Johnny B. Fast (standard:other, 3778 words)
Author: Bogey	Added: Dec 29 2000	Views/Reads: 5174/2469	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Every one has a secret. Johnny is no exception.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

player and a good singer. His songs, the few he had been writing, were 
all good. So were was that one big break? That big chance that would 
make Johnny And His Heartbreakers famous? That would leave him and his 
friends totally filthy awesomely and terribly rich? 

In the middle of that daydreaming, Stephanie knocked and entered. In one
graceful move she slipped next to Johnny. The singer was left with just 
one word. WOW! The woman took a long look into Johnny's eyes and he was 
lost. He kissed her. No thinking, no wondering. His world, the whole 
world, was just one kiss. That Kiss. 

Then, suddenly, she stepped back. "I'm Stephanie." Johnny nodded his
head. "I have come here because I like your music." Johnny nodded his 
head. "Because I like you." Johnny nodded his head. "I can make you a 
star. For a price." Johnny nodded his head. "I can make you larger than 
live, but will you pay the price?" 

Johnny remembered staring at the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.
And what she said was hardly heard as her beauty stunned him 
completely. Then, as struck by an unseen, unheard rhythm, Johnny nodded 
his head. "I want to have sex with you." And again, Johnny nodded his 
head. Stephanie took his hand, led him towards the little couch, 
unbuttoned his shirt and let her black silk dress fall. 

The sharp knock on the door shook Johnny out of his memories. "Wake up
Johnny! Time to start packing!" The man knocked again, tried the door 
but found it locked. Johnny finished his shower, dried himself quickly 
and got into a simple pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. Leaving 
the door open for his roadies, he made his way to the white limo. 

The shiny symbol of the rich and famous stood waiting, surrounded by
shouting and clapping fans. A corridor made of microphones and cameras 
and notebooks to walk through. Johnny smiled. He became the star 
instantly, trained by many years of experience. Johnny waved at fans. 
Johnny was The Living Legend. Johnny stepped into the car and locked 
the crazy world out. 

The Star, Guitar King, God of Rock & Roll and Living Legend, waved at
the driver. The shiny, luxurious car started to move and as fans made 
room, it increased speed. Hundreds of reporters from all kind of music 
magazines and a variety of fans waved, shouted and jumped at the 
passing car. None of the people saw him leaning back into his seat and 
picking up his own drive down memory lane. 

After the first night with Stephanie, a fast storm took him up in the
skies. Two days after meeting her, Johnny And His Heartbreakers 
performed at some school. One of the parents guarding the kids from 
having a good time or other disasters happened to be a big shot at a 
record company.  A demo, an album, a golden record, three top ten hits 
and a nation wide tour. Then TV shows, radio interviews and another 
album. 

Within ten years, Johnny B. Fast, The fastest guitar player ever, was a
Living Legend. Now, fifteen years after meeting Stephanie, Johnny B. 
Fast was the King, The God Of Rock & Roll. The Master of Show and a 
dozen other titles. With eighteen superb scoring albums, twelve World 
Tours and millions of fans. He was absolutely filthy rich. He had four 
private planes. He had three stalkers. He could buy the president of 
the USA. He had everything. 

Except true love. 

The first girl he married some eight years ago. Her name was Miranda and
she was killed in a weird and mysterious car crash. Only two days after 
Johnny introduced her to Stephanie as his new wife. And then came 
Sonya. Lovely eyes, but killed by a drunken fan after they left a show. 
Again, just a couple of days after introducing her to Stephanie. Then 
Faith. She died of food-poison. Just after introducing her to 
Stephanie. He remembered all the names, all the faces, and all their 
deaths. 

Fame, fortune, he had it all. And every time he found a girl to share it
with, she died. And that was scary. But not as scary as his encounters 
with Stephanie. 

As the limousine turned its nose towards Heathrow, he was thinking about
Stephanie. 

She would suddenly step into the room that he was in. Always when he was
alone, somehow she had to know. And always, nobody would disturb them. 
She was always wearing the same dress. It looked a bit out of date, but 
it was still looking as new as that first time he saw that silk dress. 
And like every time, he remembered the first, and only, fight they had. 


It started simple. She stepped into the room, just after he finished a
shower. She asked to have sex. And he refused politely, explaining that 
he was too tired to get into action. She didn't want to hear no for an 
answer. So she demanded. He refused bluntly. And then she tried to make 
him. He was surprised at her strength. But he had his weight and 
experience at his side. After a couple of minutes, while she was 
staring angry, with a red face and he was breathing hard, she left. It 
took a long while before she returned. She acted as nothing happened. 
But he did remember. 

As they were fighting, she hissed words to him. She yelled at him. She
threatened him. "If I would stop meeting you, you would disappear into 
nothing. You would vanish. Everyone would forget about you." He shook 
his head. No, that was not what she said. He tried to remember her 
exact words. 

