Chapter 112: Hope
Friday, March 11, 2016 (10:00 AM)
Two days of absolute silence had done their job.
Michael woke up in the Cleveland hotel and, for the first time in almost a week, his throat didn't feel like it was full of broken glass. There was still discomfort, a sensitivity that would probably take weeks to disappear completely, but the inflammation had gone down considerably.
He sat up in bed and tested his voice carefully.
"Hello," he whispered.
The sound came out raspy but audible. Not perfect, but functional.
"Hello," he repeated, a little louder.
Better. Much better.
He grabbed his phone and sent a message to Karl: "My voice is back. Not at 100%, but enough. Cleveland is happening."
The response came seconds later: "Thank God. Soundcheck at 4. Don't force anything until then."
Michael smiled and put down the phone. He had six hours to prepare.
And he had a surprise for Cleveland.
---
Michael was in his suite reviewing the inventory of recorded but unreleased songs. There were four bombs waiting for the right moment:
Jocelyn Flores I'm Gonna Be Hope Awful Things
Each one had a specific purpose. Each one was designed for a particular moment in his career.
"Hope" was special.
It was a song dedicated to his audience. It wasn't a party anthem or a confession of personal pain. It was a direct message to those who struggled, to those who suffered in silence, to those who needed to hear that there was hope on the other side of the darkness.
After the last few days, after reading hundreds of messages from fans sharing their struggles, Michael knew it was time.
He called Karl.
"I need you to coordinate something," he said, his voice still slightly hoarse. "I want to premiere 'Hope' tonight in Cleveland. Exclusively. And at the same time I sing it on stage, I want it to be released on all platforms."
Silence on the other end of the line.
"At the same time?" Karl asked. "Literally simultaneous?"
"Literally. I want the people in the venue to be the first to hear it, but I want the rest of the world to have it available at the exact moment I finish singing it."
"That's... logistically complicated."
"But possible."
Karl sighed. "Yes, it's possible. I can coordinate with the platforms for a scheduled release. What time approximately are you going to sing it?"
"Before the encore. Around 9:45 PM."
"Okay. I'll set up the release for 9:45 PM Eastern time. If you're late, the song drops before you sing it."
"I won't be late."
"Why this song? Why now?"
Michael looked out the window toward the Cleveland skyline.
"Because after everything that happened this week, the messages I received, the stories that were shared with me... people need to hear that there's hope. And I need to tell them."
---
The House of Blues Cleveland was exactly as Michael had imagined: a venue with history, walls covered in art and musical memorabilia, and acoustics that made every sound feel bigger than it was.
During soundcheck, Michael was extremely careful with his voice. He didn't sing at full volume. He didn't attempt the high notes. He just gently tested his range, making sure he could complete the setlist without destroying himself again.
"Sounds good," T-Roc said from his station. "Not at Phoenix or Chicago level, but strong enough to put on a good show."
Michael nodded. "Tonight isn't about power. It's about connection."
"Are you doing the 'Hope' premiere?"
"Yes. Right before the encore."
T-Roc smiled. "That song is going to destroy people. In the best way."
"That's the plan."
Michael walked to the edge of the stage and looked out at the empty hall. In a few hours, fifteen hundred people would be there, many of whom had waited extra days for this moment.
'I'm not going to disappoint them', he thought. 'I'm going to give them something they'll never forget.'
---
The doors had been open for half an hour. From the dressing room, Michael could hear the murmur of people filling the venue. It was a different sound from other nights. More... grateful. The people of Cleveland had waited, and their patience was about to be rewarded.
Michael pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. He wrote a post that would be published just as he took the stage:
"Cleveland. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for understanding. Tonight I have something special for you. A song you've never heard. A song for everyone who struggles in silence. For everyone who needs to know they're not alone. Tonight, 'Hope' is born in Cleveland. For you. For all of us."
He scheduled the post for 8:00 PM and put the phone away.
Karl poked his head through the door. "Fifteen minutes."
