Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Touching The Void

***A/N major character death ahead***

(September 1981 Los Angeles California)

I missed Sara's birthday in July, but I still sent along a brand-new electric guitar for her. I took her list of specifications to some buddies I know at Gibson and the made a custom one of a kind Les Paul for her, it's black on the front with faded silver writing on the frets which reads "Sara Rhiannon". On the body it's inscribed "From Mommy and Daddy, to our baby girl" I wasn't there to see it, but she apparently bounced off the walls for a few hours and stayed up until two with her headphones plugged into her amp just playing Rolling Stones music in her room. I wanted to cry, actually I did cry. It reminded me of when I got my first guitar and I sat in my room playing my Elvis record over and over again copying what I could hear and trying to mimic the sounds.

We missed Nova's birthday, but Jeff was on leave so he made sure to stop by the house. Nova got a new bike from Stevie and me, he wanted a rifle and bayonet. A real one, not a toy. That was vetoed outright, Stevie doesn't like guns of any kind and refuses to have one in the house. Jeff said he was able to smooth things over by giving Nova an army surplus helmet from World War II, a polaroid of Nova's birthday party shows him smiling and laughing, his head full of blonde hair and the helmet covering his eyes. My babies are growing up.

It's a nice evening the sun is setting, the crickets are just beginning to sing. Pulling the Mustang down the drive way I'm stopped before I can get down the grave path. Stevie rushes over handing me a grocery list "You left that on the counter" she's out of breath and flushed, and I smile kissing her lips when she leans over to me. I open my mouth instinctively ready to suggest that she grab the kids and come with me, spending time with my family is one of the few luxuries that I simply will not deny myself.

But tonight isn't about that. So I keep silent, spinning my class ring where it hangs around Stevie's neck our eyes meet and for a second I feel like she can see right through me. But she just runs her fingers over the back of my hand and kisses me once more "Hurry back" there's promise in her voice. The kids will be in bed asleep, dinner's already been eaten homework done. I have a good bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. Our need for reconnection since Paris has become almost frantic on my part. I'm not going to lose my wife, my kids, my family.

Hitting the freeway into the city I feel my heart race. I've got a brown bag of French bourbon in the glove compartment. The good stuff, straight from France and smuggled in my suitcase past customs. I haven't shaved in a few days, in her low bedroom voice this morning Stevie teased me about leaving a beard rash on her stomach again...and on her thighs. Before being interrupted by AJ jumping in bed to demand pancakes for breakfast, I joked that it was better than leaving hickey's.

I turn up Rodeo and pass the high end shops, all closed for the night no customers no employees. Rubbing my chin I slow when I make it to midtown, passing by mine and Sara's favorite bookstore and tea shop. Passing the jewelry store where I bought Stevie's broach and necklace, past the recruitment office where Jeff signed up for the Army. The white walls of my tires slowing to a stop just across the street from a high rise apartment complex in one of the higher market areas of town.

Sitting on the street the V8 of the engine hums and purrs, the voice returns telling me to go home. That once again I'm approaching the darkness in my mind that scares even me. I'm capable of anything when I get to that place. Shutting off the car I grab the bourbon bottle clenching my fist around the glass neck. Flipping the visor down I kiss the picture of Stevie and the kids I keep there calling on whatever inner strength I can to keep me from the darkness I know I'm dabbling with now.

The lobby of the building is what I would expect, marble floors, massive ebony colored counters. No one at the front desk at the moment which works to my advantage I don't really want to be seen by many people. Hanging a right I push open the door to the workers access and climb the stairs to the penthouse level, twenty stories up. A maid pushing a cart leaves one of the rooms as I pass, I keep my eyes on the floor and she seems preoccupied with reading something on her cart. Room 2309, penthouse. Only the best.