Chapter 6 Riot
Riot
I take the long route back to the hotel, zipping through the backroads on my motorcycle and losing myself to the sensation of the salty coastal breeze whipping against my skin. It tousles my hair and brings tears to my eyes, but the rush is like nothing else, and it reminds me I’m alive.
Once I’m trapped within the four beige walls of my suite, that recollection begins to fade, and I’m left with a bleak kind of emptiness and a need for a strong drink.
I reach for the bottle of vodka on my nightstand, flicking the cap to the floor among the others before taking a large swig of the poison within.
“Ahh, fuck,” I hiss, tears rolling down my cheeks as the fire works its way to my stomach. “That’s good.”
Clutching the neck in one hand and my phone in the other, I plop down onto the creaky mattress and pull open my search engine. My thumb moves over the too-small keys, tapping in Eloise’s name before I have the chance to talk myself out of it.
As soon as I press search, a wealth of articles floods my feed, all of them to do with Eloise.
I scroll slowly, poring over articles praising her talent, heart, and many philanthropic efforts.
Some claim she’s the main reason for the rebirth of the orchestra scene.
Others assert she’s a talentless hack—too focused on her appearance to contribute anything meaningful to music.
I scroll quickly past the latter, but it still makes my blood heat to see people spew such hate. When Riot Rush was at the height of our career, we were bombarded with too many journalists looking to make a buck off our outlandish stories, no matter how untrue.
I continue scrolling, smiling whenever I come across a photo of her on the stage, eyes closed and head bent low over the keys, like she’s in a whole other world.
And then, I come across something I wasn’t expecting; an archived article from five years ago.
Breaking News!
Saltbloom’s beloved teen pianist, Eloise Marquette, hospitalized with life-threatening injuries…
Eloise Marquette is in surgery following her admittance for life-threatening injuries at Neon Valley Memorial Hospital.
Paramedics arrived at the Marquette residence in the early hours of August 12th after a distressed call from Marquette's guardian, Dave Blasko. Blasko (54) claims to have discovered the young pianist unresponsive on the floor of her bathroom, with no idea how she sustained her mysterious injuries.
Hospital staff have refused to comment on the severity or nature of Marquette’s injuries.
When asked similar questions, Dave Blasko said, “Eloise is a fighter. She’s going to pull through this one way or the other and be stronger for it.
Thoughts and prayers are welcome at this time as we try to heal and find peace with the situation. ”
I scroll to the bottom of the page and find an equally useless follow-up article.
Apparently, she spent a week in an intensive care unit, followed by a six-month “vacation” that everyone seemed reluctant to look into.
No one will say how Eloise sustained her injuries or what happened to her after she left the hospital.
No matter how deep I search, I can’t find any useful information about Eloise’s “vacation.” Not where she was, what she did, or who she was with. Her socials were all deactivated during that time, and it seems no one could get in touch with her except her manager.
Someone unfamiliar with the lifestyle would think the rising star just… fell off the face of the earth for six months. Not me. I know better.
Something horrible happened to Eloise. Something changed her. The woman I’ve come to know is not the same one who was walking this earth four years ago. She’s colder. More withdrawn. Sad.
So very, very sad.
I’m about to continue my obsessive scrolling when my phone starts buzzing. I answer the call without taking my eyes from the computer screen, far too distracted to look at who is calling.
“This is Riot.”
“I know who this is! I’m old, not an invalid!”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as the familiar voice pours through the line. “Just a habit, Aunt Viola. I meant no offense.”
“Well, none taken,” she says. “Anyway… I called to see how Saltbloom is treatin’ you. See how you’re doin’ out there.”
“I’m doing great. Never better.”
“Now I know that’s a lie,” she huffs. “You been by your parents' place yet?”
“No. And I don’t intend to,” I murmur, gazing out the window at the coast side beyond. “There’s nothing for me there.”
She tsks. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be there.”
“I have court-ordered community service, Viola. I have to be here. That’s the only reason.”
“Uh huh. So… tell me everything. Which of those assholes went bald? Shit, I hope it’s Bobby Berger. Please tell me Bobby Berger is bald and mis’rable.”
“Unless he’s been to the store, I couldn’t say,” I murmur, picking at the skin on my cuticle. “I go from the hotel to the store and back to the hotel. Haven’t seen much of anybody lately.”
“That’s no good, kid. You should be around people.” Viola releases a long, rattling sigh, and my chest constricts. All thoughts of Eloise fly out the window as I’m reminded of the cruelty of the world. Viola—my sweet, vibrant Aunt Vi—has cancer.
