Chapter 1: Ten Years Past
Chapter 1: Ten Years Ago Past
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story is almost finished...this fic was written by me nearly 9 years ago. I decided in honor of Christmas season and the fact we need a laugh more than anything right now fellow fans; I am editing the chapters and posting as I edit. I have the story almost completed and it will be finished by Christmas this year. I will have the other chapters soon.
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Ten Years Ago:
The weather in England was ghastly—a typical rainy day, perhaps, but one that draped a melancholy shroud over an already joyless occasion.
Simon Cowell, the founder of Syco Entertainment, lay dead in a simple mahogany casket at the head of St. Paul’s Cathedral, one of the largest and most revered churches in London.
The silence inside the dimly lit chapel was punctuated only by the sound of raindrops tapping against the roof and windows, a somber symphony echoing the mood of the gathering.
In the front, near the coffin, stood six figures, all sharing the same heavy emotion that one might express at such a daunting time. Among them were the Bishop, a priest, and two graveyard keepers, alongside Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne, who would ultimately transport Simon’s body to its final resting place outside in the courtyard.
According to Simon’s last wishes, outlined in a letter detailing his final arrangements, he had hoped to be buried in the affluent section of Kensal Green, in a mausoleum befitting his stature. Unfortunately for him, his wife had squandered his wealth on her own selfish desires, leaving the plot neglected and unpaid. That placed Louis as the primary benefactor, and he would be damned if he were to pay a million pounds for an extravagant funeral.
So here they were—no music, no decorations, and the cheapest coffin available, save for a pine box. The only concession Louis made for his mentor was to hold the funeral in the cathedral, honoring one of Simon’s final requests, which also happened to be the least expensive option.
Clearing his throat loudly, Louis’s voice echoed off the cathedral’s high walls, vibrating back to the five other occupants.
Liam, stationed at the foot of Simon’s coffin, frowned as he turned toward his friend, wondering why Louis would disrupt the priest’s solemnity. But then again, no one had been speaking; they were the only ones present to pay their final respects.
The priest, who had just concluded the eulogy moments prior, stood awkwardly at the front, surveying the endless rows of empty pews.
It was disheartening that Simon’s wife and son hadn’t bothered to attend, offering no farewell to the man who had once been a titan in the music industry. But then again, that was what happened to someone despised by nearly everyone, even their own gold-digging family.
“I’m a bit surprised, truthfully,” Louis began, his toneless utterance reverberating through the small gathering. His cerulean eyes, as cold as ice, swept over the wooden pews, the blinding white walls adorned with holy statues, and the comforting shelter of stained glass that shielded the congregation from prying eyes.
If Louis could conjure sorrow to mourn for his predecessor, he would. If he could feel anything but the icy water that coursed through his veins, he would gladly have traded that emptiness for something more profound.
Grief was a familiar companion to him, one he had endured for far too long. Eventually, with enough anguish, even the strongest of hearts can break. Louis was broken, and he felt no inclination to bear that burden any longer. He left it untouched, as it should have been since its inception, and the man who stood there now was not the same one he had once been—and if he had his way, he never would be again.
“Surprised that more people weren’t here?” Liam asked softly, careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the holy place.
Louis scoffed lightly. “Nah. More like surprised his wife didn’t bother to show up. I mean, I was right there when he dropped, but good luck trying to make her care.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Heart attack, was it? Poor soul,” the priest murmured, shaking his head sadly as he studied the pale face in the coffin, soon to be left to decay.
Louis chuckled darkly. “Aneurysm, actually. One minute he was up in his penthouse office, talking about the next big thing; the next, he’s clutching his head, screaming, and then just—boom—flat on the floor. By the time the ambulance got there, he was a mess—bleeding from his eyes, nose, and ears. It was horrific.” Louis’s voice was almost gleeful as he recounted the memory, the details still fresh in his mind.
Liam’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, taken aback by Louis’s bluntness. Yet Louis delivered it all with a smile and a playful wink.
“Louis! That’s hardly appropriate!” Liam chastised, adjusting the copper cufflink on his white undershirt, which perfectly matched his black jacket and pants.
Louis was far less formal, donning a baseball cap from his favorite team, old ripped jeans, and a Bob Marley t-shirt paired with Tom shoes.
