Salvation
chapter 7
Long beach, California
11: am
Michelle putterer about her condo sipping on coffee and hand watering the indoor plants that created a microcosm liking to a South American rain forest.
"Good morning Mister Fernster"...she said in a low soft voice..The big bushy Boston variety graced the condo bay window..
Her stereo kept busy kicking Nick's vocals just over INTENT's backdrop of drums, guitars, and bass.
She had put their first album on the cd player earlier and was listening to it for the second time today..
A soft smile accompanied her as she turned her attention to the acacia palms framing the Boston fern above them.
Her favorite piece of furniture, a big fluffy oversized lounging chair, still held her helmet and leather jacket where she'd laid them last night after returning home.
She giggled to herself, "He sounds like Bruce Springsteen."...
"I like Bruce Springsteen" she told the glossy green palms watching them drink up their breakfast..
She frowned remembering Jackie hadn't called and left a message as promised..
Jackie was suppose to confirm the wedding gig this Sunday. If it was a go.
Jackie Thornson had formed the all women rock band three years ago and Michelle was currently the fifth keyboardist to join.
A high turn over was the nature of bands and a constant headache for band managers.
Finding work was difficult enough.
Worrying whether every member would show up or not was the other half of it.
Jackie had named the music group "Girls Night Out."
They did covers of mainstream top 40 rock bands starting in the 80's to present.
Jackie and Michelle shared lead vocals depending on the current song being performed.
Jackie's voice covered the ranges for singers such as Pat Benetar, Grace Slick, Chrissy Hynde, Reba Mc Entire.
Michelle's suited voices such as Madonna, Stevei Nicks, Jewel, Cyndi Lauper.
They had built up a versatile repertoire of almost 200 songs, including dance, rock, country, and punk genders.
Michelle enjoyed it. It was a fun band. The fact it was an all woman group was a blessing.
She had almost given up her music ambition after a year of dealing with egos,
expectations, demands, promises, and ugly rage.
More often than not her music contribution was secondary agenda when
offered a position as a member of a predominately male band.
The memory of the last band she had associated, and her narrow escape caused her to pause.
She sat down on the eight foot couch, a matching component to the big easy chair..
Taking in her surroundings.
The condo, furnishings, her late model Toyota economy car, monthly monetary needs, all taken care of by her parents.
It was on one hand, a means to an end..Without their support she realized her life would be like many in the pursuit of a career in art, very difficult..
All the traditional warnings were true..
Michelle also realized her acceptance of the parental gifts was love returned
in the form of her Mother and Father's peace of mind.
It had been two years now since she'd been out here, on her own.
And true the music world with all it's artistic expression, continued to draw her heart in much the same way it did before her journey began..
However as she lived her life day to day, evening to evening, night to night, she felt there was still much she wanted to obtain outside her occupational goals..
She longed for the right person to share her life with..
That special man whom she could feel not only free,
but compelled to communicate her victories, challenges, setbacks, joy and sorrows.
Sitting here now, rehashing the coarse memory of fear and humility she lived through during the dark days of her association with Herman Gilespie and his fledgling band MENACE.
She wondered if the kind of man she saw in her mind's eye existed in the realm of musicians..
Men seemed so full of,...themselves.
She should have followed her initial instinct when she first heard the kind of music MENACE created..
It wasn't the heavy metal nature of the compositions that caused a red flag in her being.
It was instead the nature of the words attached to the songs..
Lyrics that promoted a religious fervor.
They were not the typical expression of a group conscience immersed in
the pursuit of fame and fortune, as was the case with most she had come to know.
Nor were they simply a reflection of an addiction to pleasure.
Herman Gilespie was a zealot in the religion of self gratification.
A kind of unholy priest in an order of theology who's creed placed the pursuit of power most high.
She was at first infatuated with the music. It's presence.
The atmosphere of excitement. The near hypnotic effect it had on fans.
It was weeks before she began to sense what was left after the clearing of the stage.
She never found Herman to be an attractive man..
His build is wispy, thin..His face too long and his shoulders slump.
He has an effeminate nature that is accented by his attempts to hide it.
Plus, he stinks..
Before she had any idea of his 'religion', she often thought to herself "it must be against his religion to bathe."
His advances toward her started almost immediately.
At first he masked charm..Or what he must have conceived to be charm.
Herman lacks the ability to comprehend what it means to touch a woman.
He only understands the concept of grope.
In the words of Paul Simon, "The man ain't got no culture."
No amount of civil communication dissuaded him..
He seemed not to hear words like, "I am not interested", "I would prefer
to keep things professional", or "Keep your fucking hands to yourself."
Choosing instead to keep her backed in a corner, his glassy eyes reflecting it's prey.
A frozen smirk pasted to his face.
She began to miss rehearsals, making excuses, feinting sickness..
That's when he got mean..
The lust in his eyes turning to hate.
To this day she had not decided which was the more unnerving..
She shook her head and threw the memory off..It was over..Done with..
She had changed her address, changed her phone number, and disappeared.
Walking to the stereo now, she turned the music off..
The haunting memory of Herman Gilespie left a depression in her mood..
She thought of Nick then tried not to think of him..
"What have I been thinking?".."I don't even know the man."...
She stepped in the kitchen and thoughtlessly began washing a few dishes laying in the sink.
"Honestly Michelle...You wanted to meet him you did..He was nice.
You had diner together..It was nice..That's it...That's all."
..."He does have nice eyes though"..."Damn it!"..She tossed silverware in the strainer
like an afterthought..
"It was just one kiss!"..."Why do you always do this to yourself?"
"For Christ's sake!"...."He probably won't even call."
The phone rang..
She turned to the sound amazed..Then realized it couldn't be Nick calling.
It was her cell ringing..She'd given Nick her number for the house phone.
Relieved for the distraction, and disappointed at the same time, she found the
cell phone in the motorcycle jacket.
"Hello?"
"Michelle!..Thank God I got you!"
"Mom?" She recognized distraught in her Mothers voice. "Mom?..Are you alright?"
"Honey your Dad is standing right here next to me..Listen to me Michelle..You've got to get in your car right now and come home."
"Mom..What?..What do you mean?" She could hear her Father's voice in the background.
"Give me the phone Laura.".."Michelle!"..
"Dad?" Her Father's voice cracked as if close to tears.
"Michelle honey...Turn on your television...Turn it on now while I am on the phone."
Michelle held the phone to her ear crossing the living room..
"All hell is breaking loose out there Michelle!..You've got to get out of the city now while you still can!"
Her Mother screamed in the background.."Tell her not to listen to the radio!"
Michelle grabbed the T.V. remote and pushed the power button.
"Yes Laura I am telling her!...Honey?"
"Yeah Dad." Her heart was pounding. Filling her veins with dread..
She had no idea why, but she was certain her parents feared for her life.
"Now listen to me Michelle!"..His voice was iron..
"When you leave the condominium you must make sure you cover your ears!..
When you get to the car keep the windows up and under no circumstance are you to turn on the radio!
Do you understand me?"
The television lit up to a local Los Angeles news station..
A speechless anchor woman stared back at Michelle.
Aerial footage rolled behind the woman of a scene playing out in downtown Los Angeles.
A scene of chaos and carnage..
Collisions of automobiles clogged the streets and sidewalks.
Hind quarters of vehicles extended out street facing entry doors and display windows.
Like births gone horribly wrong expelling backwards from a womb.
Doors hanging open and ajar.
Dead people, puppets with out strings falling out the sides.
And in each case a new owner standing near.
Bloodied from a fight won. Armed and grinning.. Protecting it's claim.
Michelle watched in horror as vehicles on a nearby freeway over crossing launched themselves like stampeded cattle to macadam graves a hundred feet below.
Looters by the hundreds pillaged the store fronts.
There was a certain added diverseness to what one normally expects in an urban environment..
The pillagers, the innocent, and today, the zombies.
The zombies were newzies..Never seen around these parts before..
They were the grinning ones.
The ones guarding the wrecks with radio's or cd players turned up full blast.
Some of the grinning zombies were content just standing around..
Plugged in.
Sporting portables..Cd players, mp3 players, cell phones with music players built in..
"It's the music!" Her Father screamed..." Michelle!..It's the music!"
The phone spat and cracked.."Dad?...Daddy?...She heard him faintly, fading, as the signal died.
"Get out!..Get out now!"
Her mind raced. She bolted to the bedroom grabbing her purse with the car keys all the while
gripped by a single thought..
"What am I going to cover my ears with?"...She couldn't think...
Not one single thing could she see or think to cover her ears with.
Tearing to the front door, "I'll cover them with my palms..I'll cover them with my palms!"...
Grabbing the door nob she turned back remembering her jacket..
The black motorcycle jacket with the helmet sitting on top of it..
"The helmet!"..It was a half helmet size but with ear flaps for cold weather..
She banged it on, cinching down the chin strap while grabbing the jacket.
The house phone rang..
"It's Nick."...It could have been anyone, but she knew it was Nick.
Her mind cautioned...."No time, no time, no time!"
"Nick"...
"No time! No time! No time!"...
His eyes filled her and she stopped her raging mind.
She raced for the phone in the bedroom ripping off the helmet.
"Nick?"
"You've got to get out of there." He sounded out of breath.
"I am leaving right now...Where are you?"..
"I am on the road heading east toward the desert....Meet me."..
"My parents just called, I....Where do you want me to me you?"
"Take the 10 east toward Las Vegas. Call me when your clear of the city.
Here is my cell number..858..612..2429."
She tore open her purse grabbing at a pen an scrap of paper..
He continued.."You have a cell phone?"
"Yep..I am bringing it with me...858 612 2429?"
"Right..You got a full tank on the bike?"
"The bike?..I am taking my car."
"No!..Take your bike Michelle..You'll never get through in a car!"
She turned her head taking in the scene on the television..
"Oh my God, your right Nick!"
"Can you get clear of the city with the fuel you've got honey?"
"Yes..Oh man, I am so glad I decided to fill it up last night!"
"Smart girl..Once you get on that bike don't stop darlin'..Don't stop for anything, ok?"
"Ok Nick..I am so glad you called."
"Me too..I'll be heading north after I hit the desert to find us a safe fueling station. I'll
be waiting for your call Michelle."
"Ride safe Nick."
"Ride safe Michelle."
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
SALVATION chapter 6
Salvation
chapter 6
San Diego, California
"You don't love me anymore."
Ashlee's unmistakable voice brought him back from a dreamless sleep.
Nick opened his eyes.
She floated above him. Stretched out.. Face down.. Four feet above his bed..
Somewhere separated from him, his mind stirred and whispered reassuring, "your only dreaming.."
It was not convincing enough, to free him from the dreadful grip of immobility, or the sound of his own strident breathing.
Her form was nude and glowing as a funnel of sunlight pouring through a split in stormy skies.
Behind her lay the black void of nothingness from which she came.
"You don't love me anymore".
He fought to turn away from the face, but could not move his head. "Must wake up now, must wake up!"
His thoughts caromed quickening his dread. He could not fathom her words to be formed from love or rage.
The intensity of her radiance emphasized her eyes..Hypnotic flickering candles that held no warmth.
"You don't love me anymore."..It was not the tearful wailing of a deserted heart..It was an accusation.
Disembodied limbs floated towards him..White claws reaching closing on his throat.
Her face sinking closer and closer.
He tried to scream but only a faint hiss escaped.
She shook at his throat, her illustrious hair tossed in it's own wake.
Now his mind was fully awake and screaming "do or die, do or die, do or die!"
Finally the scream came. A howling, carnal eruption of fear and pain.
He torn away from the claws and ran..
Fleeing into the darkness behind her..Away from the looming face, blooming hair and white clutching claws.
Once entering the darkness his legs could not support him..
Desperately they drudged some semblance of time with the pace of his fear..
Frantically they churned seeking friction..
But there was no floor in the vastness of nothing, and he fell, and floated, and fell again.
He woke up. Drenched in sweat.
Morning light pierced loose seaming in the bedroom curtains..
"Welcome to my nightmare" Alice Cooper offered in the back of his mind.
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox and team members of the rock music division watched minute by minute updates of the MENACE phenomena unfolding through out the day.
Periodic outbursts of cheers and applause echoed in neighboring offices through out the halls.
An uninformed bystander might easily mistake the mid week celebrating for Super Bowl Sunday and touchdown reaction from mesmerized fans.
The Universal Music Corporation's Atlanta office was overwhelmed with phone calls from frantic distributors demanding huge shipments of the single "King of the World."
Amazon and LALA were experiencing server melt downs from the huge worldwide response.
Since receiving the call back from Ed Hoffman a mere two hours ago sales had skyrocketed from Ed's quoted 34,646 in new sales to over 500,000.
