~ * ~

'If I've ever been good enough . . .'

Excerpt from Rhiannon Mary Lougher's diary

'Crying, tears falling in impotent protest, blood drying up like rain, are shadows newborn souls? A soul is not infinite, it lives again and again, acquiring wisdom, to come eventually to rest in the Summerland. Therefore, another must be born, taught all it must know, before it is allowed the task of guiding a human body through the world. Almost like an astronaut, training in a simulator before he can experience true space flight. Imitation. Where else could a newborn soul imitate but in the shadows of a veteran soul masterfully guiding its human through life? Mist, magic, mystery, illusion, protection? There are those who will bind shadow to them, wrapping it around them like a cloak. A moth is drawn to a flame, but a spider will keep in the dark. A spider will often feed on a moth . . . Danger will often lurk in shadow, hiding itself from suspicious eyes. Dark is evil. Dark is cowardly. Dark will stab the backs of innocents. Shadow is dark. Is shadow guilty? Is shadow to be condemned? Is shadow misunderstood?
Shadow . . . fractured fairy-tale . . . black-bird . . . servant of the Sun . . . simpleton . . . puppeteer . . . evil twin . . . newborn soul . . . bastard child. . . .
Or is shadow a spot obscured from light? . . .'

~ * ~
September 30th, 1998
Dallas, Texas
Reunion Arena

Last show. Thank God!
'If anybody so much as mentions another extension to this damn tour, I'll kill them with my own bare hands!'
Taylor just couldn't take any more. The only person he'd admit it to was himself, but his sanity was at stake. If Ike and Zac wanted to keep playing, well, they'd just have to do it without him.
God forbid Rhee show up tonight!
Sitting on the cold floor in the wings of the stage, Tay rested his chin on his knee. He was scared. What was happening to him? About this, he couldn't even tell Doctor Jones. She'd have him bound and gagged and stuffed on the first plane to Siberia in an instant.
('Sound check's not for another forty-five minutes, why am I waiting here now?')
Slowly his eyes drifted closed. He was so tired. The day was fairly warm, it'd be so easy to fall asleep. And maybe never wake up.
Why did a chill pick that time to run down his back?

"Tay? Tay? Tay!" somebody was shaking him out of sleep. Why couldn't he sleep at night like everyone else?
"What?"
"Sound check," Zac said, and looked at his brother strangely. He listened with an ear to the door whenever Tay spoke to Doctor Jones; he knew he should have been ashamed, but he also knew that he wasn't the only one to eavesdrop on those 'private' conversations.
"Oh thanks," slowly getting to his feet, Taylor didn't see his younger brother shake his head, almost in pity, as he walked to his drums.
A cold breeze drifted into the wings as Zac started absently assaulting his drums with two sticks. Taylor shivered
An immense frostbitten sensation settled around his neck, like . . . like two icy hands . . .
He shivered again, trying to shake the unnerving feeling.
It faded away.
Grudgingly.

