Calvin's Industry

Chapter 7: The Broken Star.

About an hour later, Abigail was sitting in her car outside Jason McCallister's home. How her husband knew he lived here was beyond her, and she tried her best to calm down.

The neighborhood looked tired and forgotten, with rows of small houses featuring dead lawns and broken streetlights. It was hard to believe that a young music icon who sold out stadiums just a few years ago was now living here.

This was crazy, but she trusted Calvin. She looked at the rearview mirror to make sure her hair was perfect.

Taking a deep breath, she walked to the front door. The porch light was broken and she had to stand alone in the dark for a while, tracing her hands on the outside wall to find the doorbell.

She pressed it once and there was no response, then she pressed it over and over until she saw a curtain move upstairs. Someone had noticed her, and she stood still, trying her best to look harmless.

Given the circumstances, she wouldn't be surprised if he was too scared to answer. This was like an abandoned area, and she was a stranger coming to visit at nightfall.

Yes, the night was still young, but that didn't make it safe. The only part of her that made it feel like a good idea was that she trusted her husband; perhaps a bit too much.

If she didn't, she would have at least allowed this to wait until the next morning. Abigail didn't even know this person, and this could be dangerous on so many levels.

What made Calvin so sure this was the right approach? Wasn't this a bit too reckless?

Why couldn't this wait until tomorrow? Now she was on the verge of changing her mind, but right when she was about to turn back to cool her head and make a more rational decision, the front door opened.

A young man stepped out with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and tattoos covered his arms and chest like a second skin.

Even through the dim lights, Abigail could make out the images of saints and demons, angels and skulls twisted together in black ink. She found herself getting drawn in, but the young man's eyes stopped her.

Those eyes looked ancient, marked by endless pain and grief. He walked to the gate slowly, looking at her through the metal bars.

"Do I know you?"

Abigail kept her tone soft and respectful.

"Jason McCallister," she said.

"I'm Abigail Constantine. I have something important to discuss with you. May I come in?"

Jason frowned, looking around to see if this was a prank. He looked at her up and down, taking in her designer clothes and nervous demeanor.

Abigail easily noted this but remained quiet.

"Well, well," Jason said as he smiled.

"A beautiful woman who knows what she wants. I respect that."

He reached for the gate lock carefully, staring at her in a way that made it clear he was still deciding whether to trust her. The gate swung open with a rusty sound.

"Come on in, beautiful," he said.

"But don't expect anything miraculous. I'm not the same guy I used to be."

Abigail looked around the small yard and was surprised to see everything looking clean. In spite of everything she heard about Jason's problems, the grass was cut and the flower beds were neat and healthy looking.

The walls were covered with beautiful religious art, including paintings of the Virgin Mary, wooden crosses, and a statue of a medieval saint she didn't recognize. There were candles almost everywhere even though the light bulbs were turned on.

Sadly, these were the only beautiful aspects of Jason's home. The rest of the room was filled with garbage bags, empty bottles, and takeout containers.

The center table was buried under many ashtrays and prescription medications. Abigail could easily smell cigarettes and old alcohol from every corner.

Meanwhile, Jason walked to the small refrigerator in the corner.

"Sit down, beautiful," he said as he opened the door.

"You seem like the type to like wine. Am I right? What's your poison?"

Abigail sat on the couch, still looking at the walls of the room. The mix of sacred and broken made her curious and a bit sad.

"The art is stunning," she said.

Jason pointed at the painting of Mary, which was perhaps the most beautiful portrait in the room.

"That was my mother's doing. She made me promise to pray every day, no matter what the hell I put myself through."

He crossed himself and kissed a small gold cross hanging from his neck.

"May she rest in peace."

He looked back at Abigail, then sat across from her and leaned forward to dump more ash into the tray.

"But you didn't come to talk about religion and my dead mother, did you, sweetheart?"

Abigail took a deep breath before answering.

"I'm here representing Freya Music Group."

Jason suddenly became angry. He stood up so fast that Abigail thought his couch would fall over.

"Get out," he said, pointing towards the door like it was a weapon.

"Please let me explain," Abigail said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.

"I said get the hell out!" Jason yelled.

"Don't make me ask again."

But Abigail didn't move. She sat there quietly, trying to bring her almost shaking body under control.

Calvin had taught her that sometimes the most powerful thing you could do was refuse to be scared at times like this. So she sat there, looking at his angry face with steady eyes.

"I'll leave when you hear what I'm about to say," Abigail said.

She was gentle, but firm.

"Or you can feel free to grab me by the hand or throw me out. Either way, I want you to listen before you decide anything."

In response, Jason laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before moving closer to her. He got so close to Abigail that the burning tip was almost touching her face.