Dance with the Dragon

Prologue

3rd February, 1959.

J.P. Richardson, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and pilot Roger Peterson have been killed in the crash of a chartered airplane bound for Fargo, North Dakota.

The plane spiralled downward minutes after leaving the Mason City airport, landing in a field just north of Clear Lake, Iowa. The wreckage was discovered at 9:00 A.M., after the owner of the plane recieved no word from Peterson since takeoff.

Though the bodies of Richardson, Peterson and Valens have been identified, Holly's has not yet been located. Upon further inspection, no trace of him was discovered in the surrounding cornfields or crushed under the plane. 

Some speculate Holly had lived and fled the scene, but experts conclude the odds of Holly's survival are highly unlikely...

"Cyn, come over here, you have to listen to this."

Cynthia Powell, at the sound of her boyfriend's voice, poked her head through the doorway of the living room to see John hunched over his transistor radio, ear practically pressed against the speaker. The position was so typical of him that she gave a small laugh, entering the room and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit up a bit, Johnny. The speaker works fine enough that you can listen to it from a few feet away."

"Shhh!" he replied, grabbing the radio and holding closer to her, "just listen."

...search teams have been employed to check the surrounding area for Holly, but none have returned successful. Police dogs soon caught onto a strong scent of his, tracking the trail to the forests nearby, but fled the area soon after for reasons unknown. More about this mysterious phenomenon at five...

"I think it's a load of shite, if you ask me," sighed Paul nonchalantly, who was perched on the armchair beside him, plucking a string or two on his bass. "How could he have possibly survived? He was done for as soon as the plane started falling."

Shoving the radio into a surprised Cynthia's hands, John whirled around to face his best friend, expression nearly hurt. "Are you saying you don't want to believe there's a chance he's not dead, Macca? That maybe, the man who inspired me -- and you -- to start this goddamn band could be alive and well somewhere?"

Paul scrambled backward, arms held in a position of surrender. "Jesus, John, I do, I want to, but I don't think it's possible. Everyone else was smashed to bits. He couldn't have been an exception."

John only rolled his eyes, his mood having soured. "Whatever, Paul. It's clear you don't care much, anyway." 

Snatching the newspaper that lay on the ground, he stomped out of the room and up the stairs, and Paul, slightly annoyed, called after him, "What do you think could have happened? You think he could have just sprouted wings and flew away?!"

He slammed the door in response, leaving Cynthia and Paul staring at each other in shock, not quite knowing how to fill the silence.

"...I don't think I've ever seen him this upset about a small thing like this, Cyn."

"You know he loved Buddy more than just about anything, Paul, but I guess he's just not ready to come to terms with the fact that he's gone."

Paul stared at the ground, large eyes growing sad. "I didn't really want to. The whole thing's a shame, really."

Cynthia nodded, her thoughts drifting to focus on the deceased rocker, and music quietly began playing on the radio resting in her hands.

---

John let the door close with a bang, not bothering to check if Cyn or Paul had followed after him.

"Damn crash... damn McCartney... goddamned Buddy Holly, who was stupid enough to get on a plane and get himself killed..."

Even as the words left his lips, something inside of him denied their truth. Though Paul had denied it, Buddy still could be alive. There's a chance.

Slumping against his door, he held the newspaper to his face, squinting at Holly's smiling face spread across the front page. Did he know what fate would come to him? Could he have?

He found himself scanning the picture again and again, curiosity stirring in his mind. Something was off. Not his face, not his glasses, or his clothes, but -- aha. A small bracelet was clasped around his right wrist, a bright gem shining in the middle, and John found himself raising an eyebrow. A bracelet like that seemed out of place worn by a person like him. Had it been in any other picture? Did it serve him any use? Maybe it was just his style changing, as most rock stars seemed to do...

Faintly, he could hear Holly's voice floating up to him from the living room -- a tribute, he mused, and, letting the paper fall to the ground, he closed his eyes, letting what was left of Buddy sing to him for a while.

Crying, waiting, hoping, that you'll come back, I just can't seem to get you off my mind...

--O--

Hey, everyone! I'm so excited to be collaborating on this with You-You-You -- this book will be a lot of fun, and we hope you enjoy reading it just as much as we enjoy writing it! Chapter one and onward to be published soon!