Computer sales projections estimated new sales of over 3.2 million in a twenty four hour period..
Sal sat back, his feet resting on the mahogany desk of his new office located on the 23rd floor of the
exterior mirrored glass skyscraper.
Behind him construction workers busied themselves removing temporary plywood sheeting covering the ruptured glass section Ken Anderson had thrown himself through at approximately 3 am Atlanta time..
Less than 12 hours ago.
Sal was not resting on his heels however..
He did not rise to the executive position in Artist & Repertoire he now enjoyed by resting on his heels.
Behind the dark gray eyes, beneath a perfect manicure of wavy black hair, the wheels where turning..
There were questions.."Why this song?"
"Why only this song.?"..The sales for previous MENACE singles and albums were virtually non existent in the new sales figures.
And there was the note.
The mysterious handwritten note left in the top sliding drawer of his newly inherited mahogany desk.
The police investigators hadn't found it. And neither had Sal until a short time ago.
It had been purposely taped to the ceiling of the drawer..
Meant to loosen in time and become known to the current possessor of the desk.
The handwriting was unmistakably that of Kenneth Anderson..
The message consisted of a single sentence..Written shakily, hurriedly, or under stress.
It was a lyric from the legendary rock band Led Zeppelin.
From a song off their second album..
Sal slid open the drawer viewing the note once more.
It had been scribed in red flat tipped felt pen.
What Is and What Should Never Be
Sal slid the drawer closed once again entombing the note.
It occurred to him as he did so the consistent celebrating in the adjacent offices had unexpectedly ceased."What happened?"..He mumbled checking the computer screen.
Nothing wrong there. The sales for "King of the World" continued to climb in numbers coinciding with the projected computer generated model.
He quickly check the face of his Rolex wrist watch..It read 2:40 pm..
He swung his feet off the desk and strolled out into the hall.
"Everybody leave early today?"..He mused..Not really believing it to be the truth.
The office next door was Julie Westgrove's a junior account executive.
He knocked politely then opened the office door.
Shari Galloway, Julie's secretary, sat motionless staring at her computer..
She was sporting headphones and as Sal approached he could see the virtual
music player on her screen in the process of streaming music..
He smiled noting the current title in progress was "King of the World."
"What else?"..He thought making a mental note to himself he needed to listen to it again just for knowledge base..
He hadn't especially liked the song when he heard it for the first time Sunday afternoon.
But Sal had never been a big fan of hard metal rock himself..
Or of the popular Rap music so prevalent in the new millennium.
That information was carefully kept private between himself and himself..
It was his private skeleton in a closet..Secret.
Even to close friends outside the business.
He grinned at Shari now amused at her absorption.
She hadn't even noticed his presence, or acknowledged him.
"They rock huh Shari?"..
No answer.
"How loud has she got that thing turned up?" He wondered..
"Hey Shari!"..He raised his voice to a level he believed would distract her.
There was still no response..
The song ended, and just as it did he noticed her right hand move the mouse slightly and click the left button making the song replay itself..
Never taking her eyes off the computer screen.
"What, is she stoned?" He thought to himself..
He reached out gingerly to tap her shoulder half fearing he'd startle her..
As he did he leaned closer and noticed something that made him step back..
The headphone set Shari was wearing had a gooey red stain seeping down the frames.
A soft sticky red ooze that was collecting around the base of the padded speakers.
His eyes narrowed and the frown line at the bridge of his nose deepened.
The red ooze was overflowing at the base of the speakers and dripping in thick splats onto the shoulder of her blouse.
It had been doing so for some time as the top of the blouse was now soaked through to the skin.
Unattended, unconcerned, unnoticed.
Sal felt a distinct shiver of goose flesh run up his spine..
He froze a moment then slowly turned his head in the direction of the back office door where Julie Westgroves' work station was positioned.
The door was slightly ajar and through it he sensed only silence.
Sal didn't conscientiously direct his body toward the back office..
Like a magnet it just seemed to be drawn there.
He pushed on the partly opened door and stepped inside..
Julie Westgrove sat in her high back satin fabric computer chair with her face down on the desk in front of her..
The back of her head had been caved in by repeated blows to it compliments of her desk top computer housing.
Dead arms lay slack hanging at her sides..
The walls of the office were a collage of smeared and dripping blood.
The mangled computer housing was bend and wedged into a U around her skull like a hat.
Sal gagged and his mouth filled with partially digested lunch.
Pasta from Romero's..An upscale Italian restaurant within walking distance of the corporate office building..
If your ever in Atlanta I am sure Sal would recommend it to you highly..
He bolted from the room almost tripping on a pair of broken headphones soaked in blood lying on the floor.
This time the commotion he made did disturb Shari's concentration and her computer chair swiveled slowly in his direction..
He spat the mouthful of bile into a pretty pink trash pale next to Shari's desk and vomited again.
"What?...He staggered hyper ventilating.."What, happened?"..
Her lips curled back in a grin that wasn't a grin..
Her eyes took him in but there was nobody home behind those eyes..
Whom ever Shari was when she arrived at work today had already left town..
What remained was a thing..A thing that breathed in and breathed out with only one mission..
"I broke my headphones by accident and she wouldn't let me borrow her's."
The grin suddenly disappeared..The eyes gleamed and communicated with out the need for words..
"You got a problem with that?"
The computer chair slowly swung back to its original position..
Her dainty blood stained palm grasped the computer mouse.
The left button was depressed ordering a repeat play of the song "King of the World."
chapter 6
San Diego, California
"You don't love me anymore."
Ashlee's unmistakable voice brought him back from a dreamless sleep.
Nick opened his eyes.
She floated above him. Stretched out.. Face down.. Four feet above his bed..
Somewhere separated from him, his mind stirred and whispered reassuring, "your only dreaming.."
It was not convincing enough, to free him from the dreadful grip of immobility, or the sound of his own strident breathing.
Her form was nude and glowing as a funnel of sunlight pouring through a split in stormy skies.
Behind her lay the black void of nothingness from which she came.
"You don't love me anymore".
He fought to turn away from the face, but could not move his head. "Must wake up now, must wake up!"
His thoughts caromed quickening his dread. He could not fathom her words to be formed from love or rage.
The intensity of her radiance emphasized her eyes..Hypnotic flickering candles that held no warmth.
"You don't love me anymore."..It was not the tearful wailing of a deserted heart..It was an accusation.
Disembodied limbs floated towards him..White claws reaching closing on his throat.
Her face sinking closer and closer.
He tried to scream but only a faint hiss escaped.
She shook at his throat, her illustrious hair tossed in it's own wake.
Now his mind was fully awake and screaming "do or die, do or die, do or die!"
Finally the scream came. A howling, carnal eruption of fear and pain.
He torn away from the claws and ran..
Fleeing into the darkness behind her..Away from the looming face, blooming hair and white clutching claws.
Once entering the darkness his legs could not support him..
Desperately they drudged some semblance of time with the pace of his fear..
Frantically they churned seeking friction..
But there was no floor in the vastness of nothing, and he fell, and floated, and fell again.
He woke up. Drenched in sweat.
Morning light pierced loose seaming in the bedroom curtains..
"Welcome to my nightmare" Alice Cooper offered in the back of his mind.
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox and team members of the rock music division watched minute by minute updates of the MENACE phenomena unfolding through out the day.
Periodic outbursts of cheers and applause echoed in neighboring offices through out the halls.
An uninformed bystander might easily mistake the mid week celebrating for Super Bowl Sunday and touchdown reaction from mesmerized fans.
The Universal Music Corporation's Atlanta office was overwhelmed with phone calls from frantic distributors demanding huge shipments of the single "King of the World."
Amazon and LALA were experiencing server melt downs from the huge worldwide response.
Since receiving the call back from Ed Hoffman a mere two hours ago sales had skyrocketed from Ed's quoted 34,646 in new sales to over 500,000.
Computer sales projections estimated new sales of over 3.2 million in a twenty four hour period..
Sal sat back, his feet resting on the mahogany desk of his new office located on the 23rd floor of the
exterior mirrored glass skyscraper.
Behind him construction workers busied themselves removing temporary plywood sheeting covering the ruptured glass section Ken Anderson had thrown himself through at approximately 3 am Atlanta time..
Less than 12 hours ago.
Sal was not resting on his heels however..
He did not rise to the executive position in Artist & Repertoire he now enjoyed by resting on his heels.
Behind the dark gray eyes, beneath a perfect manicure of wavy black hair, the wheels where turning..
There were questions.."Why this song?"
"Why only this song.?"..The sales for previous MENACE singles and albums were virtually non existent in the new sales figures.
And there was the note.
The mysterious handwritten note left in the top sliding drawer of his newly inherited mahogany desk.
The police investigators hadn't found it. And neither had Sal until a short time ago.
It had been purposely taped to the ceiling of the drawer..
Meant to loosen in time and become known to the current possessor of the desk.
The handwriting was unmistakably that of Kenneth Anderson..
The message consisted of a single sentence..Written shakily, hurriedly, or under stress.
It was a lyric from the legendary rock band Led Zeppelin.
From a song off their second album..
Sal slid open the drawer viewing the note once more.
It had been scribed in red flat tipped felt pen.
What Is and What Should Never Be
Sal slid the drawer closed once again entombing the note.
It occurred to him as he did so the consistent celebrating in the adjacent offices had unexpectedly ceased."What happened?"..He mumbled checking the computer screen.
Nothing wrong there. The sales for "King of the World" continued to climb in numbers coinciding with the projected computer generated model.
He quickly check the face of his Rolex wrist watch..It read 2:40 pm..
He swung his feet off the desk and strolled out into the hall.
"Everybody leave early today?"..He mused..Not really believing it to be the truth.
The office next door was Julie Westgrove's a junior account executive.
He knocked politely then opened the office door.
Shari Galloway, Julie's secretary, sat motionless staring at her computer..
She was sporting headphones and as Sal approached he could see the virtual
music player on her screen in the process of streaming music..
He smiled noting the current title in progress was "King of the World."
"What else?"..He thought making a mental note to himself he needed to listen to it again just for knowledge base..
He hadn't especially liked the song when he heard it for the first time Sunday afternoon.
But Sal had never been a big fan of hard metal rock himself..
Or of the popular Rap music so prevalent in the new millennium.
That information was carefully kept private between himself and himself..
It was his private skeleton in a closet..Secret.
Even to close friends outside the business.
He grinned at Shari now amused at her absorption.
She hadn't even noticed his presence, or acknowledged him.
"They rock huh Shari?"..
No answer.
"How loud has she got that thing turned up?" He wondered..
"Hey Shari!"..He raised his voice to a level he believed would distract her.
There was still no response..
The song ended, and just as it did he noticed her right hand move the mouse slightly and click the left button making the song replay itself..
Never taking her eyes off the computer screen.
"What, is she stoned?" He thought to himself..
He reached out gingerly to tap her shoulder half fearing he'd startle her..
As he did he leaned closer and noticed something that made him step back..
The headphone set Shari was wearing had a gooey red stain seeping down the frames.
A soft sticky red ooze that was collecting around the base of the padded speakers.
His eyes narrowed and the frown line at the bridge of his nose deepened.
The red ooze was overflowing at the base of the speakers and dripping in thick splats onto the shoulder of her blouse.
It had been doing so for some time as the top of the blouse was now soaked through to the skin.
Unattended, unconcerned, unnoticed.
Sal felt a distinct shiver of goose flesh run up his spine..
He froze a moment then slowly turned his head in the direction of the back office door where Julie Westgroves' work station was positioned.
The door was slightly ajar and through it he sensed only silence.
Sal didn't conscientiously direct his body toward the back office..
Like a magnet it just seemed to be drawn there.
He pushed on the partly opened door and stepped inside..
Julie Westgrove sat in her high back satin fabric computer chair with her face down on the desk in front of her..
The back of her head had been caved in by repeated blows to it compliments of her desk top computer housing.
Dead arms lay slack hanging at her sides..
The walls of the office were a collage of smeared and dripping blood.
The mangled computer housing was bend and wedged into a U around her skull like a hat.
Sal gagged and his mouth filled with partially digested lunch.
Pasta from Romero's..An upscale Italian restaurant within walking distance of the corporate office building..
If your ever in Atlanta I am sure Sal would recommend it to you highly..
He bolted from the room almost tripping on a pair of broken headphones soaked in blood lying on the floor.
This time the commotion he made did disturb Shari's concentration and her computer chair swiveled slowly in his direction..
He spat the mouthful of bile into a pretty pink trash pale next to Shari's desk and vomited again.
"What?...He staggered hyper ventilating.."What, happened?"..
Her lips curled back in a grin that wasn't a grin..
