A Story that Goes back a Few Years

*Note, please read musicalsparks' post "A story that goes back a few weeks" before you read this one, if you have not already done so.

Let's start a few weeks ago - maybe three? Four?

Mom and I are driving to Manassas in my car - ergo, I am driving.
So Mom says she wanted a Coke, which was cool, so I pulled into a McDonald's drive-in in Gainesville.

So we've ordered and paid, and we're between windows, waiting to pick up her drink. Then, I notice that my CD player light is flickering...

It was a BOMB!

At this point I pushed the secret button under my seat, and my mom and I were ejected from the car into the air. Our parachutes deployed, and we floated to safety. The car exploded, taking the McDonald's with it in a fiery ball of death fueled by grease and hatred. It was a deep kind of hatred. A kind of hatred that only degraded McDonald's employees can have. Such a mixture of hatred and grease is like pouring grenades onto a other burning grenades. There was nothing left of the McDonald's or my car. Those poor saps...

I landed safely on a nearby building and unhooked myself from my car seat. I was okay; the fireball had merely melted the soles of my shoes. I looked around for my mother. She wasn't anywhere to be found on the building, so she must have been blown somewhere else. I scanned the area for my mom. She was nowhere to be found.

And then I heard the sound of a helicopter starting its engine. The airport was miles away; I knew something was up. Suddenly, the building I was on began to shake. The roof was a giant door, and it slowly opened up. Soon I was unable to keep my balance, and I quickly scrambled to the opening in order to hold on. The roof opened completely and I dangled helplessly, holding on for my own life.

A helicopter shot out of the building, and hovered over me for a few seconds. I was able to glimpse my mother being held down by Bono and Justin Timberlake. They grinned devilishly, and then flew away.

I knew that this day would come. I knew that eventually they would find me. I knew that they wanted revenge.

I had to go before the police came. Bless them—they only get in the way when they're trying to do their job. There was only one way down. I gaged the distance to the ground, closed my eyes, and let go. The impact hurt—a bad kind of hurt. Nothing was broken, but I had hit my head. The last thing I saw was the flashing blue lights of the local Gainesville police. I was only just barely able to roll myself behind a dumpster to hide before I passed out.


In a white room with a piano, Kieth Emerson was playing a melody that I did not recognize, and Harrison Ford was pacing in the background. I was standing at attention, waiting for his instruction.
“This is the last day of your training,” said Harrison, “and you are almost ready as an archaeological agent. You are the best pianist in our class.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
“Yes, Kieth and I are very proud of you. You are our favourite student. You are about to graduate with honours and distinction, and you will be...”
“Cut to the chase, Harry,” said Kieth.
“Yes... You have one last test,” Harrison replied. “Although I think it's a complete waste of time. She's ready.”
“It is not a waste of time!” Kieth yelled. “It is the most important part of her training! It determines if she is ready or not!”
“Very well, I will let you take over.” Harrison retired to the next room, and Kieth and I stood silent for quite some time. The sound of his music filled the room.
“What is the song that I am playing?” asked Kieth, breaking his silence.
“I do not know, sir,” I replied.
“Of course you do, what is it?”
“I cannot tell you, sir. I have never heard it before.”
“Then why am I playing it for you if you have never heard it before?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Yes you do, tell me!”
“I do not, sir.”
Kieth jumps up from the piano and yells, “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!” He takes a knife off of his belt and begins to stab the piano. “Tell me! What is the significance of this song?” He pushes the piano over and tackles it, stabbing it again and again.


I woke up. It was a dream—a flashback to the time I spend under Kieth's and Harrison's tutelage in the secret agent archaeological and musical martial arts academy.

I was at home, in my own bed. I knew that I had been rescued by my butler Char. Good old Char, always good for getting out of a mess. According to my watch had been unconscious for days.

I jumped out of bed. My head was spinning slightly, but I had no time to spare. I needed to find out where they had taken my mother.

Thirty minutes later I was back at the building from where the helicopter came. I ducked under the “Do Not Cross” police tape, and made my way inside through a window. Inside I found the helicopter launch pad and a desk with its drawers open. It looked as if Bono and Timberlake had cleared the place before leaving, or else the police had taken everything as evidence. If it was the latter, at least I could get some information.

I called my informant in the Gainesville police headquarters. He told me that they had found nothing. Damn!

I turned off my phone. The hair on the back of my neck began to prick. I turned round quickly, my hand at my side, ready to stab my enemy. But all I saw was a piano in a darkened corner of the building.

I walked up to inspect it. It had many scratches and notches in it, as if it had been stabbed many times. How did this piano get here?