“Enough about me. What did the doctors say?” I demand. “You never called me with an update.”
She chuckles, but the sound is weak. “I was hopin’ you’d forget.”
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.
The truth is, I’ve been running from the knowledge, doing everything in my power to ignore the fact that I might lose her.
Aunt Vi is a private person, and I know she won’t tell me if I don’t ask.
I guess lately I’ve been doing a lot of not asking.
The thought fills me with guilt—but it’s not about me right now.
“I could never forget about you, Viola. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
She laughs—a real one this time. “I can always count on you to make me feel special, kid.” A coughing fit follows, sobering me up.
“What did the doc say, Vi?”
She’s silent for a long while.
“Vi…”
She sighs. “It ain't good. Doc says I got a 5 percent chance at best of beating this thing.”
I shoot out of my chair, squeezing the phone hard enough to crack it. No. No, it can’t be. “I’m coming up there. I’m going to talk to those hacks in Neon Valley and make them run more tests—”
“Riot. Stop that nonsense,” Viola snaps. “There’s nothin’ you, the doctors, or the gods above could do to stop what’s happenin’ to me.” She sighs. “It’s cancer, Riot. People have been dyin’ of it for thousands of years.”
“But not you,” I say, my voice strained. “You’re better than that. You’re stronger.”
She snorts. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“I mean it, Vi. I’m not giving up on you.”
“There’s nothin’ to fight for,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact. “I’m dyin’, kid.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. And I don’t want you…” She stops for a long moment, and when she speaks again, her strained voice is raw and full of emotion—so unlike the Viola I know.
“I don’t want you to tear yourself up over this.
That’s not why I called. Hell, I didn’t even want to bring it up, but since we’re hashing it out…
“ She sighs. “I don’t want you throwing everything away to come visit me. I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone.
So you stay there and get your shit in order. Can you do that for me?”
Fuck. Why does she have to use that tone? “Of course I can, Vi. Anything you want.”
“Good,” she says. “Now, tuck that lip and dry your tears. You can’t let them see you cry, kid. Especially not for me.”
“But you’re all that matters,” I whisper. “You’re all that’s ever mattered. Ever since Mom and Dad died, after Rush…” I shake my head, shocked at the emotion welling in my eyes. “You’ve always been there for me when I needed it most. Now it’s my turn. I can be there to help you with—”
“I have it all figured out, kid. I’ve been preparing for the day I have to go ever since they found the damn sucker.
Plus, I have my Bee, and she’s more than used to taking care of me.
” She sighs softly, clearly thinking of her wife.
“I appreciate you caring about me, though. You’ve always been a good kid. Always had a good heart.”
“I don’t like you talking that way.”
“Then you'd best get off the line,” she huffs. “Death is a natural part of life. Every day we’re moving closer and closer toward it.”
“And people say I’m morbid,” I choke past the lump in my throat. “Jesus, Vi.”
She laughs, the sound comfortable and warm and calming—just like home.
“Where do you think you get it from? Your mom was way worse than me. It’s a miracle she didn’t scare your poor father off.
” Her joy is cut short by another round of coughing, and I’m immediately racked with guilt.
I should be there. I could do… something.
But even as I think about it, I remember what my aunt made me promise. It’s the only thing that stops me from booking the next flight out to the city.
Aunt Vi takes a deep breath, and I’m grateful that her fit seems to be over. “I should get going. It’s past my bedtime out here, and I still need to make dinner.”
I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “Why don’t you let me order you something?”
“Nah, that’d be a waste. I’m just gonna heat some soup and try to stomach a cracker or two. But you’re sweet.”
Me, sweet? “You’re fucking nuts, Aunt Vi.”
“’Fraid you might of got a touch of that gene, too.” She sniggers. “I’ll talk to you later, kid.”
“Talk to you soon, Vi. Call me if you need anything—and I mean that shit.”
“I know it.”
The line goes dead.
I lie back in bed, tossing my phone onto the pillow beside my head as a heavy sigh works its way past my lips. I never understand how the day can go from amazing to foul in the blink of an eye, but I do appreciate the dedication the universe has when it comes to fucking me up the ass.
I roll to my side, open my phone, and press play on a random playlist I have saved, hoping the background noise will dull my mind. Make me feel less alone.
I lie in the dark for some time, allowing the pounding bass and the haunting lilt of the guitar to lull me into nothingness. But then Little Wing comes on, and my mind travels to Eloise. Her smile, her scent, that twinkle in her eyes whenever she lets her mask fall away.
I know I shouldn’t, but I wonder what she’s doing.
If she’s thinking about me, like I am her.