Her eyes took him in but there was nobody home behind those eyes..
Whom ever Shari was when she arrived at work today had already left town..
What remained was a thing..A thing that breathed in and breathed out with only one mission..
"I broke my headphones by accident and she wouldn't let me borrow her's."
The grin suddenly disappeared..The eyes gleamed and communicated with out the need for words..
"You got a problem with that?"
The computer chair slowly swung back to its original position..
Her dainty blood stained palm grasped the computer mouse.
The left button was depressed ordering a repeat play of the song "King of the World."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
SALVATION chapter 5
Salvation
Chapter 5
San Diego, California
Nick pulled between faded white parking strips outside his apartment shutting down the Harley.
Unstrapping the helmet his cheeks filled like balloons before exhaling fatigue.
He checked his watch under dreary carport lighting. It read 11:20.
The night air was sultry..It hadn't rained. Cloud cover insulated warmth left from the day.
He yawned, walking across the lot then stopped and turned.
A sudden chill pushed at his back riding a cold breeze out of the north.
He shivered. The sudden change crept passed as if searching for a home.
The unnumberable recollection of Michelle's warm body pressing close to his back returned.
After exploring the studio they decided they were hungry.
The local diner was open until ten giving them plenty of time.
Michelle insisted paying half, and Nick insisted she didn't.
It was a frolic fight.
They compromised, each saving face. He paid for dinner, she left the tip.
Shop talk was deliberately left out of conversation.
He wanted to know her.
She the same about him.
Her surname was Mc Allister.
He learned she'd recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday in August.
Less than a month ago.
She was born and raised in Aspen Colorado where both her parents still reside.
Her formative years were spent in private schools..
Both Father and Mother supported Michelle's early interest in music.
She'd learned piano before the age of puberty.
She spoke freely, openly, concerning her childhood, parents, and love for winter sports..
Figure skating, snow skiing, sledding, snowmobiling which led to her interest in motorcycles.
She was the product of the great American dream..Loved, educated, admittedly, a bit indulged.
Listening to Michelle's life story was like the unfolding of a fairy tale.
Nick shook his head..'Down in the boon docks' a pre British invasion pop song toyed with his self
esteem.
Seeing himself as a poor boy in rags hopelessly pursuing the rich girl from across the tracks.
In romance novels those hurdles of culture and social status where often overcome by the power of love.
In Nick's world, birds of a feather still flocked together.
His was a world where people started life at zero.
Anything added was done so by the laws of cause and effect.
The cause was survival.
The effect was survival.
What made Nick different from most people starting at zero was his definition of the term.
Survival simply meant creation.
Fulfillment was centered in the act of creation.
So much so that even as the development of a music composition came nearer to completion.
It's initial non matter form shaped and honed, constructed and forged into the material world.
Nick's interest would wane. The piece become something of less value than at it's conception.
Until, by the end of the process, he would have already moved on.
Unlike others who kept adding space between themselves and zero in the form of 'things' gained.
Nick began everyday from the same initial starting point.
His family never understood it.
His friends never understood it.
The society he survived in didn't understand it.
And Nick never quite understood himself for it.
Sitting across the table from this beautiful woman.
A woman fully enraptured by all that life offered.
Things and non things equally exciting, equally enriching.
He felt alone.
His difference separating him.
He saw in his mind's eye how that difference would disappoint her, and fill her with sadness.
Not today. Not tonight, but soon..Very soon.
When she was finished with the Nick she thought she wanted to know.
When she finally realized, and shrank back in fear, the zero-ness of his life.
"Where are you?"..
He looked up.
Her eyes were searching him. Eyes that smiled saying, "I am proud I've found you."
"Are you alright?"..
His body moved without thought.
He stood and slid next to her in the booth seat taking her hand.
"Right here..Right now..This time..This place..This second..I am definitely alright."
He kissed her.
Hating himself for not protecting her. For not choosing to save her.
For falling in love with her.
La Mesa, California
Utopia Records exists as a sub label company under the parent Universal Music Group Corporation.
It's single moderate office is located in a somewhat unique area of university avenue zoned for both residential and commercial use.
The north side of the street consists of 1960's era two bedroom stucco track houses.
Today, practically every other structure has a business sign posted in it's front yard.
Income tax services, chiropractics, palm readers, insurance companies, dental arts, florists, among others.
On the south side of the street, the general atmosphere of the business district is one of hard working independent business proprietors catering to middle class America.
Laundry mats, discount groceries, auto repair shops, thrift stores, liquor stores, strip malls with 'for lease' signs in over half the available offices.
Utopia Records is on the north side of the street.
Ed Hoffman's littered office is located in a converted back bedroom..
The main reception area and front desk were at one time, someone else's living room.
Mr. Hoffman's office smells like the stubby cigars that burn consistently in the abalone shell ashtray sitting on his desk..
There seems to be a verifiable fascination with Venetian blinds through out the office.
As with most establishments gracing the north side business sector of university avenue..
Perhaps due to the Venetian blind cleaning service and discount factory outlet located at the end of the block.
Ed Hoffman is a big man.
Now in his early 50's, a life well aquainted with the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.
Over sized posters of Green Bay Packers football teams adorn the walls and halls..
Bitter sweet reminders of what could and should have been.
Slated to be drafted into the National Football League as an offensive guard.
His left knee blew out in a time modern sports medicine techniques were yet unimagined.
The disappointment and suffering in his own life may have been the driving factor fueling his desire to help struggling musicians realize their chosen dreams.
His oversize face, now drooping with age, still retained large sympathetic brown eyes akin to a basset hound.
A voice moderately high pitched. Mismatched in comparison to his 300 lb. frame.
Clients were often mildly shocked when meeting Ed for the first time.
Especially after initially speaking with him on the phone...
The tenor quality left to the imagination a young twenty five year old executive with sleek black hair, Italian designer clothing, and turbo charged BMW's.
Often was the case.
Black and silver clad musicians would involuntarily seek beyond the 6 foot 6 inch man standing before them in shorts, scuffed running shoes, and faded Charger's jersey advising him, "I am here to see the 'other' Ed Hoffman."
Currently he was on a phone conference with a Universal executive located in Atlanta Georgia concerning one of the acts Ed represented.
He leaned back in the oversized office chair blocking a third of the wall behind him.
A wall covered with 8x10 framed photos of bands and individual artists he'd handled over the years.
"Sure Sal, I can get in touch with them...
Well, they've been active mostly in the L.A. area..
Their sales?...Some..Mostly in the micro market..
They've got a decent fan base working for them off the LALA site..
This year?...To date?
Just a sec....I can give you that.."
He leaned forward wedging the phone receiver between his shoulder and right ear.
Bringing up account software on the computer as he spoke..
"Yep here it is right here..27,830 mp3's off LALA...
With an additional 4,900 full album down loads. Mostly off the first album..
Ok, and here's Amazon..They've got 6,100 on mp3 singles, and 1,443 album down loads."
He paused, listening..Then responded hesitantly..
"Really...I am surprised actually..Pleasantly surprise of course.., just surprised.
Well, I mean Universal has been leaning heavily into rap the last few years."
He paused listening again..
"What do you mean, have I heard the new single?..I was there when they mixed it down Sal.
I am not getting defensive Sal..I am just not quite sure what you getting at."
He suddenly felt he was being evaluated..He decided to choose his next words carefully..
"I think the new song is fine..It's just..Well, pretty much in the same vein they've been writing in.."
What he heard next made him pause..
"Oh, really?..Ken likes it that much?
What?...Your shittin' me!...Last night?...Oh, shit man..Oh, shit..
Ken didn't seem the type...I mean nobody loved the industry more than he did.
This Friday?...Sure..Yes, I'll fly out..
Wow!..So, your taking over the rock division?..As of today..
I see...Congratulations are in order.
I'll see you come Friday then..Right...Right, I'll have Margie get the details...Ok Sal.."
He hung up.
The left knee strained as his weight pressed down walking to the reception area.
Margie was working for a change..On the phone.
A second line blinked holding..The receptionist's pink dyed pixy hair danced as she spoke.
"Yeah girlfriend, this weekend..at Indio's in the valley.."
Fair skin, black lipstick, blue fingernails, nose, ear, tongue piercings..
She could chew gum and talk at the same time..
In Ed's eyes that made her a cut above her predecessors.
"Have I heard it?...Hello!..We are their record label, duh.."
She hung up looking at Ed.
"Wass up, bro?"
He pointed to the phone.
"You've got another call waiting."
She held up a 'hold on' index finger to him and picked up the phone.
"Utopia records Margie speaking....Uh huh.."
She shook her head as if in agreement as she spoke.
"Friday, Saturday, Sunday at Indio's in the valley...San Fernando..Right...Bye."
"Busy day?" Ed smiled.
"Duh!..Haven't even had time to do my nails!"
He chuckled. "Margie I need you to hook up with the Corporate office in Atlanta.
Get me details on a funeral for a Kenneth Anderson."
She raised her eyebrows.."Somebody died?" She said popping a big pink gum balloon.
"Yeah, an exec I knew at Universal...It was suicide actually."
Her eyes widened, "Jumpin' Jesus!"
"Yeah..Anyway I got to fly out there Friday and attend the funeral."
Her eyebrows raised again. "That mean I don't got to work Friday?"
He ran the palm of his hand over a short cropped salt and pepper scalp.
Too much input in too short a time, he thought.
"I don't know about that yet Margie.." turning back to his office..
She pushed.
"Yeah, cause if I don't have to work some friends of mine are goin' out."
The phone rang..
She rolled her eyes picking it up. "Utopia records Margie speaking."
Ed could hear her voice rise to squeaky excitement as he limped into the office.
"Oh my God!..Your the fifth person in a row to ask me that!"..Believing once and
for all in the serendipity of the universe.
He sat down heavy in the office chair, making a mental note to prepare for rain in the next day or so..
The soft tissue damage in his knee advised it..
He put both hands on the sides of the throbbing knee and slowly massaged.
Then did a double take at the computer.
He'd left the sales totals up on the screen after hanging up with Sal.
The totals had changed..Drastically..
"That was 27,830 off LALA right?" He talked to himself not believing what
he saw..
The mp3 sales now read 54,202..A difference of 26,372.
His hands trembled..Scrolling down he checked the Amazon sales..
Was 6,100 single mp3 sales..Now the total read 14,373..
8273 new sales?...He double clicked the calculator icon and added the
combined new sales from the two sites..
"34,646 mp3 sales in less than ten minutes?
No way..No fucking way!"
He grabbed at the mouse almost knocking it off the desk scrolling to the
top of the account page..
"You fucked up man..You pulled the wrong account! Sal is going to be furious!"..
He spun the mouse wheel until it topped out at the beginning of the account page and sat back in the chair astonished.
"It is the right account" he whispered..."Plain as day."
In thick Black Arial font the words MENACE stared back at him..
Chapter 5
San Diego, California
Nick pulled between faded white parking strips outside his apartment shutting down the Harley.
Unstrapping the helmet his cheeks filled like balloons before exhaling fatigue.
He checked his watch under dreary carport lighting. It read 11:20.
The night air was sultry..It hadn't rained. Cloud cover insulated warmth left from the day.
He yawned, walking across the lot then stopped and turned.
A sudden chill pushed at his back riding a cold breeze out of the north.
He shivered. The sudden change crept passed as if searching for a home.
The unnumberable recollection of Michelle's warm body pressing close to his back returned.
After exploring the studio they decided they were hungry.
The local diner was open until ten giving them plenty of time.
Michelle insisted paying half, and Nick insisted she didn't.
It was a frolic fight.
They compromised, each saving face. He paid for dinner, she left the tip.
Shop talk was deliberately left out of conversation.
He wanted to know her.
She the same about him.
Her surname was Mc Allister.
He learned she'd recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday in August.
Less than a month ago.
She was born and raised in Aspen Colorado where both her parents still reside.
Her formative years were spent in private schools..
Both Father and Mother supported Michelle's early interest in music.
She'd learned piano before the age of puberty.
She spoke freely, openly, concerning her childhood, parents, and love for winter sports..
Figure skating, snow skiing, sledding, snowmobiling which led to her interest in motorcycles.
She was the product of the great American dream..Loved, educated, admittedly, a bit indulged.
Listening to Michelle's life story was like the unfolding of a fairy tale.
Nick shook his head..'Down in the boon docks' a pre British invasion pop song toyed with his self
esteem.
Seeing himself as a poor boy in rags hopelessly pursuing the rich girl from across the tracks.
In romance novels those hurdles of culture and social status where often overcome by the power of love.
In Nick's world, birds of a feather still flocked together.
His was a world where people started life at zero.
Anything added was done so by the laws of cause and effect.
The cause was survival.
