Excerpt of Only One Survives by Hannah Mary McKinnon

PROLOGUE

42 days after the accident

Music Lovers,

I’ve guzzled three vats of coffee in record time. Could be why my mind’s racing faster than a cheetah on steroids but it’s more likely from the shock of what went down with the Bittersweet today. After failing to process the news, I came here to write a blog post. It was either this or a bottle of gin. To be honest, I’m not sure either will help make sense of it all.

If you’ve seen my recent posts, listened to my radio show What’s On NYC, or visited my social media, you’ll know I adore the Bittersweet, and you’ll have read about my devastation after what happened to the band last month. Their accident was such an incredible, tragic loss.

Since they rocked their way into my world last year, I’ve played “Sweet Spot” a million times on air, in my car, and while jogging through my neighborhood. Spotify’s profitability probably doubled because of me.

I’ve said this before and it merits repeating, it was time another all-female pop-rock group hit the scene. The Bittersweet, aka Vienna Taylor, Madison Pierce, Isabel Riotto, and sisters Gabi and Evelina Sevillano, were the perfect blend of powerful women who sang, played instruments, and wrote their own tracks. In short: they were kick-ass.

They once told me their sound was influenced by Blondie, the Bangles, Lenny Kravitz, Elastica, Lush, Oasis, P!nk, Prince, the Go-Go’s, and the more recent band The Beaches, but trust me when I say they were on their way to becoming legends in their own right.

I caught one of the Bittersweet’s shows last fall. Yeah, I’ve raved about it multiple times, so I won’t wax lyrical if you’ll pardon the pun, but it was easily in the Top-10 best concerts I’ve seen. The quality of their live performance, and their showwomanship were off the charts. More like a band that had played together for a decade, not a little over a year.

They came into the audience afterward and walked through the crowd, taking selfies, and signing every single autograph request until there were no more. Down-to-earth and friendly, totally approachable.

After watching them interact with each other, and having interviewed them on my show, the best way to describe their relationship is united. They gelled, you know? You could tell this band would go the distance. I’d have bet anything they’d be around for decades.

Thousands of us were heartbroken when the news broke about their car crash. Few details emerged at first, although we soon learned that after the single-vehicle accident on an isolated stretch of road in the Catskills, they’d been stranded overnight at an abandoned cabin during a major snowstorm.

Next came a report of fatalities. The fans (myself included) were freaking out, speculating about who had perished. Finally, the cops released pictures of Vienna, and confirmed another person who’d been traveling with the Bittersweet had also survived. With the heaviest of hearts, we concluded Isabel, Gabi, Evelina, and Madison had died…until the cops confirmed Madison was—and to this day still is—missing.

The police remained tight-lipped about the details, so naturally the whispers started. Words like crime scene, perpetrator, and investigations, as in plural, got thrown around. I figured it was nonsense. Clickbait for the gullible. No crime had been committed. I felt certain the accident would be ruled exactly that, an accident, after which we’d mourn the demise of one of the most exciting up-and-coming all-female bands in recent history.

Seems I was wrong. In case you missed it this morning, Vienna was approached by the police at a public memorial service for Gabi and Evelina in Queens. Taken in for questioning about their deaths.

You read it right and, in this instance, I’m not the only one who thinks deaths is synonymous with murders.

I was at the church along with hundreds of other gatherers, and we all had dazed and confused expressions on our faces. Couldn’t believe it. Thought it was some kind of mistake, yet, sure enough, Vienna got into the cruiser, and they drove off.

But wait, there’s more! Apparently, Vienna might be a suspect in Madison’s disappearance (I can’t believe I wrote those words, I mean, wtf?).

Now, it might all be nothing but rumors and speculation, but for the cops to show up outside the church in front of all of us and the press, and whisk a startled-looking Vienna away? We all know the saying about no smoke without fire. There’s got to be substance there for them to risk doing this. But what?

In any case, whoever hadn’t heard of the Bittersweet before certainly has now. This morning’s sound bite of Vienna insisting she’s innocent has been viewed thousands of times already.