Suddenly, it seemed more important than anything else. What did she say,
exactly? But the more he tried, the less he knew. Stephanie would 
enter, stun him with her beauty and then kiss him. After the Kiss. What 
happens after The Kiss? How did they started the fight? He closed his 
eyes. What where her exact words? What did really happened after The 
Kiss? 

The shiny, white limousine pulled up next to a white jet, marked with a
golden JF. His initials. His own private jet. Only for Johnny and a 
selected few of his personal favourite persons. He hastily stepped out 
of the car and merely jumped into the plane. He had to remember. He 
shrugged his shoulders deep into the seat. And tried to recall those 
moments. 

He remembered that he stopped loving Stephanie after a few weeks. She
was an extraordinary beauty, but not nice. She stunned his eyes every 
time they saw her, but his brain was not impressed. All the girls, from 
Miranda to Faith, they all were hardly pretty. But they were nice 
persons. A counterweight? If so, for what? 

He relived the fifteen years fast. All the encounters with Stephanie.
And every time the same answer. Nothing. Simply white paper, a blank 
screen. No memory. And one thing he knew was that his memory was nearly 
perfect. So why couldn't he remember what happened? 

If a memory can re-produce every word, every chord and even every scent
of perfume, why can't that dammed memory re-produce the exact words 
Stephanie said to him in their fight? Why was it that he just not 
recalled what happens after her lips met his? Why? Only one reason. 
Someone, or something made him forget. 

But why? Was it something so horrible that even his own mind didn't want
to remember? Or did Stephanie played a trick or two? Could she? If so, 
why would she? Did she do something so bad that she feared losing him 
if he found out? In spite of everything she gave him? In spite of 
threatening him? 

He had a big heart. Room for a lot of people, even the ones that were
not nice. He forgave his mother for leaving him, he forgave his 
teachers at the boarding school for taking away his only possession, an 
old guitar. He didn't get angry at the hot shots of the record company, 
stealing his money. No hard feelings for the girls that turned him down 
at high school. So why should he not forgive Stephanie? A thought 
jumped in his mind. What if she did something really bad? Did she kill 
someone? Or worse? That might be a clue. Stephanie did something worse 
than killing anyone. He could overlook that detail, since she probably 
had a good reason. But was could be worse? 

Johnny gave up. He just couldn't grasp the answers. They were lying in
his brain. But without a proper clue the light would not shine upon 
him. He grapped a magazine from the seat next to him. Later, the answer 
would come up, triggered by something. 

The magazine was about the unknown and dark tales. Of monsters and
aliens. He smiled and started to read an article about the Snowman, 
with solid proof of course. Yeah, sure that one existed. Just as sure 
as vampires and demons. Demons? No kidding. They could give you 
treasures and fame and fortune. And the price was your soul. He dropped 
the magazine like a hot burning coal. 

Nobody spoke of Stephanie, like she did not exist. He recalled his
manager, looking in surprise when he turned up with yet another guitar. 
And Miranda? She thought he was playing a trick, for introducing her to 
thin air. Sonya and Faith were angry. "Are you talking to the wind?"  
They did not see her. Stephanie entered his room after a show, and none 
of the roadies ever made a remark about that stunning beautiful woman. 
How could she walk pass fifty guys, full of dreams about women, and no 
one said a word?  He had to find out if it was true. The very next time 
she showed up, he would grap her and walk her through a crowd. Johnny 
thought about that while the plane rushed him home. 

After a fast flight, the jet set its wheels on American soil. It landed
smoothly on Kennedy Airport. Only minutes before a snowstorm hit the 
city. His people in New York knew he was arriving, chased by the storm 
and so a car was waiting. 

Quickly, he was led to it, avoiding the usual crowds waiting for a
glimpse of the Biggest Star Ever. Not this time. Before the crowd 
noticed, he was already in a warmed limo. The snow took care of the 
traffic jams. Only an occasionally yellow cab or patrol car struggled 
against the wind. The limo crossed the Big Apple in a record time. A 
few miles outside of town, it took a turn and fought its way through a 
little used road. The large house showed up, like a ghost in a fairy 
tale. There, his butler took Johnny's coat and brought him a glass of 
brandy. He took it upstairs and drank it while he undressed for a few 
hours of sleep. He had five days until he had another show. Five days, 
that was a long-term vacation for Johnny. 

The blistering snowstorm raged on during the night, holding New York in
a firm grip. Cars were covered with snow, roads were closed and the 
radio urged everyone to stay home. Bulldozers tried to keep the main 
roads open, but failed in the hammering winds. Johnny stayed in his 
studio, playing a guitar, trying to write new songs. 

After two days, the storm diminished to strong winds and the bulldozers
started to clear the main roads. Buses and cabs tried to make their way 
across town. Patrol cars, fitted with snow tires, kept an eye open for 
anyone taking advantage of the mayhem. 