The effect was survival.
What made Nick different from most people starting at zero was his definition of the term.
Survival simply meant creation.
Fulfillment was centered in the act of creation.
So much so that even as the development of a music composition came nearer to completion.
It's initial non matter form shaped and honed, constructed and forged into the material world.
Nick's interest would wane. The piece become something of less value than at it's conception.
Until, by the end of the process, he would have already moved on.
Unlike others who kept adding space between themselves and zero in the form of 'things' gained.
Nick began everyday from the same initial starting point.
His family never understood it.
His friends never understood it.
The society he survived in didn't understand it.
And Nick never quite understood himself for it.
Sitting across the table from this beautiful woman.
A woman fully enraptured by all that life offered.
Things and non things equally exciting, equally enriching.
He felt alone.
His difference separating him.
He saw in his mind's eye how that difference would disappoint her, and fill her with sadness.
Not today. Not tonight, but soon..Very soon.
When she was finished with the Nick she thought she wanted to know.
When she finally realized, and shrank back in fear, the zero-ness of his life.
"Where are you?"..
He looked up.
Her eyes were searching him. Eyes that smiled saying, "I am proud I've found you."
"Are you alright?"..
His body moved without thought.
He stood and slid next to her in the booth seat taking her hand.
"Right here..Right now..This time..This place..This second..I am definitely alright."
He kissed her.
Hating himself for not protecting her. For not choosing to save her.
For falling in love with her.
La Mesa, California
Utopia Records exists as a sub label company under the parent Universal Music Group Corporation.
It's single moderate office is located in a somewhat unique area of university avenue zoned for both residential and commercial use.
The north side of the street consists of 1960's era two bedroom stucco track houses.
Today, practically every other structure has a business sign posted in it's front yard.
Income tax services, chiropractics, palm readers, insurance companies, dental arts, florists, among others.
On the south side of the street, the general atmosphere of the business district is one of hard working independent business proprietors catering to middle class America.
Laundry mats, discount groceries, auto repair shops, thrift stores, liquor stores, strip malls with 'for lease' signs in over half the available offices.
Utopia Records is on the north side of the street.
Ed Hoffman's littered office is located in a converted back bedroom..
The main reception area and front desk were at one time, someone else's living room.
Mr. Hoffman's office smells like the stubby cigars that burn consistently in the abalone shell ashtray sitting on his desk..
There seems to be a verifiable fascination with Venetian blinds through out the office.
As with most establishments gracing the north side business sector of university avenue..
Perhaps due to the Venetian blind cleaning service and discount factory outlet located at the end of the block.
Ed Hoffman is a big man.
Now in his early 50's, a life well aquainted with the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.
Over sized posters of Green Bay Packers football teams adorn the walls and halls..
Bitter sweet reminders of what could and should have been.
Slated to be drafted into the National Football League as an offensive guard.
His left knee blew out in a time modern sports medicine techniques were yet unimagined.
The disappointment and suffering in his own life may have been the driving factor fueling his desire to help struggling musicians realize their chosen dreams.
His oversize face, now drooping with age, still retained large sympathetic brown eyes akin to a basset hound.
A voice moderately high pitched. Mismatched in comparison to his 300 lb. frame.
Clients were often mildly shocked when meeting Ed for the first time.
Especially after initially speaking with him on the phone...
The tenor quality left to the imagination a young twenty five year old executive with sleek black hair, Italian designer clothing, and turbo charged BMW's.
Often was the case.
Black and silver clad musicians would involuntarily seek beyond the 6 foot 6 inch man standing before them in shorts, scuffed running shoes, and faded Charger's jersey advising him, "I am here to see the 'other' Ed Hoffman."
Currently he was on a phone conference with a Universal executive located in Atlanta Georgia concerning one of the acts Ed represented.
He leaned back in the oversized office chair blocking a third of the wall behind him.
A wall covered with 8x10 framed photos of bands and individual artists he'd handled over the years.
"Sure Sal, I can get in touch with them...
Well, they've been active mostly in the L.A. area..
Their sales?...Some..Mostly in the micro market..
They've got a decent fan base working for them off the LALA site..
This year?...To date?
Just a sec....I can give you that.."
He leaned forward wedging the phone receiver between his shoulder and right ear.
Bringing up account software on the computer as he spoke..
"Yep here it is right here..27,830 mp3's off LALA...
With an additional 4,900 full album down loads. Mostly off the first album..
Ok, and here's Amazon..They've got 6,100 on mp3 singles, and 1,443 album down loads."
He paused, listening..Then responded hesitantly..
"Really...I am surprised actually..Pleasantly surprise of course.., just surprised.
Well, I mean Universal has been leaning heavily into rap the last few years."
He paused listening again..
"What do you mean, have I heard the new single?..I was there when they mixed it down Sal.
I am not getting defensive Sal..I am just not quite sure what you getting at."
He suddenly felt he was being evaluated..He decided to choose his next words carefully..
"I think the new song is fine..It's just..Well, pretty much in the same vein they've been writing in.."
What he heard next made him pause..
"Oh, really?..Ken likes it that much?
What?...Your shittin' me!...Last night?...Oh, shit man..Oh, shit..
Ken didn't seem the type...I mean nobody loved the industry more than he did.
This Friday?...Sure..Yes, I'll fly out..
Wow!..So, your taking over the rock division?..As of today..
I see...Congratulations are in order.
I'll see you come Friday then..Right...Right, I'll have Margie get the details...Ok Sal.."
He hung up.
The left knee strained as his weight pressed down walking to the reception area.
Margie was working for a change..On the phone.
A second line blinked holding..The receptionist's pink dyed pixy hair danced as she spoke.
"Yeah girlfriend, this weekend..at Indio's in the valley.."
Fair skin, black lipstick, blue fingernails, nose, ear, tongue piercings..
She could chew gum and talk at the same time..
In Ed's eyes that made her a cut above her predecessors.
"Have I heard it?...Hello!..We are their record label, duh.."
She hung up looking at Ed.
"Wass up, bro?"
He pointed to the phone.
"You've got another call waiting."
She held up a 'hold on' index finger to him and picked up the phone.
"Utopia records Margie speaking....Uh huh.."
She shook her head as if in agreement as she spoke.
"Friday, Saturday, Sunday at Indio's in the valley...San Fernando..Right...Bye."
"Busy day?" Ed smiled.
"Duh!..Haven't even had time to do my nails!"
He chuckled. "Margie I need you to hook up with the Corporate office in Atlanta.
Get me details on a funeral for a Kenneth Anderson."
She raised her eyebrows.."Somebody died?" She said popping a big pink gum balloon.
"Yeah, an exec I knew at Universal...It was suicide actually."
Her eyes widened, "Jumpin' Jesus!"
"Yeah..Anyway I got to fly out there Friday and attend the funeral."
Her eyebrows raised again. "That mean I don't got to work Friday?"
He ran the palm of his hand over a short cropped salt and pepper scalp.
Too much input in too short a time, he thought.
"I don't know about that yet Margie.." turning back to his office..
She pushed.
"Yeah, cause if I don't have to work some friends of mine are goin' out."
The phone rang..
She rolled her eyes picking it up. "Utopia records Margie speaking."
Ed could hear her voice rise to squeaky excitement as he limped into the office.
"Oh my God!..Your the fifth person in a row to ask me that!"..Believing once and
for all in the serendipity of the universe.
He sat down heavy in the office chair, making a mental note to prepare for rain in the next day or so..
The soft tissue damage in his knee advised it..
He put both hands on the sides of the throbbing knee and slowly massaged.
Then did a double take at the computer.
He'd left the sales totals up on the screen after hanging up with Sal.
The totals had changed..Drastically..
"That was 27,830 off LALA right?" He talked to himself not believing what
he saw..
The mp3 sales now read 54,202..A difference of 26,372.
His hands trembled..Scrolling down he checked the Amazon sales..
Was 6,100 single mp3 sales..Now the total read 14,373..
8273 new sales?...He double clicked the calculator icon and added the
combined new sales from the two sites..
"34,646 mp3 sales in less than ten minutes?
No way..No fucking way!"
He grabbed at the mouse almost knocking it off the desk scrolling to the
top of the account page..
"You fucked up man..You pulled the wrong account! Sal is going to be furious!"..
He spun the mouse wheel until it topped out at the beginning of the account page and sat back in the chair astonished.
"It is the right account" he whispered..."Plain as day."
In thick Black Arial font the words MENACE stared back at him..
SALVATION chapter 4
Salvation
Chapter 4
San Diego, California
The woman startled him..
What she saw in that first few seconds was the unmasked wonder of a boy
in the grip of discovery..She liked it.
Then, as the man within the boy emerged, the eyes narrowed, taking her in..
"I am sorry"...Nick said embarrassed..."I didn't see you...Where did you come from?"
"Oh."..She turned a perfect oval face and pointed down the dirt road.."Just over there."
Her chestnut hair caught the dusk and colors of sunset..
She looked back at him again smiling."The green store?"
"Oh yeah"..He felt himself relax as the rational relativity of her appearance fell into place..
The establishment she referred to was a combination liquor & grocery just at the 94 highway.
A half city block from them.
"The green store" he nodded allowing his gaze to rest on her again..
A quarter of his awareness registered she was wearing riding gear..
A miniature version of his leather jacket. Black riding chaps over blue jeans, and motorcycle boots..
The other three quarters of him was lost in eyes, lips, and dimples of that smile.
It was right here in these first split seconds of silence.
When a man and woman first meet.
Nick had learned a great deal about himself, and the kind of woman he chose over the years.
Something that was the core of Nicolaus Flannery surfaced at these moments..
It was not the makings of conscience decision.
But a distinct wisdom of direction dictated by the soul.
An essence of being that from time to time, stepped in.
Cutting a decisive course at a fork in a road.
Nick's soul dictated silence..And in that silence he waited as he had done so many times before.
It was a moment of truth that, more often then not, resulted in separation..
The woman searched his eyes in that silence.
It didn't occur to her to step back.
She simply stepped forward.
Raising her hand for him to take.
In that gesture, she created a bridge.
In the eyes of Nicolaus Flannery, that act of creation changed her forever.
From a woman..To a goddess.
"Hi, I am Michelle."
He took her hand softly..absorbing it's warmth.
"Nick Flannery", he smiled.
"I know" she said..It was her turn to feel embarrassed..
"I mean, I saw you guys play..At the Crypt..About a month ago?"
He remembered. " Oh yeah, the one in Orange."
She laughed.."Dirt parking lot?..And "Bob", the three hundred pound bouncer?"
He chuckled, "Yep, that's the place!"..
"I play in a band too"..
"Really?"
She touched his arm.."I like how you guy's sound by the way."
"I am glad" he said..
She laughed.."Anyway, I didn't see you between the set, but I talked to, Toby?"
"Yeah."
"He was telling me about where you guys are from and about this rehearsal studio of yours."
"Right..You really play in a band?"
"Yeah."
"I think that's, wonderful!"
"Yeah..
So, I ride with this club, and we get down this way sometimes..Like, today!"
She laughed.."I remembered Toby saying it was in this railroad museum..
I wanted to check out this amazing studio for myself!."
"I am glad you did..It's more primitive than amazing though."
"I think it's cool!"
"Come on, I'll show it to you." He indicated for her to walk up the steps ahead of him.
"Nick?"
"Michelle?"
She smiled.."You think I should go get my bike?"
"Oh..Yeah..Just a second." He stepped inside the studio and grabbed his helmet.
"I'll give you a lift over there.."
"You ride too" she said.
"Yeah."
"I think that's wonderful."
"Yeah."
Los Angeles, California
"Tap, tap, tap"
"That's it!" Herman screamed at the door. "That's fucking it!"
He was crying, sniffling, wiping snot on the sleeve of his shirt as he approached the door.
Amazed himself at the level of rage he was still capable of.
He kicked the flattened writing table and phone set out of his way..
"That's it!...I am coming mother fucker!"...
He twist the door nob yanking the door.."You are so fucking lucky I don't have a gun, fucko'!"
A beautiful, young, sensual woman stood in the doorway.
She strutted into the apartment full of sexual confidence.
"Got a drink, big boy?"
Herman hung his head out the doorway expecting someone else to enter also, but then realized the
woman was alone.
He closed the door.."A drink?...Ah, yeah.." Pointing to the kitchen.."Right through there."
The woman winked then disappeared into the kitchen..
Herman could hear the sound of ice cubes and glasses..
"You'll have one with me Herm?" She spoke up so he could hear her from the next room, but her voice
retained a sultry texture to it.
Herman sat on the couch.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of gin and tonic on the rocks.
"It is Herm...right?" She handed him a glass.
Still standing she downed her's in one gulp.