“Sorry, mate, didn’t realize we were at a children’s party. Seriously, Liam—if you’re going to give me grief for being honest, maybe you should’ve stayed at home,” Louis said with a smirk, gesturing dismissively before his tone shifted to one of feigned indignation. “Look, Simon chose me as his successor, so I need an assistant to help keep things running. We’ve known each other since school, right?” Louis raised an eyebrow, finally turning to look at his old friend.
Liam shot him a disgruntled look but nodded in agreement.
“Good man. Now, since there isn’t much else to be done here, I’ve got to go handle some stuff. Just because someone dies doesn’t mean there isn’t profit to be made, you know? I’ve got to make sure the things that earn us money keep doing just that. See you tomorrow, bright and early at five AM, yeah?” Louis asked, his tone rhetorical as he bounded down the long row of pews toward the door.
Liam waved goodbye to his new employer, feeling a mix of dread and reluctance regarding the schedule that awaited them, especially with Louis’s notorious attention span and penchant for juggling multiple projects at once—traits he could never have attributed to Simon.
As the story went, when Louis was a young lad of sixteen, Simon had given him his own record label at the peak of his stardom, hoping to pass on opportunity and success to emerging artists. Solo artists at that time had about the same shelf life as boy bands, and Louis knew he needed to get his foot in the door before the opportunity closed.
Alas, despite wanting and obtaining his own label, not much had been done with it. Tragedy had always loomed large in Louis’s life, striking most fiercely on Christmas.
The door slammed shut, pulling Liam from his troubled thoughts, and he let out a heavy sigh.
“He sure is a quirky one, isn’t he?” the priest remarked, making the sign of the cross toward the door.
Liam suspected the priest was doing it purely for the sake of Louis’s soul, and he doubted that either that or the purest of holy water could save it at that point.
“He’s troubled, sir. There are a lot of bad memories surrounding this time of year for him—his family, his son…” Liam murmured, his voice gentle, almost afraid that Louis might overhear and come back to rant about his business being aired in such a public setting.
“What of his family? What of his son?” the priest inquired softly; his weary sadness palpable in the air.
Liam looked down at the floor, guilt twisting in his gut. This was neither the time nor place for a confession on Louis’s behalf, and he couldn’t divulge information so freely without his blessing—something he’d receive when hell froze over, if Tomlinson had any say about it.
“I’m afraid that’s not my story to tell, but I can say his demons are plenty. I worry about him if he doesn’t find a way to face them—or himself.” Liam concluded, stepping closer to the coffin to pay his final respects.
For a moment, he simply stared down at the now lifeless body of their former boss.
The minister and priest moved to either side of Liam, placing a comforting hand on each of his shoulders.
“You know what’s ironic?” Liam mused, keeping his gaze unflinching. The men remained silent, prompting him to continue. “For all the artists and bands Simon helped to succeed, not a single one showed up to express their gratitude. Not even the corporate suits he helped line their pockets with could spare a moment from their busy schedules.”
The priest nodded in understanding.
“Sometimes, my son, the work we do for others bears a heavier burden, yet we undertake it because we are driven by a desire to make a difference. Simon knew what he wanted out of life, and he seized it without considering the consequences. This is the result—a thankless endeavor. He forged his chains in life; now he must reconcile with them in death.”
Liam offered a half-hearted agreement and slowly lowered the coffin lid with a soft thud.
“Goodbye, Mr. Cowell. May you rest in peace,” he whispered, making the sign of the cross above him.
“Amen,” the others echoed somberly.
The funeral proceeded swiftly, with the men carrying Simon’s casket to a corner grave, marked by a simple headstone that lay neatly in front of the freshly dug earth.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the only sounds that filled the air were the muffled thuds of dirt being tossed atop it—a sound unnoticed by the living.
Unbeknownst to the world above, a large, ghostly safe weighing at least a ton lay just beneath the deceased’s coffin. Inside the rusted, supernatural shell was a soul—Simon’s soul.
His screams of agony echoed endlessly, a haunting melody that had been his only companion for days. Simon had begged for someone to help him, but the living cannot hear the dead, and even if they could, they would most likely not offer assistance.
He was damned to be locked in a vault he had encased around himself decades ago, a prison that had only grown heavier and larger with each passing day.
At that moment, he felt the weight of it all—the crushing despair of the empty space that had once been his, now hollow and devoid of meaning. The sensation was excruciating, overwhelming, but more than anything, Simon felt the heavy chains he had forged in life, sutured into his back and tethered to the safe that had once offered him comfort.
And as the hollowed thud of dirt ceased above him, his echoed anguish continued below; remaining so that way for ten long years.