Holy crap, I hope she’s telling the truth because not only do I love the Bittersweet, but candidly I’ve been #TeamVienna from the start. She’s cool, has this I-don’t-give-a-shitwhat-you-think-about-me vibe and her drumming skills are off-the-charts. It’s like she’s Meg White, Karen Carpenter, Sheila E., and Cindy Blackman rolled into one (read my prior Best Drummers of All Time post if you don’t know who I’m talking about), plus she writes the Bittersweet’s songs.

It might sound absurd, but someone so brilliantly talented can’t be guilty of murder, can they? Multiple murders. Could Vienna have hurt her girls? Where the hell is Madison? It’s been weeks since the accident and there’s no sign of her. Is she hiding? If so, why, when she could exonerate Vienna by showing up? Unless Madison fled because she’s the guilty one. Or they’re in this together. After all, they’ve been best friends since high school.

As I said, my mind’s spinning.

Tell me your theory about what went on in the Catskills. Could Vienna be a killer? What about Madison? Got another theory? Leave a comment, and if you hear anything, message me. We need to get to the bottom of the Bittersweet tragedy.

Stay tuned,

Melodie @musicalmelodiej

Comments (1,246—showing most recent)

@harry_dude92 Tragedy? Whatever. The Bittersweet sucked.

@georgiaonmym_ Four of them are dead, asshat. Shut up.

@harry_dude92 Being dead doesn’t make them any better. Well, kind of, since they can’t make more music.

@georgiaonmym_ You’re so gdmn rude

@musicalmelodiej @harry_dude92 Stay respectful

@harry_dude92 STFU your blog and show suck

@musicalmelodiej @harry_dude92 has been blocked. I don’t accept aggression.

@georgiaonmym_ Good! Btw I don’t think Vienna’s capable of murder

@bellybean56 I bet V killed them all #TeamMadison

@clefgalforever @bellybean56 How d’ya figure?

@bellybean56 It’s her eyes

@clefgalforever @bellybean56 huh?

@bellybean56 Cold. Brr.

@susie_jessica_hugs #TeamVienna? No chance! She’s 100% guilty.

@bellybean56 Agree. Whatever kicked off the Bittersweet shitstorm, I’ll bet it brewed for years. Way before the cabin, which was creepy af btw. What was that? The Shining Part II?

@cg_sunshine21 I want the entire story, right from the beginning when Madison & Vienna met. Warts’n’all. Everything.

@susie_jessica_hugs Hell yeah. Someone get on it already.

Chapter 1

The day of the accident

SOMETHING SCREAMS AT me to open my eyes. Just open your eyes. I don’t want to. Darkness thicker than molasses surrounds me like a cloak. It feels safe. Comforting. As if my brain already knows I can’t handle what I’ll see. If I look, no matter how small or fast of a glimpse, I’ll never forget.

As I press my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice in my head, long spindly shadows emerge from the depths of my mind. They beckon me to follow them, down, down, and I give in, ignoring the screaming as I let myself sink deeper and deeper into the stillness, a place of peace.

Vienna, open your eyes.

It won’t go away. Won’t leave me alone. A thought emerges from the thick fog swirling through my brain. The voice isn’t mine. It’s not inside my head. I raise a hand in a feeble attempt to bat the words away.

“Vienna, wake up,” the voice says, clearer now. “Please, please wake up.”

It’s a herculean effort to do as I’m asked, and as my eyes flicker open, I turn my head, glance over my left shoulder. Madison’s leaning forward and staring at me, her fiery red hair disheveled, her emerald eyes wild, wide with fear and a hint of what might be relief. I’m not sure what to make of the mixture. I’m not sure what to make of anything. I look away, but not before I see tears snake down her cheeks and drop onto her blue hoodie.

“Can you hear me?” she says.

My throat’s dry, rough as sandpaper. I don’t think I can speak but manage to push out a weak-sounding “Yes.” I nod in case Madison didn’t hear, and the movement brings a stabbing pain to the side of my temple. When I touch my head, I feel a tender lump beneath my fingers. Why am I hurt? Why—

Everything returns all at once. A sudden whoosh of thoughts and memories and fear—so much fear—banishing the darkness like birds startled from a tree.