"Yeah..Yeah it's Herm." He answered.
"Great"..She winked at him again then proceeded to the kitchen mixing another drink..
"So, Herm....You, called?"
He was scattered, confused, just beginning to regain some steadfast of mind.
"Called?..Well, yes..Originally...On the phone."
He sucked on the gin, felt the warm glow hit his stomach and continued..
"Yeah, on the phone I spoke to a man.."
He could hear the gin and tonic hitting the glass as she poured.
"Would you have preferred me a man?" She called out.
He relaxed a little reflecting on her pert upturned breasts. Settling into the couch, crossing his legs.
"No, no..That's not what I mean..I was just expecting a man, I guess."
"Cause, I can do a man, Herm."
Herman's eyes snapped up..It was a man's voice, and it was definitely a man who just walked out of the kitchen.
He wore a zoot suit and over sized fedora..He stood, towering over Herman.
Stirring at a glass of gin with a cocktail umbrella.
"I can do a man like nobody can!"
Herman squealed, "Whoa!"... slamming the gin down his throat.."How did you..?
"Cut the chit chat Herm!" The man interrupted.."Let's get down to business..I repeat...You called?"
He slid down on the sofa next to Herman whispering in his ear.
"So..Entertain me...Freak."
Herman jumped.."Ok..so, alright.. You want to hear the demo right?"..
The man, pulled out a pocket watch.."You've got three minutes Herm..And this better be good..
Cause if I get bored"..He pointed at the floor.."I'll drag your ass down stairs..Hang you on a meat hook till some friends of mine show up for lunch!"
Herman stammered making his way toward the bedroom. "The stereo is in there..I'll turn it up loud."
He slipped in the demo cd of the single "King of the World" his band "MENACE" had finished last week.
Then forced himself to return to the couch.
"My band" he said as the music started.
MENACE music was hard core metal rock. Herman's high pitched guttural vocals sliced through the
heavy bass lines complimenting consistent second octave lightning fast guitar rifts..
All of it riding gigantic sound waves of unbelievable one hundred fifty beat per minute monster percussion.
When the song ended, the air still rippled and shuttered through out the apartment like a series of after shocks.
"Well, what do you think?" Herman asked the man..He couldn't help himself..He was confident..He loved his music and he knew it was good.
The man stood up and turned to Herman..
His eyes were black coal.. Slack Lips slid back into eternity..
A gateway to hell lined with metallic spikes..
Shrewd razors that might in another world, be associated with teeth.
"What do I think?"..He advanced..A great gaping jaw expiring the breath of doom lingered inches from Herman's face..
"What do I think?" It screamed.."My ears are ringing!..My head is throbbing!..That music stinks!..Your
vocals suck!..And, I think I am going to be.."
He vomited...Green gobs of chunky puke covered Herman's head and face..It stuck and slipped it's way down his jaws and chin dripping thick stew....."Sick!"...
Herman rolled off the couch a gagged maggot.."Oh God!..Oh, God, oh God!"...
The man moved quickly.
Grabbing the back of Herman's head, forcing him down to his elbows and knees.
Then kneeling and kicking Herman's knees apart, began dry humping him while speaking seductively to his left ear..
"It's exciting stuff Herm!..Right up my alley!...Yeah!...Yeah, get it baby, get it!"
Completely helpless Herman only moaned "Oh, God!"
"What?"...What the fuck did you say?"
Disgusted, pushing it's self off Herman It stood and thundered.."God has nothing to do with this!''
It stood a moment straightening the zoot suit, turned and headed for the kitchen.
"I need a fucking drink."
Herman slowly drug up to his knees.
A seventy year old obese woman emerged from the kitchen.
She wore black and red lingerie while sporting a tall boy glass of booze and ice.
"Oh, there you are you silly, boy!"..She giggled and swigged.."Come on now, up and at them eh?
You want to be rich and famous don't you Hermie?..Time is money, and idleness a sin."
She swaggered, downing her drink then threw the empty glass shattering it against a wall..
"Whee!"..She shrieked in joy then danced giddily..
Rolls of fat shivered and quivered keeping time with flaccid arm flab.
"I don't know..I don't know, I just love doing that!"
Herman stared at the spectacle in bewilderment.
She advanced toward him seductively running her hands over a cellulite infested body.
"Oh baby!...You look good!..Uh huh...Your going to go far with that body!"
She took a wide stance directly in front of him.
Reaching down she grabbing the front of his shirt and yanked him to a standing position..
His arms were slack, waving at his sides like a rag doll subject to a stiff breeze..
She held him close gyrating against him..Cupping his crotch in her left hand..
"Yeah baby..Your going to be,...in there!"
Taking Herman's left hand she held it to her right breast slowly rotating.
"Yeah, oh yeah baby that's the spot!"
She reached up slowly massaging his hair, then grabbed it with both fists..
"First we got some business to take car of."
Forcing his head down between her enormous cleavage she giggled and squirmed..
"Contract!"...You see the contract, baby?"
She lifted his head allowing him to breath..
"I...Yes, I."...He responded like a puppet..
"Good!" She giggled pulling his head back down.."Good, good, good!"
"Get it baby!...Get it!"..With your teeth!" Pull it out nice, with your teeth."
Herman obliged.
Slowly she lifted his head with the contract papers clinging in his jaws.
Moaning and riving ecstasy as the paper slipped between her breasts..
"Oh, oh, oh!..Yeah, yeah, disco biscuit honey!"..
She tore the contract from his mouth.
Grabbed his buns pulling him hard..Grinding her hips..Whispering in his ear.
"Oh baby!...Was it good for you too?" She giggled releasing him and sank herself on the couch.
Laying the contract papers on the coffee table she lit a smoke..
"All that's left is the signing" she grinned..
Herman move in slow motion. Staring at the paper work staring back at him.
She shook a finger at him coyly. "Don't you disappoint me now."
He pointed to the bedroom.."I..I have to find a pen."
The old woman suddenly looked disqusted. She stamped out the cigarette on the floor.
"No, no, no you idiot!" She leaped up pounding him on his back. Herman fell sprawled over the coffee table.
"Don't you know anything?"...In blood!...It's got to be signed in blood!"
With his back to her she attacked..
Spreading her legs she straddled him sinking her teeth into the base of his neck..
Herman screamed and the scream built as she tore a chunk of flesh away..Spitting it to the foor she attacked again sucking a mouth full of blood from the wound.
She stood up bringing Herman with her by the nap of his neck..Holding up the contract she sprayed blood over the front page..
Grinning.. Red liquid running down the corners of her mouth. "There!..That will do!"
As Herman fainted away, the clock in the kitchen struck midnight.
Chapter 4
San Diego, California
The woman startled him..
What she saw in that first few seconds was the unmasked wonder of a boy
in the grip of discovery..She liked it.
Then, as the man within the boy emerged, the eyes narrowed, taking her in..
"I am sorry"...Nick said embarrassed..."I didn't see you...Where did you come from?"
"Oh."..She turned a perfect oval face and pointed down the dirt road.."Just over there."
Her chestnut hair caught the dusk and colors of sunset..
She looked back at him again smiling."The green store?"
"Oh yeah"..He felt himself relax as the rational relativity of her appearance fell into place..
The establishment she referred to was a combination liquor & grocery just at the 94 highway.
A half city block from them.
"The green store" he nodded allowing his gaze to rest on her again..
A quarter of his awareness registered she was wearing riding gear..
A miniature version of his leather jacket. Black riding chaps over blue jeans, and motorcycle boots..
The other three quarters of him was lost in eyes, lips, and dimples of that smile.
It was right here in these first split seconds of silence.
When a man and woman first meet.
Nick had learned a great deal about himself, and the kind of woman he chose over the years.
Something that was the core of Nicolaus Flannery surfaced at these moments..
It was not the makings of conscience decision.
But a distinct wisdom of direction dictated by the soul.
An essence of being that from time to time, stepped in.
Cutting a decisive course at a fork in a road.
Nick's soul dictated silence..And in that silence he waited as he had done so many times before.
It was a moment of truth that, more often then not, resulted in separation..
The woman searched his eyes in that silence.
It didn't occur to her to step back.
She simply stepped forward.
Raising her hand for him to take.
In that gesture, she created a bridge.
In the eyes of Nicolaus Flannery, that act of creation changed her forever.
From a woman..To a goddess.
"Hi, I am Michelle."
He took her hand softly..absorbing it's warmth.
"Nick Flannery", he smiled.
"I know" she said..It was her turn to feel embarrassed..
"I mean, I saw you guys play..At the Crypt..About a month ago?"
He remembered. " Oh yeah, the one in Orange."
She laughed.."Dirt parking lot?..And "Bob", the three hundred pound bouncer?"
He chuckled, "Yep, that's the place!"..
"I play in a band too"..
"Really?"
She touched his arm.."I like how you guy's sound by the way."
"I am glad" he said..
She laughed.."Anyway, I didn't see you between the set, but I talked to, Toby?"
"Yeah."
"He was telling me about where you guys are from and about this rehearsal studio of yours."
"Right..You really play in a band?"
"Yeah."
"I think that's, wonderful!"
"Yeah..
So, I ride with this club, and we get down this way sometimes..Like, today!"
She laughed.."I remembered Toby saying it was in this railroad museum..
I wanted to check out this amazing studio for myself!."
"I am glad you did..It's more primitive than amazing though."
"I think it's cool!"
"Come on, I'll show it to you." He indicated for her to walk up the steps ahead of him.
"Nick?"
"Michelle?"
She smiled.."You think I should go get my bike?"
"Oh..Yeah..Just a second." He stepped inside the studio and grabbed his helmet.
"I'll give you a lift over there.."
"You ride too" she said.
"Yeah."
"I think that's wonderful."
"Yeah."
Los Angeles, California
"Tap, tap, tap"
"That's it!" Herman screamed at the door. "That's fucking it!"
He was crying, sniffling, wiping snot on the sleeve of his shirt as he approached the door.
Amazed himself at the level of rage he was still capable of.
He kicked the flattened writing table and phone set out of his way..
"That's it!...I am coming mother fucker!"...
He twist the door nob yanking the door.."You are so fucking lucky I don't have a gun, fucko'!"
A beautiful, young, sensual woman stood in the doorway.
She strutted into the apartment full of sexual confidence.
"Got a drink, big boy?"
Herman hung his head out the doorway expecting someone else to enter also, but then realized the
woman was alone.
He closed the door.."A drink?...Ah, yeah.." Pointing to the kitchen.."Right through there."
The woman winked then disappeared into the kitchen..
Herman could hear the sound of ice cubes and glasses..
"You'll have one with me Herm?" She spoke up so he could hear her from the next room, but her voice
retained a sultry texture to it.
Herman sat on the couch.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of gin and tonic on the rocks.
"It is Herm...right?" She handed him a glass.
Still standing she downed her's in one gulp.
"Yeah..Yeah it's Herm." He answered.
"Great"..She winked at him again then proceeded to the kitchen mixing another drink..
"So, Herm....You, called?"
He was scattered, confused, just beginning to regain some steadfast of mind.
"Called?..Well, yes..Originally...On the phone."
He sucked on the gin, felt the warm glow hit his stomach and continued..
"Yeah, on the phone I spoke to a man.."
He could hear the gin and tonic hitting the glass as she poured.
"Would you have preferred me a man?" She called out.
He relaxed a little reflecting on her pert upturned breasts. Settling into the couch, crossing his legs.
"No, no..That's not what I mean..I was just expecting a man, I guess."
"Cause, I can do a man, Herm."
Herman's eyes snapped up..It was a man's voice, and it was definitely a man who just walked out of the kitchen.
He wore a zoot suit and over sized fedora..He stood, towering over Herman.
Stirring at a glass of gin with a cocktail umbrella.
"I can do a man like nobody can!"
Herman squealed, "Whoa!"... slamming the gin down his throat.."How did you..?
"Cut the chit chat Herm!" The man interrupted.."Let's get down to business..I repeat...You called?"
He slid down on the sofa next to Herman whispering in his ear.
"So..Entertain me...Freak."
Herman jumped.."Ok..so, alright.. You want to hear the demo right?"..
The man, pulled out a pocket watch.."You've got three minutes Herm..And this better be good..
Cause if I get bored"..He pointed at the floor.."I'll drag your ass down stairs..Hang you on a meat hook till some friends of mine show up for lunch!"
Herman stammered making his way toward the bedroom. "The stereo is in there..I'll turn it up loud."
He slipped in the demo cd of the single "King of the World" his band "MENACE" had finished last week.
Then forced himself to return to the couch.
"My band" he said as the music started.
MENACE music was hard core metal rock. Herman's high pitched guttural vocals sliced through the
heavy bass lines complimenting consistent second octave lightning fast guitar rifts..