During the past two days, Johnny had no inspiration. The few lines he
wrote down were about demons and lost souls. Dark songs won't sell. He 
fumbled another paper filled with rubbish and got up. A walk outside 
was what he needed. To feel the cold in his face, his hands and toes. 
He decided to take a long walk and not to return before his ears were 
frozen. 

He took a warm coat, gloves and a hunting rifle. Maybe he could catch a
rabbit or so. He looked around and took off to a pair of oak trees. The 
three miles took him two hours. Struggling through piles of snow he 
cursed himself for not bringing snowshoes. No signs of any rabbit. Not 
even a bird. The distant sounds from New York were all he could hear. 
At the oak trees, he looked around. He felt better now that the snow 
ripped him of any negative thought. This was a nice spot to write a 
Christmas song. 

A distant city, barely visible; empty fields around; on a hill far away
a church surrounded by small houses. The sight reminded him of a novel 
by Charles Dickens. Not that he could write any Christmas Carol 
himself, but with the inspiration coming up, he felt it could be good. 
He had always pen and paper at hand and removed his glove. 

In just a few minutes, his hand was freezing. But the song was almost
ready. And it was going to be pretty nice to. Too late for this year, 
but he would store this one for an album full of Christmas songs to 
bring out next year. Maybe he could do a few songs together with a few 
others. Maybe. 

While he pondered about who might be interested, he heard a sound from
behind. A quick turn and a reach for the rifle. Stephanie. She stood 
there, dressed in that same old silk dress. 

"Here, take my coat, you must be freezing." She shook her head. "No, I'm
all right." He stared at her. All his questions and doubts rose again. 
He started to talk, but found his mouth too dry to speak. "Kiss me" Her 
lips hardly moved, but he heard her loud enough. Dropping the gun and 
taking her in his arms, he returned her kiss. 

The time slowed down while he held her firmly. Then, with a sudden
chill, he pushed her away. "No. It can't be. How can you be so warm 
with only that dress? The temperature is low enough to freeze the sun!" 
Stephanie smiled. "It's magic." Johnny stepped back. "What are you?" 
She smiled again, raising her arms for him. "You know what I am, 
Johnny." He shook his head, taking another step back. He tripped over 
the rifle, somehow stayed on his feet and found himself holding it. 
"No, I don't know! You made me forget! What are you?" Stephanie looked 
at the gun and took a step forward. "Don't be a fool. I did not make 
you forget anything. If you don't remember, it's because you don't want 
to remember. Now, drop that gun and hold me." He stepped back, raising 
the gun. "Stop. Tell me. Tell me what you are." Stephanie stood still 
and raised her arms further, reaching out for him. "Hold me." He 
pointed the rifle at her. "Tell me!" "Hold me." 

A sudden shot. 

Johnny stared at his hands, holding the rifle. A small thread of smoke
left the barrel. He looked up and saw Stephanie lying in the snow. Her 
black dress was turning red. Her face was white, whiter than the snow. 
He tossed away the rifle and rushed to her. "Oh God, what have I done?" 
His cry died at his lips. Stephanie looked at him, smiling. "It's all 
right, you had to find out sooner or later." He shook his head, to 
shocked to catch on to her words. "What have I done, oh my God, what 
have I done?" "Hush Johnny, be still." He took her head in his hands, 
kissed her lips. "Don't talk, I call for help, hang on, I'll get a 
doctor." "It's all right Johnny, don't worry. You had to do this, had 
to find out." "What do you mean?" "You know, Johnny, You made yourself 
forget. Remember Johnny, remember." 

He closed his eyes, as memory struck on him. And as he opened his eyes
again, Stephanie was gone. He was holding snow in his bare hands. He 
watched them turning blue, recalling everything. Every little detail 
that he couldn't recall was now a vivid image before his face. His 
hands became without feeling but he neither noticed nor cared. 

Stephanie was gone, and yet still there. Behind a closed door in his
mind. If he wanted, she would step out, wearing that same old silk 
black dress. 

He remembered everything now. All the details. All the facts. 

No demon to offer him fame and fortune for his soul. Just lucky that
some big shot from a record company heard him, many years ago. It was 
just the big break he wanted, needed and got. And he knew now who 
killed Miranda, he did. Who set up the deaths of Sonya and Faith? He 
did. And the existence of Stephanie was only a trick of his own mind. 

He shivered. Feeling colder than any snowstorm could make him. His
mother left him. Or did he make her leave? That was something he could 
not recall. One day she was there, at the kitchen table and then, the 
next day, she was gone. Did he do something? If so, could he forgive 
himself? Could anyone forgive him? 

He stood up and walked to the rifle. 

Hesitating. Did he really kill Miranda? And Sonya, Faith and God knows
how many more? Was he responsible? Yes, he was. But his mother? No, not 
that. But, could he be sure? Could he find her? After more than thirty 
years? Could he live with himself now that he knew the truth? 

He picked up the rifle. 

One clean shot. That was all it took. All it took to get rid of his
fears. To get rid of any doubt, any question. To end all. 

Would he? 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 


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