Page 94 of The Encore Effect

She fidgeted with the walkie talkie in her hand, absent-mindedly turning the volume up and down, up and down. When John called over the walkie for assistance from one of his effects team, the crackly sound was so loud it made her jump, her heart stuttering in her chest.

“Get it together,” she muttered to herself. But she couldn’t shake the itchy feeling.

“Alright, boss?” Gideon asked as he rounded the corner and came towards her. Just the sight of him gave her some measure of comfort.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Never ignore your gut,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She gestured for him to follow her back into the wings. They took their place next to Derek just as Jackson reached for the hidden water bottle again, this time during one of Logan’s solos. She nudged Gideon with her elbow, gesturing towards Jackson with her chin. The security guard’s furrowed brow and stormy expression was vindicating, if not a little concerning.

“He doesn’t drink Poland Springs,” Gideon said, hunching over to get close enough to her ear to be heard.

“I know.”

By the end of the song, the bottle was empty, Jackson drinking the last of it in great gulps before chucking the empty bottle into the audience, women screaming and climbing over each other to try to grab it.

By the time the band settled into the high energy bridge of the second song, Jackson was consistently off beat, his steps ever so slightly out of sync with the rest of the band. As the song came to an end, Beckett seemed to notice that something was off, his eyes roving over his brother then finding hers in the wings from his place on stage moments before the arena was plunged into darkness.

“Stay here,” Gideon said, ducking behind the complicated set pieces that concealed the backstage area from the audience.

The crowd went wild, chanting for the band to return for the encore. “Come on, come on, come on,” Kat whispered to herself, adrenaline racing through her system as she waited for the lights to come back on.

On stage, she knew the guys were being hooked onto the wire system that would ensure their safety when the hidden platform at the center of the stage began to levitate at the start of the encore. The crew would clip each band member in, secure and double-check the line, then clear the stage, all in a matter of seconds. But that night, the time felt interminable.

“What’s taking so long?” Kat whispered to herself, scanning the darkness for signs of anything out of the ordinary.

Gideon re-emerged from behind the set, a second empty Poland Springs bottle in his hands. He handed it to Kat, who sniffed at the open lid, her stomach lurching in revolt at the sharp, faintly medicinal smell of vodka.

“Shit,” she muttered, already hurrying over to Derek, where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest patiently waiting for the lights to come back up for the encore. “He’s been drinking,” she shouted into his ear, the roar of the crowd so loud she could hardly hear herself. Derek looked confused, so she continued. “Jackson. He’s been drinking. On stage.” She held the empty Poland Springs bottle to his face, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he inhaled the smell of straight alcohol.

“Get him off stage,” Derek barked, the disgust on his face quickly transforming into fury.

Kat pressed the button on the side of her walkie, “Hold—”

But it was too late. The lights came back on in a burst of pyrotechnics as the platform on stage lifted into the air with all five members of Midnight Storm on top of it. The audience’s shrieks of delight reached a fever pitch as Kat tried, uselessly, to shout into the walkie. But no one could hear her over the crowd, and even if they could have, the band was already starting the song. They were already twenty feet in the air.

Derek cursed, his eyes glued to Jackson at the center of the platform.

But they all knew there was nothing to be done, not until the song ended.

The three-minute and twenty-five-second song seemed to go by in slow motion as Derek, Kat, and Gideon stood in the wings, their eyes glued to every movement on stage. Halfway through the song, when the platform lowered back down and locked into place, Kat breathed a sigh of relief. The guys all unhooked themselves from the safety rig, stepping off the platform. All except Jackson, who fumbled with the hook long enough that Zach made a detour in his choreographed stage cross to help him release the wire.

“How long is this goddamn song?” Derek growled.

“Sixty more seconds,” Kat said, her eyes glued to Jackson.

They watched as the band made their usual final walk down to the front of the stage, crouching to touch hands with the fans in the front row, waving, smiling, each member of the band taking a moment to interact and connect with someone directly. Jackson reached his hand out towards a fan in the front row, but he lost his balance, teetering dangerously towards the edge of the stage until Logan grabbed his hand, pulling him back up to standing in one smooth move.

They all moved to their final marks, the little silver circles on the stage indicating the exact place they should each stand for their final, spectacular exit, the one that was filmed from every angle of every venue every time they performed it. Kat held her breath as the guys got into place, the drums swelling towards the final crisp beat when the stage floor would drop out from under them and they would plummet through the stage, landing safely on the airbag below.

Each member of the band struck their final pose, feet planted, one arm at their side, the other holding their microphone to their lips with their elbow tucked close to their body. The uplighting flashed bright as the music cut off and the floor opened up. Jackson threw himself backward, his arms wide as though he were doing a backward flop into a swimming pool.

In the moment of silence after the final beat of music before the crowd started screaming again, the sickening thwack of Jackson’s body hitting the edge of the stage echoed throughout the arena. Kat watched in horror as he slammed into the edge of the opening before sliding, rag doll-like, through the hole in the stage.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Logan tossed Beckett a bag of Cheetos. “Eat something.”