All of it riding gigantic sound waves of unbelievable one hundred fifty beat per minute monster percussion.
When the song ended, the air still rippled and shuttered through out the apartment like a series of after shocks.
"Well, what do you think?" Herman asked the man..He couldn't help himself..He was confident..He loved his music and he knew it was good.
The man stood up and turned to Herman..
His eyes were black coal.. Slack Lips slid back into eternity..
A gateway to hell lined with metallic spikes..
Shrewd razors that might in another world, be associated with teeth.
"What do I think?"..He advanced..A great gaping jaw expiring the breath of doom lingered inches from Herman's face..
"What do I think?" It screamed.."My ears are ringing!..My head is throbbing!..That music stinks!..Your
vocals suck!..And, I think I am going to be.."
He vomited...Green gobs of chunky puke covered Herman's head and face..It stuck and slipped it's way down his jaws and chin dripping thick stew....."Sick!"...
Herman rolled off the couch a gagged maggot.."Oh God!..Oh, God, oh God!"...
The man moved quickly.
Grabbing the back of Herman's head, forcing him down to his elbows and knees.
Then kneeling and kicking Herman's knees apart, began dry humping him while speaking seductively to his left ear..
"It's exciting stuff Herm!..Right up my alley!...Yeah!...Yeah, get it baby, get it!"
Completely helpless Herman only moaned "Oh, God!"
"What?"...What the fuck did you say?"
Disgusted, pushing it's self off Herman It stood and thundered.."God has nothing to do with this!''
It stood a moment straightening the zoot suit, turned and headed for the kitchen.
"I need a fucking drink."
Herman slowly drug up to his knees.
A seventy year old obese woman emerged from the kitchen.
She wore black and red lingerie while sporting a tall boy glass of booze and ice.
"Oh, there you are you silly, boy!"..She giggled and swigged.."Come on now, up and at them eh?
You want to be rich and famous don't you Hermie?..Time is money, and idleness a sin."
She swaggered, downing her drink then threw the empty glass shattering it against a wall..
"Whee!"..She shrieked in joy then danced giddily..
Rolls of fat shivered and quivered keeping time with flaccid arm flab.
"I don't know..I don't know, I just love doing that!"
Herman stared at the spectacle in bewilderment.
She advanced toward him seductively running her hands over a cellulite infested body.
"Oh baby!...You look good!..Uh huh...Your going to go far with that body!"
She took a wide stance directly in front of him.
Reaching down she grabbing the front of his shirt and yanked him to a standing position..
His arms were slack, waving at his sides like a rag doll subject to a stiff breeze..
She held him close gyrating against him..Cupping his crotch in her left hand..
"Yeah baby..Your going to be,...in there!"
Taking Herman's left hand she held it to her right breast slowly rotating.
"Yeah, oh yeah baby that's the spot!"
She reached up slowly massaging his hair, then grabbed it with both fists..
"First we got some business to take car of."
Forcing his head down between her enormous cleavage she giggled and squirmed..
"Contract!"...You see the contract, baby?"
She lifted his head allowing him to breath..
"I...Yes, I."...He responded like a puppet..
"Good!" She giggled pulling his head back down.."Good, good, good!"
"Get it baby!...Get it!"..With your teeth!" Pull it out nice, with your teeth."
Herman obliged.
Slowly she lifted his head with the contract papers clinging in his jaws.
Moaning and riving ecstasy as the paper slipped between her breasts..
"Oh, oh, oh!..Yeah, yeah, disco biscuit honey!"..
She tore the contract from his mouth.
Grabbed his buns pulling him hard..Grinding her hips..Whispering in his ear.
"Oh baby!...Was it good for you too?" She giggled releasing him and sank herself on the couch.
Laying the contract papers on the coffee table she lit a smoke..
"All that's left is the signing" she grinned..
Herman move in slow motion. Staring at the paper work staring back at him.
She shook a finger at him coyly. "Don't you disappoint me now."
He pointed to the bedroom.."I..I have to find a pen."
The old woman suddenly looked disqusted. She stamped out the cigarette on the floor.
"No, no, no you idiot!" She leaped up pounding him on his back. Herman fell sprawled over the coffee table.
"Don't you know anything?"...In blood!...It's got to be signed in blood!"
With his back to her she attacked..
Spreading her legs she straddled him sinking her teeth into the base of his neck..
Herman screamed and the scream built as she tore a chunk of flesh away..Spitting it to the foor she attacked again sucking a mouth full of blood from the wound.
She stood up bringing Herman with her by the nap of his neck..Holding up the contract she sprayed blood over the front page..
Grinning.. Red liquid running down the corners of her mouth. "There!..That will do!"
As Herman fainted away, the clock in the kitchen struck midnight.
SALVATION chapter 3
Salvation
Chapter 3
San Diego, California
Nick had been working the better part of an hour in the little office area of the studio when he heard the approach of Buck's old ford econoline van.
He punched the print icon waiting for the 'Battle of the Bands' advertisement to
emerge from the old Canon 1600 before logging off the internet.
Buck, Toby, and Mac sat in the van a minute finishing off a joint before the van's door hinges
squeaked and moaned signaling their exit.
Toby walked around stretching, and pulling dark sunglasses over the top of his receding hairline while
viewing the sky..."Oh, man..Dude, is it only ten?"
Mac checked the watch wrapped around his meaty wrist. "Quarter after".."Why?"..
He laughed, "Bro, you look like somebody walking on the moon for the first time.."
"Hotter than hell out here already."..Toby groaned..
"Bitch, bitch, bitch", Buck muttered..
"Blow me" Toby shot back...He pulled open the van and grabbed the 12 pack they'd hauled up with them.
Smiling, "Man can not live under these conditions without beer."
"Too early for me" Buck said moving to the shade of the big oak tree.
"I'll take one of those bad boys" Mac grinned..
"Go long", Toby said pulling a can out of the box. He backed up two steps feinting a quarter back.
"Fuck that!"...Mac stood.
Buck began his ritual Tai Chi exercises..He was tall, lean, sharp featured with jet black hair and green eyes.
Lead guitar, vocals, and a good foundation in the language of music.
His riffs were exacting, practiced to perfection, regimented.
What Nick brought to the band in the form of raw fresh inspiration, Buck balanced with hard finite boundaries dictated by music theory.
Together they had broken through some walls of convention and emerged an artistic expression to be dealt with.
Toby and Mac stood around a few minutes mesmerized by the display of fluent motion Buck demonstrated with the Tai Chi movements..
Fly's and meat bees being what they are..It wasn't long before the young men's concentration was disrupted by involuntary swats and swipes of defense..
They looked at each other, and broke out laughing...
The kind of giddy uncontrollable nonsense laughter that is inherent with a pot high..
Toby jerked a thumb in Buck's direction..."Talk about your man on the moon!"..
Causing the laughing hysteria to regenerate it's self, over and over...
"you guys are gay"..Buck commented never breaking his rhythm..
"Your girl friend doesn't think so" Mac spat back causing another round of side splitting.
As the boxcar was safe and secure it afforded the luxury of leaving their equipment set up..
Only packed and moved into the econoline Thursday nights as Friday, Saturday and Sunday's were gig days.
Toby and Mac managed to stumble their way up the wood steps to the studio..
Mac played drums and Toby bass guitar...
Like night and day, once in the studio their demeanor's changed..
Business like concentration..The work day had begun.
Three minutes later the stock yard erupted in a wall of sound..
Mac and Toby jammed warm ups..
Buck entered the studio and moon danced his way to the hard shell case housing his favorite Gibson Les Paul..
He slapped on the Marshal Stack, digitally tuned, and within 30 seconds had joined in..
Unplugged, was never in the mind set of any member of INTENT..
Los Angeles, California
Herman blinked..The shower stall was empty.."What the?"..
"Ring, ring"...The sound was right behind him.
Spinning around, his heart gagged in his throat.
What he saw recoiled his mind..Instinct reflex forced his body back.
His heels caught the edge of the shower entry..
Eyes bulging, arms flailing, ripping and tripping through the curtain as inertia had it's way..
Two things flashed through his intellect a split fraction before the back of his head meld with the ceramic sidewall of the shower.
"Things in motion tend to stay in motion"..And,...Wylie Coyote..
BAM!..Bam, bam!...The Flintstone kid kept flickering in and out of his vision as he slid down the wall..
He heard Ralf Cramdon yelling, "One of these days Alice!...To the Moon!"
He came to rest sitting on the shower floor..
Feet and shins poking out at a 45 degree angle pointing directly at the phone set sitting on the sink counter..
The mangled end of the extension line slithered and snapped like the tail of a poisonous snake.
Like a 'Headless Horseman' the decapitated jack terminal end was mysteriously missing..
Only Jagged flayed wire remained where the line had been savaged from the wall..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day" Herman whispered, fainting in and out of conscienceness..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day."
San Diego, California
"..And I find, that I don't understand, about love...
In time, will passion harmonize, with trust?
I really want to know, baby if it's so let's take a chance..
Please make up your mind do you want to find some true romance?
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
Nick belted out the bridge and chorus lines to the title track of the bands pending third album release..
It was now 7 pm and although exhausted, the atmosphere was one of a highly charged and productive day.
Nick's announcement of the up coming annual "Battle of the Bands" event hosted by a coalition of major record label corporations provided the band with new incentive..
The event was huge..Bands from all over the world bled, begged, borrowed, or stole to meet the criteria and thousand dollar per band member entry fee for a chance to be a part of it..
Every year one band walked away the winner of a guaranteed major record company recording contract, and international tour deal.
Opening for no less than the current tenth rated band in the world..
An honest to goodness tangible opportunity to be the next 'over night sensation' any ten year old kid ever fantasized jumping on their bed playing air guitar in front of 50,000 screaming cheering fans...
An hour later Buck, Mac and Toby piled back in the econoline talking a mile a minute about the shoe in INTENT would be at the Battle of the Bands event..
After the vans tail lights faded Nick sat down on the steps of the deck shaking his head.."Like kids at Christmas eve."
Crickets chirped in agreement..A hoot owl sang it's evening song, while coyotes answered in the distance..
Even after a gallon of folgers through out the day, he felt his head sag, and his palms returning to the boiling pots of water...Every day seemed to end the way it began.."Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself..
"I am sorry"...Were you talking to me?"
He pulled his hands away and lifted his head..
The woman that stood before him was a vision..
Los Angeles, California
He woke up.
Sensing the back of his head was still intact, but the sick headache generating from back there made him question it..
Slowly raising his right arm he pressed a palm and felt a knot and something more..
Dry blood caked in his hair.
The traps between his shoulder blades burned, but he managed to get himself out of the shower and onto the toilet before pissing himself...
The phone stared back in silent menace.
"You"...He glared with pure hate.."You fucking, fuck!"..
Overwhelmed with rage, he stood, swooped up the handset and marched into the living room heaving it with all his might into the front door..
Stars filled his eyes, and feeling he was going to pass out again, grabbed an arm of the couch steading himself.
"You!...You belong over there!..With the fucking writing table, asshole!"
"Tap, tap, tap."...
Somebody, or something was at the door.
Fear..Total blinding freaking fear swallowed his rage like Jonah to a whale.
"Get the..fuck!...Get the fuck out of here!"
"Tap, tap, tap."..
"God damn it!..Are you deaf?...I said fuck off!"..
"Tap, tap, tap.".
He was whining now...Broken, and defeated.."Please....Leave God damn you."..
"Tap, tap, tap"....Something was at the door..
Chapter 3
San Diego, California
Nick had been working the better part of an hour in the little office area of the studio when he heard the approach of Buck's old ford econoline van.
He punched the print icon waiting for the 'Battle of the Bands' advertisement to
emerge from the old Canon 1600 before logging off the internet.
Buck, Toby, and Mac sat in the van a minute finishing off a joint before the van's door hinges
squeaked and moaned signaling their exit.
Toby walked around stretching, and pulling dark sunglasses over the top of his receding hairline while
viewing the sky..."Oh, man..Dude, is it only ten?"
Mac checked the watch wrapped around his meaty wrist. "Quarter after".."Why?"..
He laughed, "Bro, you look like somebody walking on the moon for the first time.."
"Hotter than hell out here already."..Toby groaned..
"Bitch, bitch, bitch", Buck muttered..
"Blow me" Toby shot back...He pulled open the van and grabbed the 12 pack they'd hauled up with them.
Smiling, "Man can not live under these conditions without beer."
"Too early for me" Buck said moving to the shade of the big oak tree.
"I'll take one of those bad boys" Mac grinned..
"Go long", Toby said pulling a can out of the box. He backed up two steps feinting a quarter back.
