Chapter 12: The Stem

I put on the headphones.

Abel walked to the far end of the garage and stood with his back against my father's workbench.

"Start with take one," he said. "Solo the channel."

I clicked the first lead vocal.

It was Dax.

He sang the opening line of "Stay Till Morning," and it was thin and tight and nothing like the record.

At the top of the first chorus his voice caught and split.

On the track he swore, and a chair scraped, and somebody said, "Again."

I played take two.

It was the same, only worse.

He reached for the high note and a rasp tore through it, and he stopped and coughed.

Even through the headphones I could hear him hitting the console with his hand.

"He couldn't sing it," I said.

Abel didn't answer.

"He's been singing that line on stage for six years."

"Play the third one."

My hand shook on the mouse.

I clicked on "LEAD_AT_take3."

A guitar came in, low and plain.

Then a voice began.

It was rough and quiet, and it was full of breath.

It was the voice on my mother's cassette.

It was also the voice on every record I had ever made.

Not near it.

It was the voice, the real one.

It was the one that had been in my head for six years.

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