A Jem and the Holograms story by Kellyanne Lynch and Cade Buchanan
A/N: I wrote the first four chapters a couple of years ago, and am just now adding to the fic with a new co-author! So chapters one, three, four, and five are mine. Chapter two is Cade's. - dearjoan
1: Money
Constricting the inept fortress against his tears, Eric Raymond still could not restrain himself from crying. He bowed his head into his black dress shirt and wept. How awful it had been, how terrible a tragedy! He reflected upon it, throbbing with the pain of loss.
As he attempted to barricade the deluge beneath his eyelids, Eric recalled three days ago. As manager of the new-age rock group, the Misfits, Eric constantly stressed over mounds of paperwork for the band's concerts. How he loathed this time of work, but he knew he ad to do it anyway. It was how he made money, and that was exactly what he wanted. He lived for it, doing anything for Pizzazz to get more. The smell of it was his ultimate high and all he desired in life.
"Eric!" He had heard Roxy's fussing as he toiled over the papers. Pulling his arm, she whined, "I want to go swimming, and Stormer and Pizzazz are busy! Come on!"
Eric refused to separate his eyes from his paperwork for just a second. He never even glanced out the window at the exquisite beach outside the Misfits' new summer home. All he could do was stare at his work surrounding him.
"Can't you see I'm swamped, Roxy!" Eric hollered at her. "Now go away! Just swim on your own!"
"Fine!" Roxy yelled back. "You don't have to screech about it!"
Marching out of the room, Roxy mumbled under her breath.
"Stupid girl!" He had muttered. "How does she expect us to get to New York without an itinerary? Can't she see I'm working?"
He continued to plot out their next trip. The expenses were extravagant, but who cared? Pizzazz's wealthy father could always pay it easily! Eric knew he had to find the fanciest hotel in New York; otherwise, he would have to put up with the Misfits' complaining throughout the trip. Dialing the number of the Plaza Hotel in New York City, he grinned. How could they grumble about this place?
"Yes, hello!" He spoke when someone answered the other end of the line. "I was wondering if…"
"ERIC!!!"
Putting down the receiver for a moment, Eric listed to the cries and recognised Roxy's voice.
"PIZZAZZ! STORMER!"
Sighing with exasperation, he yelled out the window. "Can it, Roxy! I'm on the phone!"
"ERIC!" The screaming persisted for a few more moments, then silence.
"That's better!" Eric hollered before returning to his call. "Sorry about that! Do you have any rooms for next Saturday?"… Oh, you do! What's your best suite? … Taken? Then fine! What's your next best one?"
Finally, the Misfits had a place to stay the night after their concert! Staying at such a remarkable site, the Misfits should find nothing wrong with it. Of course, they would anyway!
"ERIC!" He heard another calling from outdoors. This time, it was Stormer.
"What is it now?" He yelled back. "I'm trying to work here!"
He quickly glanced out the window but held his eyes there longer than he had anticipated. With disbelief, he sprang out of his chair and ran outside.
"ROXY!" He called out her named as he saw Stormer dragging her out of the water, onto the beach. Sliding to her side, Eric checked Roxy's pulse.
"She's still alive!" He voiced his relief.
"She's not breathing!" Stormer exclaimed. "Eric, call 911! Go!"
Racing indoors, Eric almost forgot where the telephone was. When he had the receiver in his hand, he almost forgot the number he was to dial. Finally, he heard a voice on the telephone.
"911 emergency!"
"Yes!" Eric replied. "Roxy! She's in trouble…"
"Calm down, sir! Your call has been traced, and help is on the way! What's wrong?"
Eric took a deep breath and nearly choked out the next line. "She, she went swimming in the ocean and must have gone under! She's not breathing!"
"Do you know CPR?"
Eric nodded, then realised the dispatcher couldn't see him. "Yes, I do!"
"Administer CPR on the victim!"
"That's right!" He exclaimed. He hadn't even thought of that before. Somebody once told him that fear clouds the intellect, and he finally understood why. Throwing down the telephone receiver, Eric raced outside to find Stormer sitting beside Roxy. Her hands buried her head.
"Eric, she's dead!" Stormer cried without looking at him.
"She's not dead, Stormer!" Eric yelled, shoving Stormer aside to get to Roxy. "She's not dead!"
Now, at the funeral, Eric accepted the facts. Roxy was dead, and it was his fault. He watched the coffin before him, unable to gaze upon Roxy's inanimate face. How could he look at her, after what he had done? Realising how selfish he had been his entire life, Eric knew that he was a slave to money. Now Roxy was dead, because of his greed.
"Eric?" Pizzazz approached him, and he gazed upon her with clouded eyes. She had pinned back her black veil and had put on fresh make-up. "It's time to leave for the concert!"
"You can't perform tonight, Pizzazz!" He informed her with a steady voice.
"What?!" She exclaimed. "You've got to be kidding! This is our biggest concert! Times Square in New York! We have to go! What about the Plaza?"
"It doesn't matter, Pizzazz!" He pointed out to her. "You have to understand that!"
"She's right, Eric!" Stormer appeared. "We have to go on tonight! What about the fans?"
"You want to go on without Roxy?"
The two nodded.
"We have to!" Stormer added.
