Owned: An Alpha Anthology Part 55

Everybody is silent.

Jet's dead.

He swallowed a bottle of thirty Valium, washed them down with a bottle of Grey Goose and then just in case that didn't work, he cut his wrists. As the Valium sent him off to a sleep that he'll never wake up from, he'd bled out around a quarter of the blood in his body until his heart just stopped. That's what the forensic and paramedic teams are a.s.suming, but they won't know for sure until an autopsy is done. I'm amazed at how much info I took in from the paramedic's conversation with the police.

I look at Lawson, Dom and Gunner. "Jet's dead," I tell them. "He washed thirty Valium down with a bottle of vodka and then just to make sure that the job was done, he slit his wrists. He's dead. I found him at the bottom of his bath. He's dead, Jet's dead." They're all staring at me blankly, still not saying a word. "Do you hear what I'm saying, are any of you even listening to me? He's dead, he's f.u.c.king dead." I can hear myself getting louder and louder.

Gunner steps forward and wraps his arms around me. "s.h.i.+t Reed, this is f.u.c.ked. I'm so sorry you had to see all that mate." I'm not a big fan of human contact. I usually try to avoid it. When we're on stage or working, it's different, I can deal with it but once emotions become involved, I don't like it. I'm always worried that I'll lose control and start to feel, and I hate it when I feel. I'm feeling now and it hurts, it hurts so f.u.c.king much.

I don't know where it comes from, but Dom's suddenly putting a whisky tumbler in my hand. I take it and go and sit on the edge of the bed and knock back the drink. It calms me down instantly.

"Sorry," I say, looking up at each of them in turn. "I'm sorry boys. f.u.c.k. What a morning. What time is it?" Laws sits down next to me. He's our manager, but he's only a couple of years older than me. He's usually composed, he's usually wearing a suit and he's usually got the answer to each and every problem we might encounter. Lawson and I get on well, he's English, which is a start and he's single. We've spent a few wild nights together in the company of a few willing women. Lawson has the look of a well-educated English gentleman, but I happen to know that he's from Ess.e.x and a bit rough around the edges. Although he did go to university, so he's better educated than me.

"It's just gone one. What the f.u.c.k happened, Reed?"

Dom takes the gla.s.s from my hand as I stare down at the carpet. I rub both hands over the stubble on my jaw and look at Lawson, who's now sitting next to me on the bed.

"It's my fault. He did this because I told him I was leaving the band."

Lawson frowns. "What? Why? Why would you tell him that?"

Gunner sits down on a chair that he's brought in from the living area of the suite and sits on it. Dom comes back with a bottle of bourbon and four gla.s.ses. I watch as he sets them down on the unit below the television and pours us each a gla.s.s full. He pa.s.ses one to each of us and then sits on the unit, facing me and Lawson. My heart's still racing and I watch as my hand shakes while I hold the gla.s.s.

Jet's dead.

My best mate is dead and it's all my fault.

He killed himself because of what I said to him. I drain what's in the gla.s.s and hold it out to Dom for a top up. My throat burns from the alcohol but I like it, the sensation distracts me from the thoughts racing through my brain.

"You know what, all these years I've blamed her. I thought it was her fault for not turning up, that my brother died," Dom pa.s.ses me my refilled gla.s.s and I take a sip. "But it wasn't her. It was me. First my mum, then Miles, now Jet. They're all dead because of me. It's me, not her."

"Reed, calm the f.u.c.k down mate and just tell us what happened," Lawson asks again.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and look at my bandmates. They all know my story, they know my mum was murdered and that my brother was killed, the whole f.u.c.king world knows that story. Every newspaper and magazine run with it when we first made it big. They all jumped on the bad boy Conner Reed bandwagon. 'Con the Con' being their favourite headline when they found out I'd been banged up. All the money they made reporting on other people's misery and they couldn't come up with a better headline than that? f.u.c.ktards, the f.u.c.king lot of them. It had s...o...b..lled from there. Once they found out how my brother was killed and that I was in the car with him, the sympathy lasted for all of twenty seconds before they started reporting on the fact that I was locked up while the accident was investigated. Then the f.u.c.kers found out I'd been in trouble at fourteen and that's when the 'Conner the Convicted' and 'Con the Con', headlines began.

