The Show Must Go On

He sat, squashed into the corner. Arms tightly hugging his bent knees close to his chest, his head resting on them. He had been there so long that he had lost track of exactly how long he'd been there. It could have been hours, or it could have been mere minutes. Whichever one it was, to Paul, it felt like forever.

"P..Paul." It was a light, gentle voice that caused Paul to finally shift his gaze upward from his knees to see Clea, his assistant, on her knees beside him. "Paul," she said again. "what's wrong?"
"I... I don't think I can do this anymore Clea," he said, timidly meeting his gaze with a tear-stained face.
"Why not?" she asked, her gentle voice quiet.
"Because..." he said. "There's too much... Too much hate..."
"Oh come on Paul!" she said. "You've had hate before I know you have."
He nods. "I know, but it's... it just seems worse this time, somehow. Would anybody want to take it anymore?"
"Paul,.." Clea began. She paused, then spoke again, "do you know how many people look up to you? Do you know how much of an inspiration you are? Do you know how much love there is?" Paul blinked. "There's hate, yes," she went on. "But there's love too. So much love."
"Really?" Paul said weakly. Clea turned the tablet she was holding around. At the top of the screen was a search, for #perryroberts. Below it were countless messages.
Where are you Perry? 
Perry, please come back. We need you! 
The world needs Perry Roberts! Please come back to us! 
Perry has helped so many of us here. It's our turn to help him now. 

"Can you see Paul?" Clea said. "Can you see how much you're loved? Look at how much influence you have Paul!" Clea jumped up and down on her tiptoes a few times in excitement. "You can use that influence Paul! Use it for good!" Paul nodded.
"Besides, what's quitting now going to do? It'll let the haters win! Do you really want that, Paul?" Ashamedly, he shook his head. "So come on then, get up, wipe off that dust and on with the show!" She reached out to him, pulling him up when he took her hand.

"You know Clea, you're right," said Paul, on his feet again."Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance. I truly don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you."
"Anytime, sir." A small smile appeared on her lips.
"I'll face it with a grin, I'm never giving in. On with the show!" said Paul. "Besides," he continued after a few minutes, "I couldn't possibly let all of these people down." Clea was nodding as he spoke. He glanced to the window, outside of which a brilliant sunrise was happening. "Outside, the dawn is breaking, but here, inside in the dark, I'm aching to be free."
"So be free, my beautiful bird," said Clea, her smile as large as it could grow. "Be free and fly!"

Paul returned to his office and took to social media to announce his return, posting a video to thank all of his fans for their patience and support, say that he would be fighting the hate and the haters and, to declare a comeback concert.

In the wings, right before his public return, Paul looked back and smiled at his assistant. "Thank you, Clea May," he said. She simply nodded, reaching out to touch a hand to his forearm.
"I know," she said, "I know that inside your heart is breaking,"
"My make-up my be flaking,"he agreed, smiling too.
"But your smile still stays on."
"The show must go on," they said together, squeezing one another's hands before he let go and walked out onto the stage with a roaring welcome from the crowd of his adoring fans.

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This is a continuation of the story of Perry Roberts. Go back to where it started here and here.