"Fuck that!"...Mac stood.
Buck began his ritual Tai Chi exercises..He was tall, lean, sharp featured with jet black hair and green eyes.
Lead guitar, vocals, and a good foundation in the language of music.
His riffs were exacting, practiced to perfection, regimented.
What Nick brought to the band in the form of raw fresh inspiration, Buck balanced with hard finite boundaries dictated by music theory.
Together they had broken through some walls of convention and emerged an artistic expression to be dealt with.
Toby and Mac stood around a few minutes mesmerized by the display of fluent motion Buck demonstrated with the Tai Chi movements..
Fly's and meat bees being what they are..It wasn't long before the young men's concentration was disrupted by involuntary swats and swipes of defense..
They looked at each other, and broke out laughing...
The kind of giddy uncontrollable nonsense laughter that is inherent with a pot high..
Toby jerked a thumb in Buck's direction..."Talk about your man on the moon!"..
Causing the laughing hysteria to regenerate it's self, over and over...
"you guys are gay"..Buck commented never breaking his rhythm..
"Your girl friend doesn't think so" Mac spat back causing another round of side splitting.
As the boxcar was safe and secure it afforded the luxury of leaving their equipment set up..
Only packed and moved into the econoline Thursday nights as Friday, Saturday and Sunday's were gig days.
Toby and Mac managed to stumble their way up the wood steps to the studio..
Mac played drums and Toby bass guitar...
Like night and day, once in the studio their demeanor's changed..
Business like concentration..The work day had begun.
Three minutes later the stock yard erupted in a wall of sound..
Mac and Toby jammed warm ups..
Buck entered the studio and moon danced his way to the hard shell case housing his favorite Gibson Les Paul..
He slapped on the Marshal Stack, digitally tuned, and within 30 seconds had joined in..
Unplugged, was never in the mind set of any member of INTENT..
Los Angeles, California
Herman blinked..The shower stall was empty.."What the?"..
"Ring, ring"...The sound was right behind him.
Spinning around, his heart gagged in his throat.
What he saw recoiled his mind..Instinct reflex forced his body back.
His heels caught the edge of the shower entry..
Eyes bulging, arms flailing, ripping and tripping through the curtain as inertia had it's way..
Two things flashed through his intellect a split fraction before the back of his head meld with the ceramic sidewall of the shower.
"Things in motion tend to stay in motion"..And,...Wylie Coyote..
BAM!..Bam, bam!...The Flintstone kid kept flickering in and out of his vision as he slid down the wall..
He heard Ralf Cramdon yelling, "One of these days Alice!...To the Moon!"
He came to rest sitting on the shower floor..
Feet and shins poking out at a 45 degree angle pointing directly at the phone set sitting on the sink counter..
The mangled end of the extension line slithered and snapped like the tail of a poisonous snake.
Like a 'Headless Horseman' the decapitated jack terminal end was mysteriously missing..
Only Jagged flayed wire remained where the line had been savaged from the wall..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day" Herman whispered, fainting in and out of conscienceness..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day."
San Diego, California
"..And I find, that I don't understand, about love...
In time, will passion harmonize, with trust?
I really want to know, baby if it's so let's take a chance..
Please make up your mind do you want to find some true romance?
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
Nick belted out the bridge and chorus lines to the title track of the bands pending third album release..
It was now 7 pm and although exhausted, the atmosphere was one of a highly charged and productive day.
Nick's announcement of the up coming annual "Battle of the Bands" event hosted by a coalition of major record label corporations provided the band with new incentive..
The event was huge..Bands from all over the world bled, begged, borrowed, or stole to meet the criteria and thousand dollar per band member entry fee for a chance to be a part of it..
Every year one band walked away the winner of a guaranteed major record company recording contract, and international tour deal.
Opening for no less than the current tenth rated band in the world..
An honest to goodness tangible opportunity to be the next 'over night sensation' any ten year old kid ever fantasized jumping on their bed playing air guitar in front of 50,000 screaming cheering fans...
An hour later Buck, Mac and Toby piled back in the econoline talking a mile a minute about the shoe in INTENT would be at the Battle of the Bands event..
After the vans tail lights faded Nick sat down on the steps of the deck shaking his head.."Like kids at Christmas eve."
Crickets chirped in agreement..A hoot owl sang it's evening song, while coyotes answered in the distance..
Even after a gallon of folgers through out the day, he felt his head sag, and his palms returning to the boiling pots of water...Every day seemed to end the way it began.."Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself..
"I am sorry"...Were you talking to me?"
He pulled his hands away and lifted his head..
The woman that stood before him was a vision..
Los Angeles, California
He woke up.
Sensing the back of his head was still intact, but the sick headache generating from back there made him question it..
Slowly raising his right arm he pressed a palm and felt a knot and something more..
Dry blood caked in his hair.
The traps between his shoulder blades burned, but he managed to get himself out of the shower and onto the toilet before pissing himself...
The phone stared back in silent menace.
"You"...He glared with pure hate.."You fucking, fuck!"..
Overwhelmed with rage, he stood, swooped up the handset and marched into the living room heaving it with all his might into the front door..
Stars filled his eyes, and feeling he was going to pass out again, grabbed an arm of the couch steading himself.
"You!...You belong over there!..With the fucking writing table, asshole!"
"Tap, tap, tap."...
Somebody, or something was at the door.
Fear..Total blinding freaking fear swallowed his rage like Jonah to a whale.
"Get the..fuck!...Get the fuck out of here!"
"Tap, tap, tap."..
"God damn it!..Are you deaf?...I said fuck off!"..
"Tap, tap, tap.".
He was whining now...Broken, and defeated.."Please....Leave God damn you."..
"Tap, tap, tap"....Something was at the door..
SALVATION chapter 2
Salvation
Chapter 2
Los Angeles, California
Herman cleaned the apartment.
He thought about getting somebody to do it for him, but as the day spent he felt himself growing continually more anxious about the 'interview'..
He had kept it as his secret. Not tipping anyone inside or outside the band of his intention..
The 'bitch' was as close as he'd come to letting on..That was a mistake..
A weak moment...It happens when you over medicate. The trappings of wine women and drugs..
Deluding the kind of fierce commitment needed every hour of every day.
Until it finally arrives...That day...
When you can look back and say, "I've got it...I own it..I made it ...I am it...The king of the world."
In the end, everything boils down to just one thing..Where your at, and where you want to be.
Ten years of blood, sweat, and humility solidified his resolve..
Ten years of twenty hours days, dump dives, greasy back alleys, and the constant nagging heart ache of an indifferent audience.
It was 10 pm now and he had busied himself for three hours keeping his mind off the interview.
A hard bound text had arrived in the mail and lay open on the coffee table..
A short handwritten note accompanied the volume.
Your interview is scheduled.
Read the chants indicated to confirm.
He knew what it was..It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what it was...Anyone could sense it...It stank of evil..
Of dry dead things long since turned to dust..
It was as if the pages themselves were composed layer upon layer of that dust.
Pasted or glued together then flattened into a paper by some dark ritual rolling pin..
Pages that stuck to his fingertips when he touched them...Leaving a feeling of wetness, and of something else. Something moving, crawling, absorbing itself inside him..
Even the type set seemed to move out of the corner of his eye..
He had felt cold shivers up his spine all day giving him to believe he was coming down with a flu.
But now, sitting close to the book he sensed the source of his discomfort..
As he began to read the first incantation the entire room seemed to lose all its ambient heat.
He watched his breath exhale into the room, and was first amazed then startled to see it change from white to fluorescent green..
He bolted from the couch heading to the kitchen.."I need a drink!"...
The green thickened filling the room with every breath..
He giggled close to insanity..."Simple Green!"....
Tearing at a bottle of Jack Daniels like a thirsty kid on kool aid he giggled again..
"Simple Green Machine!"...
The inset lighting in the living room ceiling throbbed dark red against dense green fog..
Herman sat back on the couch gripping the bottle between his legs..
The pages of the text flipped madly in response to a howling wind initiated from the text itself spiraling out and filling the apartment..
Paperwork blew off the writing desk marching in time with pictures swaying and shaking against walls.
Herman's body broke out in a thick sweat.
He felt the couch frame move then heard himself scream as it fell victim to the torrent..
Eyes and head rolled back as sheer G force merged couch and tornado.
Flying in vicious circles inches from the ceiling..Around and around and around the room..
At some point he lost it and the walls of the room suffered an instant make over...Art deco compliments of Jack Daniels.
Herman didn't care...He knew he was going to die...He knew it and dying was all he wished for..
It was at the moment of that wish time stopped. Motion stopped..Sound stopped..Only silence remained.
Herman realized it but didn't not dare open his eyes...He waited..Silent.
Drip, drip drip...He felt tears.."Does a dead guy feel tears?" he wondered...
Then he felt himself shake. Starting at the marrow and working its way out.
His whole body vibrated uncontrollably.."Can a dead guy shake like this?"...He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was no more than two inches from his nose..He cranked his neck lowering one eye ball..
Across the room pictures and papers hung in the air..
He looked closer..Not floating......Suspended.
Herman gasped...And in the gasp his world was set back in motion..
Papers, pictures, and couches, resumed their natural place in the universe, and in doing so, were sent crashing to the ground.
Exhaused, Herman dared not move..The red lighting and fluorescent green fog had vanished..
The apartment seemed 'normal' appearing very much like it did a few hours previous, before he began to clean it..
"Ring, ring"....He vaguely recoznized the sound..."Ring, ring"...He was sure it was the phone, but it sounded far away.."Ring, ring"...The writing desk where the phone usually sat was gone, and so was the phone.."Ring, ring"...He crept off the couch like a hunted animal..Every muscle screamed at him.
The writing desk lay crushed in a heap near the front door.."Ring, ring"..."The bathroom?" he mused..
Equilibrium was a problem..He'd just been on the amusement park ride of his life.."Ring, ring"...
"Definitely the bathroom"...
The shower curtain was shut closed..The persistant "ring, ring" was coming from just behind it..
"That's not possible...That's not fucking possible!"..."Ring, ring" the sound notch up a few decibels..
"Your not fucking possible!" he screamed..."There's no phone jack in here!"
"RING, RING"...His shoulder muscles throbbed desperately supporting a trembling outstreached arm. Standing at the brink, in an act of pure definance, he clinched a fist full of the curtain, and tore it open..
San Diego, California
The rehearsal studio Nick and members of the band INTENT used was located in a rural mountain area
of San Diego County..
Nick used the 94 highway as his route because the road was a good wake up call riding a bike.
Mostly single lanes.
Steady climbing from sea level to 3,000 feet over a 50 mile range of twisting switch backs fronting
the U.S. & Mexico border.
The Harley practically drove itself.. A learned instinct resulting from years and years of familiarity over the same commute.
At 2,500 feet the damp cool cloud cover lay beneath them. Peaks of higher hills crowned with enormous broken fragments of igneous rock appeared as islands bathing in an ocean of white sea.
Mountain sage, Live oak, manzanita, and wild mustard weed mingled to perfume the dry warm air.
He took a turn off and the macadam was replaced by a smooth tarmac of decomposed granite leading into the San Diego/Arizona Railroad Museum.
Once a rusting grave yard of discarded locomotive remains.
Now, a moderately flurishing reminder of early industrial Man's heavy transportation achievement.
Nick rode behind the terminal to the stock yard as great silent gods stood meditating memories of their illustrious pasts.
It is here INTENT hangs it's hat..Nick discovered the faded yellow box car five years ago nested under the shady arms of a giant oak.
Big, strong, secure, and cheap. Only two major rules in the lease agreement.
No rehearsals on weekends. The founders of the museum, retired railroad men themselves, supplement
Historical Society grant funding with tourist train ride excursions every Saturday and Sunday..
The other rule: No over nighters..The folks at the train museum didn't want to risk crossing county vagrancy laws.
Rehearsal times started at 10 am.
Nick was early and glad for it..
Because he was founder of the band, or maybe at thirty five, being the oldest member, business dealings fell like rain into his lap. Promotion, marketing, budgets, contracts, client and A&R interfacing.
Toby, Buck, and Mac all bitched about the lack of gigs..The lack of major record deals..The lack of women, cars, beer, gear, and clothes.
They just didn't want the responsibility of doing anything about it.
Crossing the line to management meant setting themselves up to get bitched out.
In Nick's eyes the other members were just kids..Average age of twenty five..
Still absorbed in the pursuit and persona of the American Rock Star.
These thoughts accompanied him as he slid the kick stand and dismounted the Harley.
The regular fans, flocks of ravens and bluejays greeted him as he assended four steps to the wood deck he'd built up flush with the boxcar's big steel entry door.