It was the local corner shop. Me and two mates found the back doors to the local corner shop open one night and we nicked some cigarettes and some bars of f.u.c.king galaxy. We were kids, we had an opportunity to nick some f.a.gs and make some money; it wasn't an armed robbery. We didn't hurt anyone. We didn't realise we'd been caught on CCTV, and it didn't take long for the shopkeeper to recognise us and for the police to come knocking on our door. I was fourteen, I'd never been in trouble with the police before so they gave me a caution, and my dad gave me a black eye and a split lip. I think he cracked a few of my ribs too, but I wasn't allowed to go to the hospital to find out. Once that story was reported, some nosey young journalist decided to dig even deeper into my past and found out the story of my mum's murder. Then everything changed again and I was 'Poor Reed' or 'Broken Bad Boy Conner Reed's Heart Breaking Past Revealed.' Or some other bulls.h.i.+t, p.i.s.s poor headline.

And suddenly, in this moment, it all becomes clear. They all died because of me. I was four years old when I unknowingly opened the front door to my mum's drug dealer. He choked her to death. Strangled her while I hid between the sofa and the wall. My brothers came home from school and found her dead and me still hiding. We were all sent back to live with my dad after that.

My mum had left him and moved us off of the army base two years before. But being back in London, back to the old estate she grew up on, she'd fallen back into all her old habits. She was just out of rehab when my dad met her and had stayed clean for ten years, but as soon as she was back in London that all changed.

My dad had just left the army when we all moved back in with him. He'd gone back to Surrey and was living in a bedsit. Because of the circ.u.mstances, the council re-housed him and moved us all into a three bedroomed house. We lived in the rougher part of a nice area and for a few years, despite not having a mum, we had an idyllic childhood. The trauma that had affected our young lives, mostly forgotten. My dad was a good man and worked nights as a nightclub bouncer and as a security guard, so he could be there for us during the day. But he'd never gotten over my mum leaving him and he'd never recovered from her death. He'd always drunk, it was the reason she left him, but gradually, by the time I was about eight or nine, he was drunk all the time. He lost his jobs, which just gave him more time to drink. My older two brothers got out as soon as they turned sixteen and were working. Miles didn't actually mind living at home, my dad ignored him for the most part, but me, he'd take a swing at me every time I walked past him. I've no idea what I'd done to suddenly make him hate me so much. If I could have afforded it, I'd have moved out as soon as I turned sixteen too. But I wanted to go to college so I could study music, and I did for a while, but then once me and Amoeba had come up with our plan to run away, I'd packed in college, started working and saved every penny that I could. I spent as little time as possible at home and as my dad was usually at the pub or unconscious on the sofa, we rarely came into contact with each other.

I was seen by countless counsellors after my mum's death, but I didn't have anything to tell them. I couldn't remember a thing. I dreamt about her often. I dreamt about the scruffy man with the tattoos, how he pulled up her nights.h.i.+rt, held on to her hair and laid down on her back as he moved his hips backwards and forwards. His jeans were pulled down slightly and in my dream, she'd scream silently. He'd put his hand over her mouth and pull her hair harder. She kept her eyes open and just stared at me the whole time, putting her finger to her lips, warning me to be quiet. I'd squashed myself into a s.p.a.ce between the wall and the end of the sofa. I often dream of the same man sitting on my mum's chest, he smacks her around the face a few times, blood running from the corner of her mouth, but she just kept her eyes on me. It's almost as if in this dream, I remember the other dream, I remember that she warned me to keep quiet. So, I stayed in my hiding spot and I stayed quiet and I watched as he squeezed his hands around her throat until she stopped moving, her eyes bulging out of her head, looking right at me. I have no idea if I dreamed what I'd actually witnessed, or if it's what my brain has invented but it never changes, it's the same two dreams all the time and sometimes both scenes become part of one dream. The so called 'experts' had no idea if I'd just blanked it all out, or if I genuinely didn't see anything. The dreams and occasional flashbacks told me that I'd probably seen it all but I kept quiet, keeping it to myself. I didn't want anyone else poking around inside my head and I didn't want my brothers to have to know what I saw that day, so I just stayed quiet, kept it locked away.

