Viral Read online

  Copyright 2019 T Gephart

  Discover other titles by T Gephart at the retailer of your choice or on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, or tgephart.com

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and scenarios are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Hang Le

  Editing by Insight Editing Services

  Formatting by Elaine York Allusion Graphics LLC

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Mailing List

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect with T

  DEDICATION

  To Karen – That inbox was priceless. Sharing it with me is what started this whole ride. Thank you.

  To Sally – Thanks so much for checking in on me and talking me off the ledge.

  No books will be left behind, even if there are tears while questioning our life choices.

  To Gep – I couldn’t have done it without you. I know it’s my process but I need the reminder and you by my side.

  White Trash Circus will be taking an extended break and won’t be playing any time in the foreseeable future. Please lodge all your complaints to my guitarist—and my ex best friend—who I found inside the girlfriend I’ve had since high school. I will pull the freaking knife from my back and continue—without either of them—when the time is right. With enough hate and anger coursing through my veins to keep me in therapy for life, I’m going to save my cash and let the music heal me. Prepare all your bleeding hearts to be tormented with the most righteous, heavy and cataclysmic tunes to ever come out of me. So there’s that to look forward to. Thank you for all the support over the years, the gigs, the love and most of all memories. Don’t trust anyone and stay metal—Vaughan.

  PS. Connor, you left your guitar and rig at my house so I took the liberty of relocating it to my front lawn. I might have dropped it on the way out the door. In your own words, brother, “Sometimes stuff just happens.”

  PPS. Our drummer spontaneously combusted and is no longer with us.

  WhiteTrashMegaFan - Whoa! Is this real?

  VaughanLover4Eva - I love you Vaughan, you were too good for her anyway. I want to have your babies.

  HeavyBrad69 – So rock and roll!! Can’t wait for the new stuff, it’s going to be metal AF!

  Nico – Ummm, Vaughan, what about me?

  LicksNStick - LOL awks

  White Trash Circus – No one cares about the bass player, Nico.

  Vaughan

  Fuck.

  Pretty sure my soul had checked out of my body twelve hours ago with my liver about four hours before that. I didn’t much care what the hell happened, except I was starting to sober up and that just wouldn’t do. Everyone knew the best way to beat a hangover was to stay drunk, and I was on a bender that had no expiration date.

  My head lifted off the bed only to be hit with the smell of stale beer and sweat floating up from my shirt. Screw that, my eyes squinting shut as I immediately lowered it. Why the hell was there banging on the front door? Wasn’t the whole idea of being in the fucking woods so that everyone left you the fuck alone? It wasn’t my boss, that much I knew. The asshole who ran the Get Go gas station I worked at, called and fired me on the spot for not turning up for my shift. And surely the other two cocksuckers weren’t dumb enough to come crawling back.

  The cocksuckers in question were my ex-girlfriend and my ex best friend. Those two shitstains had been fucking each other behind my back for who knows how long, which meant they not only killed their relationships with me but the only other thing that I loved.

  My band.

  Damn it.

  I was positive we were on the edge of greatness, just waiting to be discovered when it all went to shit. And while we might have survived losing our drummer—his exit completely coincidental—there was no way I was going to play with a dude who could stab me in the back so freaking hard.

  “Vaughan, open the door.” The knocking had graduated to shouting, my head not fond of the new progression. At least it wasn’t Connor or Lindsey, meant I wouldn’t end up in a jail cell before the end of the day.

  “Vaughan! Open. The. Fucking. Door.”

  Wow.

  Who knew he had it in him?

  “Go away, Nico,” I yelled, not in the mood to hear his bullshit. Fine, I probably should have consulted him before pulling the pin and posting the status, but it was my freaking band and I’d do what I wanted.

  Before I could add that while my comment about “no one giving a shit about the bass player” might have been harsh but undeniably true, a boom vibrated through the room. The door that had been locked shut had flung open, separating from the splintered jamb.

  Old door, not great lock and a solid kick would do that.

  “What the fu—” I didn’t even get to finish the sentence, six-foot-six of pissed off coming through the hole where the door used to be, only stopping short when he saw me.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Nico covered his nose, taking a step back. “It smells like something died in here.”

  Ha.

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  I felt like I’d died too, and couldn’t remember when I’d last taken a shower. My eyes were probably so bloodshot I was going to need a gallon of Visine, while my long hair had started to form dreads. Not that personal hygiene was running high on my list of priorities.

  Nico had about four inches on me, and I was a respectable six-two. He also carried at least ten to fifteen more pounds because he got beat up a lot as a kid. I didn’t have the same problem, which meant I stayed just under two hundred.