Six of us were in my old Tahoe SUV. The Bittersweet— Madison, Gabi, Evelina, Isabel, and me—plus Libby, the documentary research assistant who’s been shadowing us over the past few weeks. It’s midafternoon in early December, and we were driving from Brooklyn to a holiday party in the Catskills hosted by our record label. A major event Madison insisted we couldn’t miss, no matter what.

No matter the impending storm.

A sequence of images flashes through my mind. Gabi offering to drive because I was tired. The weather turning earlier than expected, and far worse than anything we’d anticipated. Whiteout conditions. Getting lost in the middle of nowhere. A steep, winding, narrow road up a hill. Slippery lanes. Me tightening my grip on the cup of coffee in my hands, opening my mouth to tell Gabi we were perhaps going a little too fast.

And then…

My fists bunch tight as I recall the sudden movement when the Tahoe slid. This is when the memories slow down. It’s as if I’m watching the events unfold from above, all in slow motion. I remember the SUV getting closer and closer to the edge of the road. When I looked out of the passenger window, there was no asphalt left on my side, only the tops of snow-laden trees and a sharp drop below.

Renewed panic rises, making my heart pound. It leaps into my throat, threatening to choke me when I relive the sound of our collective screams as we crashed into the metal barrier.

There was a tiny moment of disbelief. A fraction of an instant when I truly believed we’d be fine, before the barrier gave way, and the Tahoe toppled over the edge of the road, right side first. One second, I thought we’d be all right, we’d be safe, and then we rolled once, twice.

After that…

I search my brain for what came next but there’s nothing.

My coffee cup’s empty, its contents spilled, the scent turning my stomach. At least the vehicle’s upright now, which I’m grateful for, but the front passenger side where I’m sitting is severely crushed, the windshield and front window shattered, half-gone. Thumb-size snowflakes drift in through the holes, landing on my jacket. As I watch them soak into the fabric and disappear, I long to go back into the darkness. Pretend none of this has happened. Maybe if I escape for a while, everything will be back to normal when I wake up.

Except I know it won’t.

“Are you all right?” I ask Madison, turning around again, and she nods.

I look at the others. Gabi’s in the driver’s seat, shoulders trembling, face pale, but she’s not making a sound. Libby’s in the back row, one hand over her mouth as she sobs. Evelina’s slumped face down on the floor, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. There’s blood on her jacket. My gaze searches for its origins but can’t find it.

Madison leans over, touches Evelina’s shoulder, but she doesn’t move. Was she knocked unconscious, too? Is that why it’s taking her longer to wake up? My gaze sweeps the rest of the vehicle, my temple throbbing again. It takes me a moment to spot what else is wrong.

There are five of us.

Five.

There should be six.

“Wh-where’s Isabel?” I say. “Where did she—”

“Look.”

The tone of Gabi’s whisper makes a shiver tear down my spine. She points to the broken windshield, and I follow her line of sight. At first, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. A jumble of clothes at the base of a tree? It’s what I tell myself until I register the bright teal color. The exact shade of the puffer jacket Isabel wore when we left Brooklyn. The coat she refused to take off, even after we cranked up the heat.

“No,” I say, wrestling with my seat belt, breaking free. “No, no, no, no.”

Scrambling, I heave myself up and climb over Gabi, hands yanking on the driver’s door. Mercifully, her side opens, and I jump out.

Driven by pure adrenaline, all temptation of going back to the darkness banished for good, I run to the heap of clothes— the heap I know is Isabel—gasping as I fall to my knees at her side.

A tree branch thicker than my arm is embedded in the left side of her chest where her heart should be, her shirt torn and spattered with deep red. Her eyes are open, staring at the gray skies above, but she doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move.

A guttural scream rises from deep within me, and I put my head back to let it escape. Before it can emerge, the smell of smoke makes the noise wither and die in my throat.

The Tahoe’s on fire. My friends are still inside.