They'd caught the man responsible the very same day. I picked his picture out of a book and told the nice lady that gave me Fruit Pastilles and Smarties that he was the man that came to our house that morning. He was the man that I opened the door to, but that was all I told her about that day. My evidence, combined with the DNA they'd removed from the scene and my mum's body, was enough to convict him. He's dead now. Died in prison and I still keep it all locked away.

"Why did you tell him you were leaving the band, Reed? Why would you say that to him?" I knock back the drink in my shaking hand, while Lawson repeats his question.

"Did he start with the relations.h.i.+p s.h.i.+t again, Con?" Gunner asks. He was the only one I'd ever confided in about Jet's propositions. We'd caught up in England a couple of years ago while the band were on a break and I'd told him all about it after Jet had bombarded me with a series of texts, declaring his undying love.

I nod my head. I struggle to swallow down the lump in my throat, but I don't cry. I learnt not to cry after the first few beatings my dad gave me.

"What relations.h.i.+p s.h.i.+t?" Lawson asks.

I take a deep breath and try to speak without my voice wobbling. "Jet, he wanted... He had this idea that me and him should be together."

"What the f.u.c.k? What, you mean, like together, together?" Dom asks. I nod my head, which is now pounding with a headache. Lawson's phone rings and he heads out into the living area of the suite, talking to someone about a press release and waiting until family members have been notified.

Dom's phone rings next and he looks across at me as he speaks, "No baby, it's Jet. Reed's fine. Well, not fine, he found him, but he's safe." He covers his eyes with his hand and starts to cry as he explains to Jade, his wife, what's happened. He stands and walks into the bathroom as he talks. Dom and I stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

"Someone needs to let his dad know," I say.

"I think that's what Laws is arranging."

"You told Chelsea?" I ask him.

He nods. "I told her while you were still in with the old Bill. Her mum and dad are flying over to look after the kids while we get this all sorted out."

f.u.c.k, we were supposed to fly home today. I can't go anywhere until I go to the police station and they take a full statement, they've already told me that. Then there'll be the funeral.

"The press are gonna be a nightmare with all this happening. I wanted to send the kids home, but Chels wanted them close." His eyes come up to meet mine. "You okay, have you called home to let anyone know? Chels said social media is going off about what's happened. Most are reporting that it's you or Jet. You should let your brothers know."

f.u.c.k, yeah. Tyler and Jordan will be freaking out. I look around the bedroom trying to think where I last had my phone. I pick my jeans up from last night and find it in the pocket. It's on silent and I have dozens of missed calls. I text both my brothers and tell them I'm fine. Then I call Tyler first.

"What the f.u.c.k's going on Reed, Jenna's f.u.c.king beside herself here."

My headache increases tenfold at the thought of what they've all been going through. "I'm sorry, the police wouldn't let me talk to anyone." I take a few deep breaths. "Ty?"

"What mate, what's happened? Just tell me you're okay. Ethan's in meltdown. It came up on his Twitter feed that you were dead, then all his mates started texting and Facebooking him." I can hear the panic in his voice.

"I'm okay Ty, it's Jet..." I pause for a few seconds, "It's Jet, he killed himself. I found him in the bath and..." I trail off. I don't want to be doing this. I don't want to be explaining this again. "Ty, tell Jen and the kids I love them and I'm sorry. I had to give a statement and I couldn't make any calls till it was done." I have a million thoughts rus.h.i.+ng through my brain. I just want to go home now. Go home and be with my family. "Tell Ethan not to repeat any of that. Let them all know that I'm okay, but they can't post anything online till Jet's dad's been told."