"Right! That is it!!" Zac shouted and hurled his drum-sticks in Taylor's general direction. Frustration was written all over his face. "What is your problem?!" one stick flew harmlessly over the edge of the stage. The other hit Taylor square on the side of the skull.
"Ow!! What the hell was that for?!" he picked up the stick and threw it back at Zac. He missed.
"You are so out of it! You play too slow, then too fast. You're so out of tune it's embarrassing! I refuse to go on tonight if you're gonna sound like that!!"
"This coming from the kid who can't sing and has to scream instead! Half the time it's embarrassment enough listening to you in private!"
"Guys -" Ike half-heartedly tried to stop his younger brothers, his forehead resting on one hand. This'd been building up for weeks. Lately they'd all been picking on each other for want of anything else to do, the result of exhaustion and frustration. Zac'd been terrified by what was happening to Tay, how helpless he felt, and the kid didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with it. So he got frustrated. And Taylor! The guy was a walking time-bomb! Who knew what was going on in his head, or when he'd decide to blow up.
"At least I'm not going round hallucinating and having delusions of dead people walking around!" Zac shouted, too angry to think about what he was saying. Suddenly very white, Taylor turned to face his little brother, eyes narrowed. A surprisingly even voice belied the rage kindling inside him.
"What did you say?"
"You're delusionary! You're seeing things!! Oh yeah, 'I think my best friend's ghost is haunting me'! Sure Tay! You're crazy! You're going insane! You -" Zac stopped, suddenly realising what he'd said . He'd just given himself away. The look on Taylor's face scared him.
'Be afraid Zac, be very afraid,' he thought to himself.
"What the - you've been eavesdropping! Haven't you?"
"I -"
"Haven't you?!"
"Well -"
"YOU BASTARD! YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!" had Ike not seen exactly what was going to happen a few seconds beforehand, Zac would have been mince-meat. Grabbing Tay by the arms, Ike just managed to hold him back.
"BLOODY HELL WOULD THE BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP?!" he shouted. Surprised, both Taylor and Zac stared at him. Isaac didn't shout very often. But the surprise wore off very quickly.
"Hell Ike, you heard what the little prick said! -"
"Ike, we both know it's true! -"
"Can it Zac, I don't wanna hear it!" disgusted, Zac stood up.
"Screw the both of you!" and with a violent kick at his drum-stool, he stormed out, slamming the stage door.
"Good riddance," Taylor mumbled, "Would you please let me go now?" Ike did.
"Why don't you give the poor kid a break?!"
"What? He's the one throwing tantrums not me!"
"If you stopped baiting him -!"
"Oh so it's all my fault now?!"
"I didn't say that -"
"You didn't have to!!"
"Tay -"
"Screw you!" following in his little brother's wake, Taylor stormed out. Collapsing into the armchair that would be part of the set for the show, Ike rested his head against the back. Thank God tonight was the last show, his nerves couldn't take another one!

~ * ~
August, 1996
Los Angeles, California

Watching the shadows lengthen over the Hollywood sign, Tay lay stretched out in the hammock on the back porch. He was trying to write a post-card back to Rhiannon. Over the month, they'd exchanged about six postcards between them, but the seventh wasn't going too well. All he'd gotten so far was,

Dear Rhee,

What now?

How are you? I'm fine

Great! Open with the usual boring courtesies!

LA's pretty warm right now

It is summer after all!

What's it like in Wales?

BOR-ing!

The album's going really well. What we've got so far we really like, and we've got a lot of people to help so it should end up sounding pretty good. I reckon you'll like it.

Zzzzz Zzzzz Zzzzz Zzzzz

Talk about luck, the Dust Brothers are working with us on one particular song. You know 'MMMBop'? That one that Rachael adored, and you really didn't like that much? Well, that's gonna be our first single. Ironic huh?

Such wit!
"Shut up!" he whispered to the voice in his head. Cynicism he didn't need right now.

How's everything going over there? I keep forgetting - and I know you keep telling me - but how do you pronounce 'Gwynedd' again? (smiling) And that reminds me, could you try not to write so much in Welsh next time?

He stared at the last post-card she's sent. In her neat hand-writing was an interspersed jumble of Welsh and English so confusing it'd taken him and Ike and their Dad hours to work out what she'd generally been saying. He'd had to go down to the city library to find a Welsh-English dictionary to figure out the rest. A month in Wales - or Cymru as she called it - had allowed her to forget that the rest of the world didn't speak Welsh.

You sound really happy over there, although I guess you must miss your Mom, and Rachael, and Carlton.

He wasn't brave enough to put his own name down, even though he'd missed her like crazy.

Liz said they're doing okay, but I suppose you knew that already.

What else to write? Nothing really, unless she wanted to hear about how Jessie and Avie had scared the crap out of Zac the night before, which he doubted.
'Quit while I'm ahead'

That's about all that's happened over here. When are you and your Dad going back to Tulsa?
Looking out for your next post-card,
Taylor

August, 1996
Gwynedd, Wales

"Rhiannon!" the old voice called up the stairs.
"Yes Grandma?"
"There's another post-card arrived this morning from your friend," running down the stairs two at a time, the girl raced into the kitchen. Smiling indulgently, Siwan handed the card to her grand-daughter.
"Thank you,"
"You're welcome," smiling, Siwan turned back to the groceries. Sitting down at the table, Rhee waded through Taylor's slightly sloppy hand-writing. She chuckled; he spent too much time typing. Grabbing the blank post-card she knew was in one of Siwan's groceries bags and a pen, she got to work replying.

