had alluded, then Isaac might actually have a chance to get back to his roots, get inspired by Southern life in the woods similar to the summers spent at his grandparents' place outside of Lexington so many years ago.