I hear him sigh into the phone. "So I take it you won't be home tonight?"

"No, no I won't. I've gotta go to the police station and make a formal statement and then there'll be the funeral. It's pointless coming home just to fly back and the press will be up my a.r.s.e everywhere I go anyway." I look around and realise everyone's on their phones. Dom's still in my bathroom, Lawson out in the living area and Gun's still sitting in the chair he was in earlier. I'm not sure who he's talking to, but he's wiping tears from under his eyes and it breaks my heart. He's a big bloke, always working out. His arms are bigger than my legs and he's probably taller than me by a couple of inches. Watching him cry is just breaking my heart right now, but I still manage to keep a hold of my own tears.

"You gonna be alright on your own with all of that, Reed? I can fly over if you want?" Now I really want to cry.

"I'm alright Ty, honestly. You stay there with Jenna and the kids. If you have any trouble with the press, ring Stacey at the label on the number I gave you before."

"Have you rung, Jord?"

"No, can you do it now. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I just ain't up to explaining it all again."

"Yeah, no problem mate, I can do that."

"Cheers."

"Reed?" I hold my breath, waiting for my brother's words to come, hoping that they won't break me.

"I love you, bro."

"I know you do, Ty. I know you do."

"You stay safe, yeah, and if you need me or Jordy to fly over just shout."

"I will, I will. I'll speak to you over the next coupla days and let you know when I'll be home."

"I'm so sorry, Reed. I'm so sorry about, Jet." We end our call.

I leave Dom and Gunner to their conversations and head out to the kitchen in search of some painkillers, just as the buzzer on the door goes. Lawson's still talking and nods with his head for me to get it. I make sure the security latch is on before I open the door, just in case it's a crazy fan. It's worse, much worse. Amanda's standing in front of me as I look through the gap. I swing the door open and walk away leaving her standing there. She's so not who I want to see at this moment. I sit on the sofa, reach for the remote control and then change my mind, not wanting to watch the bulls.h.i.+t that's likely on the telly right now.

"I've booked a room and organised the press conference for three o'clock. Marty Goldman from the label is with Jet's dad now. I've cancelled everybody's travel arrangements, and arranged first-cla.s.s tickets for Gunner's in-laws. They should be here in the morning. I've organised extra security and the hotel has agreed to supply some of their own." I listen to Amanda's clear, clipped English accent coming from behind me as she informs Lawson of what she's arranged.

"Do you want someone from the funeral home to make contact with Mr. Harrison or should I leave him to make his own arrangements?"

"No, send someone over. Marty's telling him that we'll take care of the arrangements. Can you organise some food to be sent up. Reed, what d'ya fancy mate?" I look over my shoulder and can't help but notice the way Amanda's eyes are on me.

"I'm good mate, I really couldn't face food right now."

He shakes his head at me. "Dom, Gunner, get out here," he orders. The other boys walk out and we all stand and wait to hear what Lawson has to say. "I've called a press conference for three. I want you to get some food inside you, have a shower and try and look like you're doing okay." He looks each of us in the eye and I think for a few seconds he's going to cry. "This is f.u.c.king horrible and it's only gonna get worse over the next few days. Let's face the press together and then come back to my room and get totally f.u.c.ked up. Let me answer any questions about how Jet died and about the band's future. Reed, it's all gonna be aimed at you, as word already seems to be out that you were the one who found him. Just answer what you feel is appropriate and leave the rest to me." He looks at all of us again and lets out a long sigh. "How's everyone doing, honestly? How's Chelsea and Jade?" he asks Dom and Gun "We've put extra security in place and we've booked out all the rooms on this floor. I think it'll be best if the kids all stay here or fly home when we go to New York for the funeral, a.s.suming that's where his dad wants the funeral held."

"What about what Jet wanted?" Dom asks "What?" Lawson frowns in confusion.

"Jet wanted his funeral to take place at his house in Santa Monica. Then he wants to be cremated and his ashes scattered in the Pacific, in front of the house. He's talked about it a few times. He said it was written in his will."