  “What happened?” I asked, wondering if Nico was actually stupid or just playing the part real well. “Connor fucked Lindsey and—”

  “Ok, look, that’s not why I’m here.” He cut me off, waving his hands and taking a step forward. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

  Great.

  I wasn’t drunk enough to hear him bitching about whatever it was he needed to say. “Nico, if this is about the fucking status—”

  “Can you shut the fuck up for a minute and listen to me?” His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. “The status went viral, Vaughan. It’s been liked and shared over three hundred thousand times. It’s been what? Two days? Closer to three if you counted the extra hours. There are more comments than anyone can read and my phone hasn’t stopped
buzzing.”

  “Huh?” My hand scrubbed the front of my face trying to understand what he was saying.

  We had maybe a thousand fans on our pages, and some of those were family and friends who didn’t give a shit about the band but were just being supportive. Which was why I put up the status in the first place, made it easier to tell everyone that Connor was a dick, Lindsey a whore, and the band was done.

  Not wanting to see either of them—or anyone else—I headed to my grandpap’s cabin in Nemacolin where I could drink myself into a stupor and connect with nature or some shit. My grandpap swore the place had magical fucking powers, and while the old dude was a drunk and had been dead ten years, I didn’t have anything else to do. Not like I had a job or anything, my life pretty much in the toilet.

  “Viral,” he repeated, not telling me anything more than he had the first time. “A few people shared it and then it sort of exploded. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—likes, shares, comments. Phone calls, people knocking on my door—I’d been trying to get a hold of you for six hours before I finally went and saw your parents. They told me that you grabbed the keys for this place and took off.”

  The room swayed, or maybe I was, my head feeling weird as I shuffled back and found a seat. “Three hundred thousand?” I swallowed, not even being able to visualize what that number would even look like. “What the hell are they saying?”

  It felt like a crazy-ass dream. And I wasn’t sure if it was my blood alcohol level, the fact I couldn’t remember when I’d last ate, or that Nico had grown a set of balls all of a sudden, but none of it made sense.

  Three hundred thousand—so many zeros my head hurt—over a fucking status about the band being over?

  What did that even mean?

  “Radio stations looking for interviews, people wanting to hear from us—and considering no one gives a shit about the bass player,” the sarcasm thick in his voice, “I figured I’d come here and get your sorry ass.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping up my original post, and thrust the phone in my face. Even with bloodshot eyes and blurry vision, I could see the counter clicking over live as that three hundred thousand moved closer to four.

  “Holy shit.” I grabbed my own phone and brought it back to life. I’d switched it off when I’d left my apartment in Swissvale and hadn’t even looked at it since. The minute it found a signal, the thing buzzed, beeped, vibrated and flashed like a slot machine spitting out a jackpot in Vegas.

  Love you, Vaughan. Keep fighting the good fight —Luda92

  Hey Guys, you need a guitarist? I can play AND keep my dick in my pants. DM me—SiTheShreddingGuy

  Is this for realz?—LolliPop8

  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Condolences Bro, don’t fade into the darkness, we’ve got ya back—DOA

  This is Kasey Blackwell from KDP News, can you please check your inbox and email account for our messages. We’d love to get a statement.—KaseyBKDP

  How can you do that to your boy, Connor? I hope you get herpes and your dick falls off. PS your guitar work sucked ass. Vaughan was being held back IMHO. Rise above, brother!—RitchM

  “See, told you.” Nico smirked, tipping his head to my phone which seemed like it was going to explode from the activity.

  Message after message appeared, new ones popping up faster than I was able to keep up with. And my voicemail was full too, texts not being enough for some, the need to call me too overwhelming.

  “I need to get back.” I tried to stand, my body swaying as I unsuccessfully tried to get upright. To be fair, I hadn’t spent a lot of time vertical in the last few days so I was probably out of practice.

  Nico grabbed my shoulders, putting that extra muscle to good use as he kept me on my feet. “Maybe we get you some coffee and sober you up a bit first. And for all our sake’s, I hope there’s a shower in this place too.”

  The old water heater still had some life in it and I was able to wash away the stench of bad decisions and cheap beer with the help of a bar of Irish Spring. Thankfully, I had some clean clothes stashed in a gym bag in the back of my truck, because the ones I’d been wearing were going to need an exorcism and about a gallon of Tide if they stood any hope.

  After downing three cups of coffee, a bag of beef jerky with a questionable expiration date, and two Advil, I was as close to being human as I was going to get. Not sober enough to drive though, which meant I had to leave my beat-up Ford pickup at the cabin and hitch a ride with Nico in his Nissan Altima.