Then I knew. I knew where they had taken my mother. How I knew this, I do not know. I quickly left the building and jumped into my car. I was headed for the carnival.

When I got there the place was packed with people. I had to be careful. It's easy to blend into large crowds, for myself and for my enemies. I could never know who might try to kill me. I found a brochure and scanned its contents. This might give me a clue as to where my mother was.

There it was! A Bono and Timberlake charity concert. These men pretend to be humanitarians in order to hide their evil doings. They were going to cover Emerson, Lake and Palmer's Brain Salad Surgery album. Those bastards! There was no telling what changes they made to the music. I knew this concert was part of their revenge, and most likely they would kill my mother at the end if I did not show up. I had to find my mother!

I searched and searched, but time was running out. The concert was about to begin. I decided the best place to look was wherever my enemies were, and this close to the beginning of a concert, there was only one place they would be. I went to the stage.

I was able to make it past the guards unseen using my stealth training. I was getting close. I was backstage, and I could see Bono and Timberlake getting ready for the show behind the closed curtains. And there was my mother! But what was she doing? She was standing as a backup singer!

“You bastards!” I yelled as I jumped on stage. “What have you done to my mother?”
“We brainwashed her,” said Bono, calmly, “She's one of us now!”
“How dare you! I'm going to...”
Justin Timberlake took out a gun and held it to my mother's head. “You're not going to do anything, unless you want your mother to die,” he said.
“You're going to watch us play a completely changed version of Brain Salad Surgery! And you are going to watch your mother take part!”
“NO!” I sobbed. I looked at my mother. She had a vacant look on her face. She had clearly been brainwashed by being subjected to Bono and Timberlake's music for hours. “Mom! No!” I cried.
“Yes,” said Bono. “Don't you remember why we are doing this? Don't you remember that night? Don't you remember how your archaeological and musical skills had exposed us? How the public found out that we weren't actually good musicians? How are reputations were ruined? You brought this upon yourself when you forced us to change our names after society shunned us. Now that we have spent years regaining our reputations, it is time for revenge! And we are going to exact our revenge by destroying the very music that brought us down all those years ago. And in doing so we will bring down the ancient standard for judging good music, as written on the sacred scrolls you uncovered the night of our biggest concert. Once the public can no longer tell good music from bad, we will be able to control the entire music industry, and then the world!”

There was nothing I could do. If I moved they would kill my mother. The show was about to begin.

Suddenly I head the crack of a whip. Harrison Ford had knocked the gun out of Justin Timberlake's hand, and it fell to the floor. Harrison punched Timberlake and knocked him to the ground. My hand went to my belt, but before Harrison could reach the gun, Bono snatched it from the ground and pointed it at my mother again. We froze.

“It's too late! The show will go on!”

Timberlake stood up and walked over to Bono. Bono pointed his gun at him.

“You are worthless! I don't need you!”

Bono shot Timberlake and laughed. As Justin fell to the ground Bono raised his gun to Harrison. The curtain began to open. Suddenly my mother's arm shot out, and she punched him in the face. The gun went off, but the bullet only grazed Harrison's Indiana Jones hat. I took a knife from my belt and threw it, hitting Bono right between the eyes. He fell dead for the whole crowd to see.

I had won, but it was not over yet. I needed to ensure nothing like this happened again. And I needed to reverse the years of horrible music that Bono and Timberlake had ingrained on the minds of the public. I sat down at the piano and played the only song I knew would save us all.

For almost thirty minutes the song went on. After the first few minutes the rest of Bono and Timberlake's musicians came out of their trances, and began to play along with me. I played it with passion, knowing that it would only take effect if I played with all my heart. At the very end of the song I stabbed the piano, thus unleashing the power of the song in each thrust of my dagger.

It was the song that Kieth played on the last day of my training. It was remembering this song that told me where my mother was. Now I knew what the song was, and why Kieth played it. He wanted me to remember that I needed to decide things for myself. Even my years of archaeological and musical martial arts training could not help me make the right decisions if I did not keep in mind that I needed to think for myself. Even the ancient scrolls could not choose for me. He played it because he wanted me to choose the name of the song for myself.

The song was Karn Evil 9. This was the name I had unknowingly given it. Somehow Kieth knew. I gave the piano one last stab. My version of the song would have been different, but I played it with all my heart.

The hair on the back of my neck pricked again. I looked around to see Kieth in the crowd. He smiled at me, and walked away. Harrison came in from behind and put a hand on my shoulder.

“You did good, kid.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How did you know how to play that song, when you only heard it once, and only heard part of it?”
“That song is the song of my life. I have known it since I was born.”
“Kieth would have been proud. Even he would not have known to stab the piano that many times.”
“Yes, he was.”