We've all heard Jet say this. I don't know why Laws isn't remembering it.

"s.h.i.+t, yeah, he did. I remember him talking about it now." Lawson's face suddenly crumbles and he starts to cry. Amanda reaches out her hand to him and taps him on the shoulder. It's a cold disingenuous move and for the first time in a long time, I feel the need to actually want to give someone a cuddle, or is it that I'm suddenly overcome with the need to be cuddled, to be held. This life we lead is so f.u.c.king shallow and superficial. Until Gunner put his arms around me earlier, I actually don't remember the last time someone put their arms around me out of a gesture of pure love and affection, because they just wanted to rea.s.sure me everything would be all right. It was probably the last time I left England, which is now over a year ago. Don't get me wrong, I've been touched. The boys, Dom, Jet and Gun, we all go in for the manly back slap kind of cuddle and then there're the photos with the fans, they usually put their arms around me. But the last time I had a real full on cuddle was probably from my niece, Evie.

She's my brother Jordan's little girl and for some reason, the kid loves me. All my nieces and nephews love me, but especially Evie. When I last left England, she'd clung to my neck and cried when I was leaving for the airport. She begged me not to go, she begged to come with me. My brother had to uncurl her little fat fingers from around my neck to prize her hands away. I hate being away so much, every chance I get, I go back to England, but the kids always seem to have changed so much in the time I've been away. I Skype and FaceTime them as much as possible, especially Ethan, he's my only nephew. We talk every Sunday afternoon, after his football match. We talk football, music and now that he's turned sixteen, we talk girls too if his mum, dad and sister aren't about.

I reach up and drag both my hands through my hair. I feel like my skin is on fire. I stand up from the chair I've sat down on at some stage, but my legs don't want to move so I sit down again. My skin feels clammy, my heart's pounding and I suddenly feel sick. I want to go home. I want to be with my brothers. I want to be a million miles away from all this bulls.h.i.+t and I don't want any of it to be true.

REED BY LESLEY JONES.

5.

Just over an hour later, we're sitting in a row behind a table, the world's press piled into the hotel's conference room. In front of us reporters, television cameras, photographers and boom mics, along with a sea of faces sit, crouch and stand before us.

Lawson puts his hand up to quiet everyone. The lawyer that was with me earlier sits to Lawson's left, I sit to his right. Next to me is Dom, then Gunner. The room slowly becomes quiet as Lawson clears his throat.

"I'm gonna read out a short statement and then I'll take a few of your questions."

He clears his throat again. "At ten forty-seven a.m. today, Jethro Matthias Harrison was discovered in his hotel room at the Ritz Carlton. Jet was found to be unconscious and unresponsive. EMT's were called to the scene and despite numerous attempts to revive him, he was declared dead at eleven eighteen. The cause of death is yet to be established, but the police are not treating it as suspicious and are not looking for anyone else at this time. Obviously our first thoughts are with Jet's family. His dad and next of kin have been notified and we hope that you'll be respectful and give them the s.p.a.ce and the privacy they'll need to grieve."

Dom lets out a sob from beside me and gets up and leaves the table. This is going to be so hard for him. They had been lifelong friends, gone through high school and college together. Jet was best man at Dom's wedding and G.o.dfather to his first born. Gunner moved up a seat and draped his arm across my back and over my shoulder.

Lawson continues, "Jet was an exceptionally talented musician, intelligent, witty and loyal. He was a true friend, loved by his bandmates and adored by his fans. Millions across the world will be mourning with us at his untimely pa.s.sing." He looks along to where Gun and I are sitting and swallows a few times and then back out at the sea of faces. "I'll answer just a couple of your questions. Please keep them brief and don't waste my time asking things that are disrespectful, or that you know full well I won't answer."

The cameras have been flas.h.i.+ng the whole time we've been seated, but they quiet for a minute as the journalists call out their questions. The shouting is so loud that I can't make out a word any of them are saying, it's just noise, flas.h.i.+ng lights and more noise. My head is pounding and I want to get the f.u.c.k out of here.