Eric turned away from the two girls. "Fine," he spoke evenly. "Go to your concert. Just don't expect me to be there."
They shrugged and left him there. He sank his head back into his shirt as new tears came to his eyes. He realised what he and the Misfits had become with their popularity and success. Since they had so much, they appreciated nothing, including human life. Eric knew he had to change, even if he would have to do so on his own.
The Misfits had left him alone. He shuddered as a chill came over him, but he knew the outdoor air hadn't caused this. His tears ran down his face more rapidly, his head aching from crying so hard. He knew his sobbing accomplished nothing, but he continued in his self-pity.
What would he do now? He had done so much for money hand had led such a worthless existence. What was there to do? For what do people live?
"I'm sorry, Eric!" A gentle female voice whispered. "I just heard what happened."
He raised his eyes to see Jem, the lead singer of the Misfits' rival band. She wore a black cloak over a loudly coloured costume of pinks and purples, appearing to have just come from one of her own concerts. Her eyes were serious yet caring, surrounded by pink hues. The make-up under her eyes was blurred, and streaks of it now ran down her cheeks.
Behind Jem was Rio Pachecco, her road manager. He had a black suit jacket thrown over his shoulder to conceal his bright yellow T-shirt, but his jeans still stuck out in the crowded funeral. Rio crossed his arms, and his eyes watched the ground as if it would tell him what he could say to Eric.
Eric remembered countless squabbles he had held with Rio and Jem, bickering over worthless matters. Now, things were different. Without money as an issue, there could be no arguments.
"It was my fault," Eric felt that he had to confess.
"What?!?" Jem exclaimed.
"I was so worried about today's concert, so concerned about … about the wrong things. I, I just ignored her.
Stepping closer to Eric, Jem whispered, "It wasn't your fault …"
"Then whose was it?" Eric questioned. "There has got to be a reason for this!"
As Eric stared at the coffin, he became consumed with guilt to the point that he could no longer bear to stand before Roxy.
"Excuse me, please," his voice wavered. Raising a hand to Jem and Rio, Eric wandered away.
"I can't just let him walk off," Jem informed Rio. "I'm going to talk to him."
Rio nodded. "Okay, but I told Aja I'd pick her up after her exercise class. I have to go. See you later?"
"I'll meet you back at the mansion at about five o'clock tonight, okay?"
"Sure," Rio replied.
As Rio headed to his van, Jem followed Eric to a row of chairs. He situated himself in one of them, and she sat beside him. Before Jem could say a word, Eric spoke.
"I told her to go away," he confided in Jem. "I always did push away Roxy and Stormer. I treated them so rotten, just because they didn't have the power that Pizzazz has. I heard Roxy screaming for help."
A gasp escaped from Jem's lips.
"I know," Eric continued. "It's terrible. And I did nothing for her."
"You couldn't have known she was in danger," Jem pointed out to him.
Eric shook his head. "No, maybe not. But it's worse than that. I yelled at her, told her to be quiet. And when she stopped screaming, I was happy."
Depressing his head into his hands, he spoke in a muffled voice. Jem had to lean closer to him to hear what he was saying.
"I've been rotten, Jem! Completely corrupt!"
"Eric, you're not a bad guy!" She assured him. "Don't do this to yourself! You couldn't have known!"
"I have been greedy," he added. "So greedy."
"It's never too late to change that!"
Gazing into Jem's eyes, Eric could almost see his reflection, her eyes were so glossy with tears.
"I can help you," Jem whispered.
Eric shook his head. "I don't understand this! I've been awful to you, and to your friends. Why are you even talking to me anymore?"
"If you truly want to change," Jem began, "then I forgive you for the past."
"You'll do that?" He was surprised to see her respond with a nod. It made him feel even more ashamed. He had treated Jem more wretchedly, worse than anyone else he knew, and now she was forgiving him for it all.
"Thanks," he replied but could not look at her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a five-dollar bill. He brought it close to his eyes, examining every fibre within it.
"Paper," he informed Jem as he held it in front of her. "That's all this is, paper."
Eric dug into his pocket again to retrieve a wrinkled piece of white-lined paper. Also showing his find to Jem, Eric held one acquisition in each hand.
"Why is this one," he waved the bill, "more important than the other?"
Tucking the blank page back into his pocket, Eric speculated further.
"People," he stated plainly to Jem. "That's what the Misfits are, people. Still, I've always praised Pizzazz above the others. Why? Because she had valuable paper in her pockets. And I prized the Misfits over your band for the same reason. But how much was it worth? Was that paper really worth pulling off scams my entire life? Was it worth Roxy? I sold her life for this!"
Flapping the bill again in the air, Eric took one last look at it before he threw it to the ground.
"We can leave now if you'd like," Jem told him. "Unless you want to stay here longer."
Eric shook his head. "I'm ready to leave now," he announced. "I really should go to the Misfits concert tonight. I can't leave Pizzazz and Stormer behind and do the same to them as I did to Roxy."
Jem rose from her seat. Eric, taking her lead, departed from the grounds of the funeral. On his way out, he treaded upon the five-dollar bill that he had left behind. He never saw a scrawny, raggedy clothed young girl pick up the money. Gazing upon Eric gratefully as he walked away, she clutched the bill close to herself with a smile. She would eat tonight.