"Grandma?"
"Yes cariad?"
"Have I forgotten anything?" taking the post-card from Rhiannon, Siwan skimmed through it. Gwynedd, Eryri, the Isle of Môn, Llewelyn ab Iorwerth . . . Siwan chuckled, there was no doubt where her grand-daughter's heart was.
"No, I don't think so hon," to their mutual surprise, grandmother and grand-daughter got along like a house on fire. Siwan's knowledge of English was still almost entirely limited to what she remembered from her schooling. Her parents had stubbornly clung to keeping their house's ears free of the saeson language and the small, rural town she lived in was predominantly cymraeg-speaking. She'd actually dreaded the thought of meeting this grand-daughter for the first time, so certain was she that the girl would only speak English. Which had only allowed her to be surprised even more when the girl had introduced herself and thanked Siwan in flawless Welsh, which was all they spoke now. An English word hadn't slipped passed Rhee's lips since she'd stepped off the plane.
"Is there anything you need my help with grandma?" Rhiannon asked politely, but her dark eyes were shining, almost begging.
"No," she smiled, in mock exasperation, "You go and find Dafydd, I know that's why you're asking. He'll most likely be somewhere near the water. I swear Siôn should have called that boy Dafydd Eil Ton! Dafydd, son of the wave! Go on, go,"
"Thanks grandma," Siwan didn't miss the little laugh, as Rhee lightly pecked her on the cheek and ran out the back door.
"Whoa! Where you off to Rhee?" Lew exclaimed as he nearly collided with his daughter
"The sea. I'll be back soon Da," and she was off.
"What have you been doing to my daughter Mam?" chuckling, Lew directed a mock-stern glare at his mother.
"Leave the poor girl alone Llewelyn!"
"Honestly, I haven't seen her so happy in years!"
"Cymru does have that effect on some people. She's happy here," leaning against the bench, Siwan looked her son in the eye, "We missed you Llewelyn. Why didn't you ever come back?"
"I don't know Mam. I wanted to,"
"Then why didn't you?"
"I don't know . . . mostly because of Da,"
"Your Da was as strict with you as he was with your brothers and sisters; they didn't run off and leave us,"
"Mam why are you dragging all this up now?"
"I feel it's the least I can do now that Mordeyrn's gone. He was so sure you'd come back one day, we all wanted to see you. You know I've never even met your wife,"
"Arianhrod couldn't come, she had a lot on at work that she couldn't afford to miss,"
"Rhiannon's the first of your children I've seen apart from photos. Why didn't Myrddin or Iseult come?"
"Carlton and Rachael? They wanted to stay with Arian. Mam, honestly, the only reason we're here is because Rhee's been . . . sick, and she's been wanting to visit Gwynedd ever since she could talk,"
"Sick?" Lew didn't answer, but the look he gave Siwan was enough to curb her curiosity and make her change the subject to a less painful topic.

