The Audi R8 coupe was the color of smoke, its sleek dark grey exterior almost invisible in the dark as it maneuvered through the downpour. The black asphalt was slick from the rain and mirrored the blinding flash of the LED headlamps as the sport car gripped the wet road, the roar of the engine nearly drowning out the sound of falling rain. Harry gripped the wheel in both hands, his knuckles white against the stitched black leather, his left hand relinquishing its grip only periodically to shift gears, his fist slamming the joystick between fifth and sixth as he rounded sharp bends in the slippery road. Inside the car, the harsh growl of the engine was reduced to an impressive purr, vibrating only slightly in the leather bucket seats. Music played softly from the stereo system; new tracks for the album Harry was meant to be reviewing. He wasn’t listening. A quiet sob escaped Harry’s lips, twisting with melancholy purpose into the gentle chords emanating from the speakers. Harry blinked hard, his vision blurring as his emotions turned to tears, spilling over, clinging to his long lashes momentarily before falling, moving in silvery lines down his cheeks like the rain on the windscreen, illuminated by the pale glow of the control panel.
A miserable whimper caught in Harry’s throat as he attempted to breathe, trying desperately to hold back the flood of pain he felt knotted in his chest where it slowly strangled him until he could hear his heart beat in his ears. Lost in his distress, Harry had forgotten to turn on the heat and he shivered in the cold. His lower lip quivered slightly as the memory of the past two hours pressed against the wall of His consciousness, daring him to recall, to relive the meeting, the nightmare that already haunted his heart as he sped recklessly through the dark. Harry felt weakness overtake him, biting into his fingertips, easing his grip on the wheel before slipping into his veins like ice water, expanding in the cracks of his false composure, tearing away at the bricks Harry had taken years to place around the fear in his heart. “Louis… Louis, oh my God I’m so sorry,” Harry wailed as a second sob fractured his remaining defenses, memories charging into his thoughts like armies breaching a fortress. Harry slumped over the wheel, barely maintaining control as he surrendered to his own tortured thoughts.
The call had been short and harsh, harsh enough to stay even Harry’s confident aggression. David was furious and all of the boys had learned it was better to simply remain silent when the forty-six year old publicity manager succumbed to these fits; “bitch fits” as Louis laughingly referred to them. Tonight however, Harry was alone and there was no Louis to laugh off the oppressive sense of imminent danger that raised the hair on the back of his neck following the brief call. In the car Harry had tried to calm himself, dismissing the errant thoughts that passed through his mind. What could be so imperative that it required only Harry’s attention, late in the evening when all the boys had the week off? Harry shuddered at the possibilities. The Audi pulled into the car park in Derry Street where a light mist had begun to fall, giving the streetlamps an eerie glow along the quiet road. Harry shivered as he stepped from the car and made his way to number nine, the London office of Columbia Records.
The modern lobby was deserted. Far from surprising on a Sunday evening, the silence still unnerved Harry; his foot falls echoing against the chic off-white stonework. He made his way to the lift, loosening his collar as sweat beaded at the base of his neck, his nervousness apparent on his face, lips pressed into a thin line. David had taken up temporary residence at the UK branch of the American record label, orchestrating publicity along side the planned release of two new singles. He had been afforded a small office, an incident all its own as David took the minimal work space as a slight, undervaluing his immense self-importance. Harry exited the lift slowly, keen to postpone this meeting as long as possible, making his way cautiously down the long hall, wincing whenever his shoes struck the floor too loudly, the beige suede creasing as he practically tiptoed towards David’s office. Far too soon, Harry stood awkwardly outside the closed door, biting the inside of his lip as he slowly filled with dread. His breathing became ragged as he raised his fist to knock. “Harry?” David’s voice floated through the fogged glass. “Yeah,” Harry answered, clearing his throat as he moved the sliding glass door aside with trembling fingers, “You wanted to see me?”