  The two-hour drive back to Swissvale gave me time to try to weed through some of the comments and get a handle on what we were dealing with. Sure, there were assholes who called me a crybaby for airing my dirty laundry. Or others who assumed Lindsey strayed because she wasn’t getting enough satisfaction at home. But for the most part, they were supportive. Of course, it would have been nice if even one tenth of these people had shown any interest in our music or turned up to a gig. Not that it mattered now.

  “Fuck!” Nico slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop as we pulled into my apartment complex. There were people everywhere, hanging out on their phones, banging on my front door and trying to peek through my drapes.

  “Jesus, who the hell are they?”

  There had to be at least thirty people in the parking lot, most of them faces I didn’t recognize.

  “Fans?” Nico shrugged, slowly reversing out of the complex and onto the road. No one seemed to notice his Altima, probably expecting my Ford truck.

  “Fans? Dude, our last gig there were fifteen people in the bar. We don’t have that many fans.” I scoffed, wondering how the hell I was going to get back into my apartment. “Look, just go to Johnny’s place.”

  Nico hesitated, continuing down the road with no real conviction. “You sure, man? You think he’s going to want to see us?”

  “Well if he doesn’t, he’ll be the one person in Pittsburgh who apparently doesn’t. Just go to Johnny’s.”

  Johnny Cash—legit, his name—was destined for rock stardom. How could he not be? If you were named after a legend, you had to follow in their footsteps—it was like an unwritten law. But instead of taking up guitar like his namesake and becoming a superstar, Johnny decided drums were more for him. Suited me fine though, because we needed a drummer and no one else was interested.

  But as far as talent went, he drew the short straw. He could keep time—barely—but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t until two weeks ago that he sat us down and came out to us as a band. Confessing he’d been living a lie and it was eating him alive.

  No, he wasn’t gay.

  Gay would have been awesome. He could have sucked as much dick as he wanted to and I would have been his number one supporter. Because I didn’t give a shit what anyone’s sexual preference was, and truth be told, it meant there was less chance of him screwing Lindsey like Connor did.

  But noooooooo, he couldn’t be fucking gay and make us all happy. Instead, he came out as a fucking circus freak. You know the kind that wear one-piece white leotards that show off your junk. And maybe it would have been easier to take if he did something cool like breathe fire or scare people as some demented clown. But unbeknownst to any of us, he was a fucking acrobat.

  Flips through the air like it’s happy hour at Cirque du Soleil.

  And you think you know a guy.

  So he packed up his sticks, told us he was joining the freaking circus—like an actual one—and that we were going to be less a drummer.

  For a second I thought it was some sick, perverted joke and then I saw his costume. Yeah, the joke was on me since I’d been the dick who’d named the band. And yet, like I’d been a freaking crusty old Greek dude sprouting a prophecy, one of our members legitimized our name.

  No way in hell I was fessing to that truth, which was when I decided I’d turn to Spinal Tap for inspiration. I mean, he might as well have died. As soon as he took off with the carni folk, he was as good as lost to us. It was worse than a cult.


  We pulled up to Johnny’s place and thankfully it was a ghost town. His parents had retired to Florida—or left from the shame—leaving their only son their two-story aluminum-sided house in Munhall.

  “Vaughan?”

  Before we’d even knocked on his front door, he’d pulled it open and was staring at us from the other side.

  He looked so fucking normal, still dressed as a regular guy in a pair of jeans and a tee, keeping his junk as well hidden as his dirty secret.

  “I’m here too, asshole.” Nico rolled his eyes, pissed that despite being right beside me with his fist ready to knock, I was the first one who was acknowledged. Pfft, bass players—they just didn’t get it.

  Johnny shook his head, pulling open the door a little wider and welcoming us inside. “Yeah, I know. But you aren’t the cocksucker who told the world I fucking died.”

  “C’mon, man,” I scoffed, still not sober enough to be less honest. “There wasn’t a chance I was writing the truth. This way, you got a dignified exit. Everyone is happy.”

  “Tell that to my parents who have been fielding calls from concerned friends and relatives ever since you posted it.” He pointed to a couch and I was more than happy to take him up on the offer. “And next time you decide to post something like that, how about you give me a heads up.”

  If my head didn’t hurt so much, I would have rolled my eyes. And had I not been so pissed at Connor and Lindsey, I’d have probably extended him the courtesy. “Yeah, yeah fair call. You want to rail me a little longer or can I have a minute to work out what the hell is happening?”

  Johnny might have traded drumsticks for a big top but he’d been a friend for a long ass time and had always had my back. I was willing to overlook his recent indiscretions on account he’d given us a safe place to hide out.