The boy sat on the sandy shore, throwing stones at the deceptively calm water. He was waiting.
"Dafydd?" he turned.
"Hi Rhiannon," Siwan had told him about her grand-daughter, had lectured him on how he was to keep her company. His father Siôn had bought the Lougher's farm when old Mordeyrn Lougher had passed away, but Siwan still lived in the house. Except for her cat Bel, she lived by herself. If his Da knew how much time he spent with Siwan, listening to her stories and helping her out after school instead of working in the fields, there'd be trouble! Not that that stopped him. When she'd asked him to befriend her grand-daughter coming from America, he'd expected the worst. She was thirteen, what could she possibly have in common with him, at seventeen? The typical tourist who only came to see Edward I's castles, who looked bewildered when they were asked whether they'd been to Eryri, who called him David. The first two could be excused, but being called 'David'? He cringed. That was unforgivable. He was Dafydd you hear, not David! Dafydd!!
Yet she'd surprised him, just as she'd surprised her grandmother.
Sitting down beside him, Rhiannon gazed out across the Menai Strait to Anglesey, the Isle of Môn. Almost two thousand years ago now, the Romans had stormed that Isle, which had been the heart of the Druid priesthood of Celtic Britain. Had put both dwellings and sacred forests to the torch, had massacred any living they could find. She shivered.
"It makes you wonder how, even after two thousand years, people can bear to live there," Dafydd said, reading her expression, "Most times blood dries up like rain, but not on Môn. They say some nights you can still hear the screams,"
"Mmm,"
"What's up?" Dafydd was so good to talk to; he could cheer her up to no end. Why she'd come to trust him so quickly, she still couldn't figure out, but trust him she did. He knew everything. And even more, he understood.
"Just thinking,"
"About what?"
"Home,"
"You miss your family?"
"No. Well, I do, but that's not what I was thinking,"
"You wanna tell me?"
"I don't wanna go,"
"What? Home?"
"Yeah," she said, aware that Dafydd was staring at her.
"Why?"
"I fit in here, it's so beautiful,"
"But what about your Mam and Da? Don't they mean anything to you?"
"Of course they do! But I don't think I could exactly convince them to move here, no matter how much they miss Cymru, and Rachael and Carlton wouldn't wanna move at all,"
"What's so bad about Tulsa?"
"I don't belong there, I don't fit in. I'm the main attraction of the freak show there! They don't understand it when I go alone to the hill behind the old house on 77th. I just want to be alone,"
"Kinda like hiraeth?"
"They don't understand it at home, here you've got a word for it! Why don't they understand?! Why can't they understand?! I'm just like them!! How come I'm the freak?! Why?!" the helplessness in her voice touched him more than the rebel tears.
"Hey, Rhee, it's okay," he slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her gently as she cried.

Standing at the airport terminal, Dafydd gave Rhee a little red dragon stuffed toy, similar to the red dragon that was on the Welsh flag.
"It's not much, but I thought you'd like it,"
"Thank-you Dafydd, for everything,"
"You're welcome," he smiled, "A whole month running after you and I don't even get a hug?" laughing softly, she obliged. He'd come to think of Rhiannon more and more as a little sister, to be indulged and protected, and he knew she leaned on him like a big brother. She'd told him herself that not even with her real older brother could she be as open and honest as she was with him.
"I'm gonna miss you Dafydd,"
"I'm gonna miss you too Rhee. Christ girl, you've even got me sniffling!" she chuckled, "Don't you dare start crying!"
"I won't," she smiled and hugged him a little tighter, then let him go, "I know you can't stay, I won't keep you,"
"As much as I want to see you off, Da'll probably kill me if I'm gone too long, the slave-driver! If you ever wanna talk, you've got our phone number, or you can always write,"
"Yeah,"
"Well," there was an awkward silence. "I guess I'll see you when I see you,"
"Yeah," she smiled sadly.
"See ya Rhee; take care of yourself okay?"
"I will. Bye,"
"Bye," sighing, he turned and walked out towards the parking lot, not game enough to look back. He hated good-byes.

~ * ~
September 30th, 1998
Dallas, Texas

It was over. Finally, it was over. What was supposed to have been a short tour, just to get out and actually play, had turned into an entire summer spent travelling around the States, performing every three days. At first it had been fun, but it had inevitably turned into an endless monotony of the same thing over and over, and from that into an absolute nightmare. But now it was over. Finally over!
Spread-eagled on the surprisingly comfortable hotel bed, Taylor enjoyed the first lie-in he'd had in ages. Tossing and turning all night, he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, but a lie-in was enough for now. A call every day to Doctor Jones' New York office had helped a little. The crowds had stopped consisting entirely of Rhiannon's; she only took up about two-thirds of the audience now. But the screams were still pregnant with pain, the eyes still icily accusing. And Rhiannon's apparition had returned. Right now, she was standing on the balcony.
"Dammit, why won't you leave me alone?" he murmured, then chuckled bitterly, "Why can't I let you go?" he'd tried. God knew he'd tried! But he just couldn't. He couldn't do it. No matter how much he hated living with the constant reminders, having all the pain and all the guilt was better than having nothing at all.