Lawson points to a female reporter whose face is familiar. I think that she's interviewed us before. The room quiets marginally as she looks to me and says, "This question's for Reed." Lawson looks at me and nods, I nod back, letting him know I'm okay with it.

She's short and slim with long fair hair. She's almost swallowed up by all the other reporters and cameras and boom mics surrounding her. I remember her now, her name's Brittany or Whitney or one of those all American kind of names. Her eyes are blue and she gives me a small smile before she asks her question. I remember now why I liked her before, she saw us as humans when she's interviewed us in the past. We weren't just a commodity, she seemed genuinely interested. The photographer that was with her that day was a tall skinny girl, covered in tattoos and she introduced her to us as her wife, Charlotte or Charlie, something like that. I've no idea why I'm sitting here thinking all of this right now. Maybe it's better than thinking about anything else.

"Reed, just wanted to say to you and the rest of the boys from s.h.i.+ft how sorry I am for your loss." I nod my head and try to say thank you, but my mouth is so dry that my lips move, but no sound comes out. "Is it true that it was you that found Jet this morning and that he took his own life?" The image of Jet lying at the bottom of his blood-soaked bath suddenly flashes into my head and I can't breathe. His eyes were open wide and staring right at me, just like my mum, just like Miles. I look at Gunner, then at Lawson, but I can't get any words out. I push back on my chair, but stand too soon and the table tilts as my knees. .h.i.t it. I still can't breathe. I can breathe out, I just can't get a breath in. The jug of water and the gla.s.ses start sliding to the floor. Cameras start flas.h.i.+ng and the noise, the shouting and the questions start again. I just need to get away from all of it.

Lawson and Gun are at my sides and guide me out of the conference room and straight into the lift. I can hear them talking and asking if I'm okay, but the sound is m.u.f.fled, like I'm hearing it under water. I bend over and stare at the floor, trying to focus on getting some air into my lungs.

"f.u.c.k," I manage to say as I stand up straight.

The lift door opens and I hear Lawson say, "I've had all your stuff moved to my room, Reed. I didn't think you'd want to stay in there." He gestures with his chin toward my old room. I both shake and nod my head, as I'm not sure which is the appropriate answer. He opens the door to his suite with the key card and I rush through the room to the bathroom and hurl into the toilet. The bourbon I drank earlier burns my throat on its way back up. My stomach now feels as empty as my chest, my heart. I splash my face with water and rinse my mouth.

As I step back out into the suite, Gunner, Lawson, Dom, Amanda, Chelsea and Jade are all in the room. Dom pa.s.ses me a shot gla.s.s full of vodka, I knock it back. That's the last thing I really remember until my feet touchdown in England a week later.

~~TO BE CONTINUED~~.

The rest of Reed's story will be told in the full-length novel Conviction, where we'll also get to meet Amoeba and hear her side of the story.

Out February 2015.

-Lesley Jones

ABOUT LESLEY JONES.

Lesley was born and raised in a small working cla.s.s town in Ess.e.x, just outside of East London. She's married with three sons and in 2006, they all moved to the other side of the world, settling on the beautiful Mornington Peninsula, about fifty kilometres outside of Melbourne, Australia.

Lesley is currently 'a stay at home mum', but in the past, she has worked at 'good old Mark & Spencer' for thirteen years and as a teacher's a.s.sistant.

As well as writing, Lesley loves to read and has been known to get through four or five books a week, when she's not writing that is. Her other interests are watching her boys play football... the round ball version. She's happy to admit to being an addict of social media and owes a lot to her Facebook and Twitter family in promoting her book. Lesley is also rather partial to a gla.s.s or bottle of wine, a nicely chilled Marlborough Sav Blanc being her favourite.

Being a born and raised Ess.e.x girl, she will happily admit to be being a big fan of spray tans, Sh.e.l.lac and is regularly, waxed, tinted and sculpted, although she doesn't own a pair of white stilettos.