Michael nodded. "Is the release ready?"
"9:45 PM on the dot. Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube, everything. The moment you finish singing 'Hope,' the world will have it."
"Perfect."
"How's your voice?"
Michael cleared his throat gently. "Ready. Not perfect, but ready."
"That's all we need."
---
The lights went out. Cleveland's roar was deafening.
After days of waiting, of uncertainty, of wondering if the show was really going to happen, fifteen hundred people released all their pent-up energy in a collective scream that shook the walls of the House of Blues.
Michael walked to center stage, bathed in a white spotlight. He raised his hand in greeting and the roar intensified.
"Cleveland," he said into the microphone, his voice hoarse but present. "I made you wait."
Shouts of "IT DOESN'T MATTER!" and "WE LOVE YOU!" filled the air.
"My voice almost died for you," Michael continued. "But it's back. Not at a hundred percent, but enough to give you the show you deserve."
He paused.
"Tonight is special. Not just because we're finally here. But because I have something for you. Something no one else in the world has heard yet."
The murmur of anticipation swept through the venue.
"But that comes later. First..." he raised his fist. "Let's lose our minds!"
T-Roc dropped the beat for "Look At Me!" and Cleveland exploded.
---
The show was different from Detroit. Michael didn't come down from the stage to walk among the audience. He didn't risk his voice with unnecessary vocal acrobatics. Instead, he focused on visual connection, on direct eye contact with the front row, on gestures that communicated what his limited voice couldn't.
Song after song, Cleveland responded with an energy that compensated for any vocal deficiency. They sang every word, jumped with every beat, screamed between songs as if they wanted to make sure Michael knew they were there for him.
During "Star Shopping," Michael sat on the edge of the stage and let the audience sing most of it.
'Wait right here, I'll be back in the mornin'...'
'I know that I'm not that important to you...'
'But to me, girl, you're so much more than gorgeous...'
He only joined his voice at the key moments, saving energy for what was coming.
During "Lucid Dreams," the phone lights created the familiar sky of stars. Michael walked from one side of the stage to the other, pointing at different sections of the audience, thanking them with gestures for every note they sang.
'I still see your shadows in my room...'
'Can't take back the love that I gave you...'
When "crybaby" ended, Michael raised his hand asking for silence.
"Cleveland," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Before the encore, I have something for you."
---
The lights dimmed to almost total darkness. The venue fell silent.
Michael's voice emerged from nowhere, soft and solemn.
"This song is dedicated to everyone who struggles. To everyone who suffers in silence. To everyone who ever felt there was no hope."
He paused.
"There is hope. There's always hope. This song is called 'Hope.' And you are the first in the world to hear it."
T-Roc released the first chords. A soft, almost lullaby-like melody that filled the space with unexpected warmth.
And then Michael began to speak more than sing, his voice charged with emotion:
'Rest in peace to all the kids that lost their lives way too soon'
'To the struggle... to the silence'
'This song is dedicated to you'
The venue was completely still. Nobody moved. Nobody screamed. They just listened.
The beat entered softly, and Michael began the first verse:
'Okay, she keep cryin', she keep cryin' every single night'
'Day and night, on my mind, please don't kill the vibe'
'Oh, no, swear to God, I be in my mind'
'Swear I wanna die, yeah, when you cross my'
His voice cracked in the right places, not from weakness but from intention. Every word carried the weight of everything he had lived through in the past weeks.
'Said I wanna die, yeah, no, I'm not alright, yeah'
'I might start a riot, I'm so fuckin' tired'
'So, so what you say? Feelin' good, I'm feelin' great'
'Tired of the fuckin' hate, stackin' cheese all on my plate'
Then came the chorus, and the melody rose with a hope that contrasted with the darkness of the verses:
'So outside of my misery, I think I'll find'
'A way of envisioning a better life'
'For the rest of us, the rest of us'
'There's hope for the rest of us, the rest of us'
Michael looked at the audience as he sang those lines. He could see tears glistening on the cheeks of dozens of people. He could see lips moving, trying to learn the words in real time.