A tap at the door roused Tay from the peaceful state of half-sleep he'd willed himself into. Must've been the maid with breakfast. What time was it?
'Oh who cares?' he couldn't be bothered with rolling over and forcing his eyes open to see.
"Who is it?" came his mumbled call.
"Taybear?" Avie. Was it that early?
"Whadyawant?" the door opened. All Tay's unfocused eyes could make out was a little blonde head running in and jumping onto the side of his bed.
"Morning Taybear!"
"Mmm," he groaned.
"Are you awake?"
"No,"
"Then why are you talking?" instead of answering, he defiantly rolled over and closed his eyes, "Taybear!"
"Go away Avie!"
"Alright Mr. Grumblebottom," giggling, she hopped off the bed and headed for the door. "Taybear?"
"What now?"
"Why's Rhiannon standing on the balcony?" he jumped up and out of bed, raced to the curtains and ripped then closed.
"She's not Avie. You're just seeing things,"
"But I saw her!"
"No you didn't! That was just the sun in your eyes,"
"But -!"
"You didn't see anything Avie,"
"I . . . I'm sure -"
"No, you were imagining,"
"I . . . was I?"
"Yes, you were,"
"Um . . ." the little girl was extremely confused.
"Don't worry about it Avie, we all get the sun in our eyes and see things that aren't really there. It's nothing to worry about,"
"No . . ." still bewildered, she walked out. The door closed, and he sagged against the glass balcony door. Bloody hell, Avie could see her. Avie could see her!!
"Oh God," he muttered. The room was too dark; needed light. But he didn't want to open those curtains. Switching the light on, he dressed. Couldn't stop glancing at those curtains. Why did he want to open them so much when he knew exactly what was behind them.
'You're courting death here Tay! Literally!'
But he couldn't stop staring at the heavy dusty green curtains.
'What the hell? She's probably gone,'
"That's wishful thinking if I've ever heard it," he mumbled to himself as he walked hesitantly towards the curtains.

He forced himself to open the curtains.

Her dark glassy eyes bored straight through him, her anger obvious.

"Christ!" he gasped, yanked the curtains closed and bolted out of the room.

~ * ~
August, 1996
Somewhere over
the Atlantic Ocean

It was dark. Considering it was the middle of the night, the aeroplane stewards had turned most of the lights off. The plane from Caerdydd to New York was only partly full, most people were asleep. Lew was one of them, snoring almost inaudibly in the aisle seat. Rhiannon sat by the window, head resting against the pillows Lew had set up for her, dozing soundly. The inky blackness of sleep was the only peace she'd ever known. Yet even that didn't stop the thoughts.
Why was she on this plane? She didn't want to leave Cymru. She wanted to wake up every morning to the sight of the sun rising over Eryri, to sit on the beach every evening and watch the sun sink into the Irish Sea. She wanted to stay in Gwynedd! She didn't want to go back to Tulsa!
'Well then come with us . . .'
Had she not been asleep, she would have screamed. The power of the Voices overwhelmed her!
'No, please, leave me -' for months the Voices had lain dormant, sitting in their lairs, gaining strength. All these months they'd been waiting until they had the power to overcome her worn defences and force her over the edge into the paradise of the living hell of the terrifying vortex.
'You can't fight us any more . . .'
'I can! I can! -'
'You're not strong enough . . .'
'I am! I have to be!'
'You don't belong here . . .'
'I belong in Cymru! I belon-'
'You don't belong anywhere . . .'
'I do!'
'Except with us . . .'
'No!' she was sobbing in terror. She wanted to wake up, but she couldn't. They held her too strongly.
'They don't like you . . .'
'I don't care! They -'
'You do care. You care very much . . .'
'No!'
'We like you, we care about you . . .'
'You hate me! You -'
'We want to protect you from them . . .'
'No . . .'
'Keep you safe from them . . .'
'No . . .'
'They hate you, would try and hurt you . . .'
'No . . .'
'Come with us . . .'
'No! . . .' the Voices were hypnotic, they drew her to them. Her willpower was draining.
'You can fight us no longer . . .'
'No . . .'
'You don't want to go back, do you? . . .'
'No . . .'
'Come with us . . .'
'No . . .'
'Come with us . . .'
'No . . .' the Voices reached out a hand to her. It was so hard to keep fighting . . . easier to give in . . . too hard . . . can't fight . . . give in . . .
'Come with us . . .'
'Alright . . .'

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