Rock With You: A Love Story

slash

Sydney, Australia
8:01pm
Michael's POV

The bass stops. Along with the screaming crowd, and the drummers sticks. Everything has gone silent.
I instantly whip my head side to side in confusion, looking to see if this was for some reason supposed to happen, my curls blurring my vision every few seconds. But all of the dancers, everyone, currently looks exactly how I feel; slightly panicked and feeling puzzled. This is not a good start.
"What's happening?" I mouth dramatically to Frank, who's stood on the edge of the stage's right wing, my hands flapping about.
He quickly shrugs and takes a puff of his 2nd cigar, his brows also furrowed in panic.
The lights are not yet on me, I hadn't reached my cue to step on stage, so I decide to sprint off stage and back where everyone else is.
Pacing back and forth backstage, a murmur of "But that wasn't meant to happen?"'s and "What do we do?"'s ring through my head. I can't help but to imagine the thousands of fans stood outside, worried and let down. I've let them down.
I stare at the ground, my eyes not blinking. It's now been 4 minutes and 25 seconds and no one has given me or anyone an explanation. Instead, everyone is simply repeatedly stating the situation and wiping beads of sweat from their foreheads. I feel like I'm going to throw-up I'm so nervous, why is this happening?
"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" I shriek. I cant handle this silence any longer.
Everyone goes silent, and slides their attention to me. Only then do I realise that I just swore at a room full of people that either work for me, or I love.
"It seems to have been..." Frank says hoarsely, his voice low, "intentional."
"Intentional?" I raise my eyebrows. What?
"Yes." Frank splutters, looking hurt.
"What do you mean? By who? Why?" I charter.
"We don't know. But all of the wires have been slashed. Every single... one of them." Frank crosses his arms over his large body, his cigar balancing between his index and middle finger.
"SLASHED?" I cry aloud.
"Yes, calm down Mike. We can-''
"What can you do? You certainly can't plug them back in slashed!" I throw my palms up to my head with anxiety, my heartbeat beginning to speed up rapidly.
"People are already looking for new ones, they said they usually have back ups and spares of everything here." One of my dancers, Rowena, says casually.
"Yes, Rowena, but there are thousands of people out there, in the hot and stuffy air, probably regretting their tickets 1 minute into the damn show. I can already see the headlines...." I snap.
"Mike, stop...''
"Michael Jackson has the worst concert in history in his opening night in Sydney!" I mimic a headline in the air with my, now extremely clammy, hands.
"Mike! Enough." Frank shouts. I respond with a fierce stare. "We need to focus on the fans. Let them know what's going on. Someone needs to grab a mic and go up."
"Not me, they'll throw it something at me. Something hard...'' I sneer. In my head, the crowd of loving fans has now faded into a riot of hating tabloid authors, waiting for their chance to pounce. I've messed up. It's my fault.
"I'll do it, step aside." Frank snatches the mic out of Belle's hand, she doesn't seem to mind as she seems purely concerned. He walks past me, shakes my shoulder firmly, and struts onto center stage.

"Folks." Frank clears his throat. I stand peeking through the thick, coarse black curtains, subconsciously biting my nails. I see a mass of multi-coloured lights gleaming from the audiences hands as they illuminate the dark air. This for some reason makes me feel immense guilt. The thought of them buying little flash lights for this show and it going to waste would crush my heart and soul.
"I am so deeply sorry for the delay. We seem to be having... technical difficulties, and it should be sorted very shortly. We suggest you all sit down while we wait." He handles it well. "Sorry, again, from all of us. Michael especially."
Everyone cheers at the mere mention of my name which forces a small smile on my face. I love them, they never fail to make me smile. They're my family.
Belle wraps her hand around my neck and lays her small head on my shoulder. I put my hand onto hers, and turn my head to kiss her cheek.
"Don't blame yourself. All you've done is flown here, got ready and been prepared to give them the best night of their lives. You can't help whoever decided to ruin that." Her quiet, comforting words tickle my neck. She lifts my mood as she always knows precisely what to say, that's why I'm going to marry her.
"I love you." I lean my head against her temples, her chin still balanced sweetly on my shoulder. She's allowed me to see this situation more positively, it really isn't my fault. I can't control everything. But I'm still filled with concern for my fans. I can hear a hum of their words, probably confusion and worry.

"Excuse me, sir?" I see a tall woman step up to Frank. She's wearing all black, a logo on her shirt, she works at the stadium.
"Yes?" He replies, his eyes distant from thought.
"We have found some CCTV footage from tonight and I was wondering if you could come and watch it. You might recognise the girl who slashed our wires." She sounds concerned and shocked.
"I need to see this." I shoot up from the amp I was sat on, Belle gasping from shock. "Sorry." I whisper to her.
"Ok, Mike, come on." Frank gestures me over as he follows the lady down a corridor. I take Belle's hand and quickly pace behind them.

"Okay, so we have footage of at 7:49 earlier tonight." She says in a matter-of-fact tone, the small grey television set beginning to play back the video with multiple glitches and jumps. "Here! You see a girl step up to the wires on Wing R, where they're slashed, and step behind them. We can't see her slash them exactly, but when she walks out, she leaves her face visible.... there!" The lady points to a face on the screen. Belle, Frank and I all squint at the screen; only to all be hit at the same time.
"Hannah?!" We all exclaim.
"I had a feelin'." Frank shakes his head with a tut.
"I thought we fired her!" Belle scoffs.
"We did! The crazy bitch is stalking us!" My jaw hangs open. She's not getting away with this. Not only did she mess with me and my whole team, but she messed with my fans.
"You know this girl as Hannah?" The lady asks.
"Yes. Hannah Streamer. An Ex-dancer of the tour. She was fired for inappropriate behaviour. Clearly took it sour." Frank mutters aggressively.
"What do we do?" Belle says.
"We can find her. I have all her details still. Are we sure it's her?" Frank squints again.
"That's her alright, you can't miss her beady little eyes." I scowl at the screen.
"Babe, you can't even see her eyes." Belle chuckles slightly.
"I can feel the vibe, though! Trust me, it's her!" I exclaim.
"It is her." Belle agrees.
"Do we know she slashed them?" Frank enquires again.
"Well she walked in wearing a large coat, we aren't able to see what we in the pockets. Maybe scissors? A knife? She then sneaks out and leaves the premises and we noticed they've been slashed. And you say there was already tension... it seems logical to me that it's this Hannah girl." The woman explains.
"Wait a second... but everything was working perfectly for a minute, then it cut off. Surely that means the wires were slashed at 8:01?" Belle sparks. That makes me worry.
"Yes, well. We do have a just a select few loudspeakers that pair with our Alto Truesonic's, so the loudspeakers would have powered for a few seconds before struggling to create enough power without their pair. So they would have just turned off, as they did." She tells us.
"Oh. Okay, then yeah it was 100% Hannah." Belle chirps.
"I agree." I cross my arms across my stomach and continue my scowling at Hannah's digital, yet still repellent self.
I can't believe my lips ever touched hers...
"What now?" I say.
"I'll give this lady Hannah's details and we will contact her. Right now." Frank whips out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"What's that?" Belle says what I also think.
"All the staffs numbers. Every dancer, every technician, everyone. As the manager, you need this sort of stuff..." He replies while tracing his chunky finger down the list and stopped at Hannah's name.
"555..." He begins to read her number.
I gulp. This leg of the tour is not going well.