The second verse arrived with the same intensity:
'Okay, she keep cryin', she keep cryin' every single night'
'Day and night, on my mind, please don't kill the vibe'
'Oh no, I swear to God, I be in my mind'
'Swear I wanna die, yeah, when you cross my mind'
'Said I wanna die, yeah, no, I'm not alright, yeah'
'I might start a riot, I'm so fuckin' tired'
'So, what's up? What you say? Feelin' good, I'm feelin' great'
'Tired of the fuckin' hate, stackin' cheese all on my plate'
The final chorus came with all the force Michael's battered voice could muster:
'So outside of my misery, I think I'll find'
'A way of envisioning a better life'
'For the rest of us, the rest of us'
'There's hope for the rest of us, the rest of us'
The music faded slowly. Michael lowered the microphone and closed his eyes.
The silence lasted three eternal seconds.
And then Cleveland erupted.
Not in normal applause. In something deeper. Screams of gratitude, audible sobs, a collective roar that expressed everything words couldn't.
Michael opened his eyes. Tears were running down his face.
"This song," he said into the microphone, his voice barely audible over the noise, "is available right now. This very moment. For the whole world. But you heard it first. This is yours, Cleveland. Forever."
---
While Michael finished the encore with an emotional version of "The Way I See Things," the internet was exploding.
"Hope" had appeared on all platforms at exactly 9:45 PM. Fans who weren't in Cleveland discovered it at the same time as those who were in the venue. It was a shared experience on a global scale.
Twitter filled with real-time reactions:
"WHAT IS THIS SONG I'M CRYING"
"Hope just dropped and I can't breathe"
"Did Demiurge just release a song WHILE performing in Cleveland??"
"This is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard"
"'There's hope for the rest of us' I NEEDED THIS"
In less than an hour, "Hope" had more than five hundred thousand plays on Spotify. The lyric video Karl had prepared was accumulating views on YouTube at a speed no previous song had achieved.
But for Michael, the numbers didn't matter.
What mattered were the messages that started arriving:
"I was in a very dark place tonight. I heard 'Hope' and for the first time in months I felt like maybe I can keep going."
"This song made me call my mom. We hadn't talked in two years. Thank you, Michael."
"'There's hope for the rest of us.' I'm going to get this tattooed. It's what I needed to hear."
---
In the dressing room, Michael sat in silence, processing everything that had happened. His throat burned, but it was a different pain from Detroit. This pain was worth it.
Karl entered with the numbers.
"Half a million plays in one hour," he said. "Worldwide trending on Twitter. The video of the moment you sang 'Hope' in Cleveland already has two million views."
Michael nodded without saying anything.
"Are you okay?" Karl asked.
"Yes," Michael replied, his voice barely a whisper. "Just... processing."
"Processing what?"
Michael looked up at the dressing room ceiling.
"That this is real. That my music really helps people. That I'm not just screaming into the void."
Karl sat down beside him.
"You were never screaming into the void, Mike. From day one, people heard you."
"I know. But tonight I felt it. I really felt it."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Pittsburgh tomorrow," Karl finally said. "Can your voice handle it?"
Michael smiled slightly. "After tonight, my voice can handle anything."
He got up from the couch and walked to the mirror. The reflection looking back at him still had dark circles, still had chapped lips, still showed the signs of a brutal week.
But it also showed something new.
Hope.
'There's hope for the rest of us', he thought. 'Including me.'
Cleveland had been more than a rescheduled show. It had been a declaration. A promise. A reminder of why he did all of this.
And Michael was ready to take that message to the rest of the world.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thanks for reading!
You can support with Power Stones if you're enjoying the fic.
If you want to read 20+ advanced chapters you can visit my Patreon page: Patreon / iLikeeMikee.
https://mikelibrary.com/novels