He keyed the oversize lock and pulled away the locking bar that ran the entire lenght of the
sliding door. Then leaned heavy into the three foot door handle getting the left to right wheel action going.
Nick stood at the open doorway a moment. The scent of the car filled his nostrils..
Years and years of hauling hay had permeated it's very being..
For the first time today he smiled, and with the smile followed a chuckle..
"Home."
Chapter 2
Los Angeles, California
Herman cleaned the apartment.
He thought about getting somebody to do it for him, but as the day spent he felt himself growing continually more anxious about the 'interview'..
He had kept it as his secret. Not tipping anyone inside or outside the band of his intention..
The 'bitch' was as close as he'd come to letting on..That was a mistake..
A weak moment...It happens when you over medicate. The trappings of wine women and drugs..
Deluding the kind of fierce commitment needed every hour of every day.
Until it finally arrives...That day...
When you can look back and say, "I've got it...I own it..I made it ...I am it...The king of the world."
In the end, everything boils down to just one thing..Where your at, and where you want to be.
Ten years of blood, sweat, and humility solidified his resolve..
Ten years of twenty hours days, dump dives, greasy back alleys, and the constant nagging heart ache of an indifferent audience.
It was 10 pm now and he had busied himself for three hours keeping his mind off the interview.
A hard bound text had arrived in the mail and lay open on the coffee table..
A short handwritten note accompanied the volume.
Your interview is scheduled.
Read the chants indicated to confirm.
He knew what it was..It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what it was...Anyone could sense it...It stank of evil..
Of dry dead things long since turned to dust..
It was as if the pages themselves were composed layer upon layer of that dust.
Pasted or glued together then flattened into a paper by some dark ritual rolling pin..
Pages that stuck to his fingertips when he touched them...Leaving a feeling of wetness, and of something else. Something moving, crawling, absorbing itself inside him..
Even the type set seemed to move out of the corner of his eye..
He had felt cold shivers up his spine all day giving him to believe he was coming down with a flu.
But now, sitting close to the book he sensed the source of his discomfort..
As he began to read the first incantation the entire room seemed to lose all its ambient heat.
He watched his breath exhale into the room, and was first amazed then startled to see it change from white to fluorescent green..
He bolted from the couch heading to the kitchen.."I need a drink!"...
The green thickened filling the room with every breath..
He giggled close to insanity..."Simple Green!"....
Tearing at a bottle of Jack Daniels like a thirsty kid on kool aid he giggled again..
"Simple Green Machine!"...
The inset lighting in the living room ceiling throbbed dark red against dense green fog..
Herman sat back on the couch gripping the bottle between his legs..
The pages of the text flipped madly in response to a howling wind initiated from the text itself spiraling out and filling the apartment..
Paperwork blew off the writing desk marching in time with pictures swaying and shaking against walls.
Herman's body broke out in a thick sweat.
He felt the couch frame move then heard himself scream as it fell victim to the torrent..
Eyes and head rolled back as sheer G force merged couch and tornado.
Flying in vicious circles inches from the ceiling..Around and around and around the room..
At some point he lost it and the walls of the room suffered an instant make over...Art deco compliments of Jack Daniels.
Herman didn't care...He knew he was going to die...He knew it and dying was all he wished for..
It was at the moment of that wish time stopped. Motion stopped..Sound stopped..Only silence remained.
Herman realized it but didn't not dare open his eyes...He waited..Silent.
Drip, drip drip...He felt tears.."Does a dead guy feel tears?" he wondered...
Then he felt himself shake. Starting at the marrow and working its way out.
His whole body vibrated uncontrollably.."Can a dead guy shake like this?"...He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was no more than two inches from his nose..He cranked his neck lowering one eye ball..
Across the room pictures and papers hung in the air..
He looked closer..Not floating......Suspended.
Herman gasped...And in the gasp his world was set back in motion..
Papers, pictures, and couches, resumed their natural place in the universe, and in doing so, were sent crashing to the ground.
Exhaused, Herman dared not move..The red lighting and fluorescent green fog had vanished..
The apartment seemed 'normal' appearing very much like it did a few hours previous, before he began to clean it..
"Ring, ring"....He vaguely recoznized the sound..."Ring, ring"...He was sure it was the phone, but it sounded far away.."Ring, ring"...The writing desk where the phone usually sat was gone, and so was the phone.."Ring, ring"...He crept off the couch like a hunted animal..Every muscle screamed at him.
The writing desk lay crushed in a heap near the front door.."Ring, ring"..."The bathroom?" he mused..
Equilibrium was a problem..He'd just been on the amusement park ride of his life.."Ring, ring"...
"Definitely the bathroom"...
The shower curtain was shut closed..The persistant "ring, ring" was coming from just behind it..
"That's not possible...That's not fucking possible!"..."Ring, ring" the sound notch up a few decibels..
"Your not fucking possible!" he screamed..."There's no phone jack in here!"
"RING, RING"...His shoulder muscles throbbed desperately supporting a trembling outstreached arm. Standing at the brink, in an act of pure definance, he clinched a fist full of the curtain, and tore it open..
San Diego, California
The rehearsal studio Nick and members of the band INTENT used was located in a rural mountain area
of San Diego County..
Nick used the 94 highway as his route because the road was a good wake up call riding a bike.
Mostly single lanes.
Steady climbing from sea level to 3,000 feet over a 50 mile range of twisting switch backs fronting
the U.S. & Mexico border.
The Harley practically drove itself.. A learned instinct resulting from years and years of familiarity over the same commute.
At 2,500 feet the damp cool cloud cover lay beneath them. Peaks of higher hills crowned with enormous broken fragments of igneous rock appeared as islands bathing in an ocean of white sea.
Mountain sage, Live oak, manzanita, and wild mustard weed mingled to perfume the dry warm air.
He took a turn off and the macadam was replaced by a smooth tarmac of decomposed granite leading into the San Diego/Arizona Railroad Museum.
Once a rusting grave yard of discarded locomotive remains.
Now, a moderately flurishing reminder of early industrial Man's heavy transportation achievement.
Nick rode behind the terminal to the stock yard as great silent gods stood meditating memories of their illustrious pasts.
It is here INTENT hangs it's hat..Nick discovered the faded yellow box car five years ago nested under the shady arms of a giant oak.
Big, strong, secure, and cheap. Only two major rules in the lease agreement.
No rehearsals on weekends. The founders of the museum, retired railroad men themselves, supplement
Historical Society grant funding with tourist train ride excursions every Saturday and Sunday..
The other rule: No over nighters..The folks at the train museum didn't want to risk crossing county vagrancy laws.
Rehearsal times started at 10 am.
Nick was early and glad for it..
Because he was founder of the band, or maybe at thirty five, being the oldest member, business dealings fell like rain into his lap. Promotion, marketing, budgets, contracts, client and A&R interfacing.
Toby, Buck, and Mac all bitched about the lack of gigs..The lack of major record deals..The lack of women, cars, beer, gear, and clothes.
They just didn't want the responsibility of doing anything about it.
Crossing the line to management meant setting themselves up to get bitched out.
In Nick's eyes the other members were just kids..Average age of twenty five..
Still absorbed in the pursuit and persona of the American Rock Star.
These thoughts accompanied him as he slid the kick stand and dismounted the Harley.
The regular fans, flocks of ravens and bluejays greeted him as he assended four steps to the wood deck he'd built up flush with the boxcar's big steel entry door.
He keyed the oversize lock and pulled away the locking bar that ran the entire lenght of the
sliding door. Then leaned heavy into the three foot door handle getting the left to right wheel action going.
Nick stood at the open doorway a moment. The scent of the car filled his nostrils..
Years and years of hauling hay had permeated it's very being..
For the first time today he smiled, and with the smile followed a chuckle..
"Home."
SALVATION chapter 1
Salvation
Chapter 1
San Diego, California
The revolver was a mock. A stage prop Nick had used from time to time as the occasion called..
A souvenir from his community theater acting days..
Times long passed, and what often seemed like another lifetime.
"I wish I had a girl " he thought slipping a single .44 MAG shell into the empty Smith & Wesson.
The idea was in reality a no win situation, and dismissed simultaneously as it rose in his mind...
The way things had gone over the last year, there was no point making another human being his clone of misery.
It just wouldn't be fair..
Nicolaus Flannery was no saint, but he did try to play fair.
Like liquid motion he spun the revolver chamber, slammed it shut, stuck the barrel in his right ear, and pulled the trigger.
Click...
"Fuck!"...He dropped the Smith & Wesson to the lumpy mattress..It bounced hard and thumped..The barrel lay goggled facing him,.. accusing. "Your still here asshole".
His eyes stung from stale cigarette smoke and lack of sleep..
He covered them with his palms like lids over boiling pots of water..
"Fuck, fuck, fuck"..
Pulling his hands away he swiped the wet on yesterdays jeans.
The place was small, cluttered, the way one bedrooms can get in a hurry.
Badly in need of paint. Once off white walls now streaked yellow with dirt and nicotine stain.
"A man needs a maid"..The old Neil Young song popped in his mind.
He'd been here all most two years when the realization hit him... There was not a single picture hanging in the place.
In a fit of inspiration he'd dug out some old lp's and tacked the jackets up on the walls..
Beatles 'Magical Mystery Tour', Led Zepplin's first, David Bowe, Jimi Hendricks, The Pretenders, Jethro Tull, to name a few..Innovators, inspiration generators..
Dragging to the bathroom he braved a look in the smudged medicine cabinet mirror.
Deep blue eyes stared back..A yellow mop of styled long hair and three days of stubble.
He twisted the 'hot' and waited until it smoked, splashing the near scalding stuff through his hair and face.
Better.
"Coffee..Need coffee"..He stuck out his tongue..White..."Fuck it"...He brushed his teeth.
The day matched his mood..Cold, windy, with a low smothering sky..
Cinching up the neck protector on the worn black leather jacket he viewed the waiting Harley and saw himself..
He turned away from a stirring memory..Those good days when he and the bike were first together..
Ashlee, Nick and the Harley..
Road trips to nowhere in particular..She clung to him and he to the bike..
"Bull shit"..
He pushed back hard and the memory disappeared. Like driving an easy eight ball through the center of a corner pocket.
The Harley sprung to life. Cold seat, tired motor, once bright chrome now dirty, dingy...
Thinking about it made him tired, allowing the relentless memory to seep again.
The local 7 Eleven was quiet enough at 7am..
Nick pulled in,shut off the bike, pushing pass the resident
homeless begging spare change..
The warm interior of the store was a comfort, but the loud persistent tone that signals entry echoed in his head like a crashing surf. He grabbed the big 24oz. size and forgot the stupid heat shield sleeve like always.
The bright red vests of the employees always hurt his eyes..Like safety gear..They must all ride bicycles to work..
He stood in line and got cut twice by self immersed customers beating the clock to their daily desk jobs.
In a way it didn't bother him..Yeah Nick Flannery had regrets..Yeah Nick Flannery had debts..Yeah, lately every day seemed like a life lead through the dark cave of an unhappy mind..
He managed a sip of the java. It's warmth and flavor overwhelmed him..
This stuff right here," he took another sip. "This stuff is worth getting up for."..
He paid the cashier in quarters..It's all he had..
Times were lean and the gig his band was currently doing didn't pay out till the end of the weekend..
He nodded to the standard "have a nice day" drone and turned toward the exit stopping dead in his track..
A tall slick suit was pulling the door open for his companion..He was way too happy for this time of day, and she was all smiles..All smiles and all Ashlee.
The couple didn't notice Nick. They didn't notice anyone..They were,...involved.
After a moment Nick felt himself breath in and breath out..
She could have been Ashlee...She should have been Ashlee..But Ashlee was dead..
He pushed through the exit door barely aware the imprint of redness the hot coffee cup was leaving on his palms.
Almost made it back to the Harley before his brain caught up and registered 'hot'..
His hands reacted though, dropping the steaming liquid right in the center of the parking lot..
A miniature mushroom cloud bellowed up in the cold air..like a smoke signal.."Here I am..Get your fucking video..Dumb shit of the day."
Los Angeles, California
Herman Gilespie barely remembered last night or the 'bitch' who still lay face down spread eagle over his king water bed..
It was some good coke though, and the sing song thread of her moaning "fuck it baby, fuck it" over and over like a broken record brought a sardonic smile to his stringy lips..
"Surreal" he muttered then gagged on the too familiar hot collusion of dried blood caked against the back of his throat..
He high tailed for the toilet tripping his way over empty beer cans and mostly empty bottles of cheap wine littering the floor.
Spitting out chunks of black that eventually turned to liquid runny red mucus and blood.
He couldn't help being distracted by a discarded cigarette butt comically wedged between his toes.
"Surreal" he grinned, and vomited again.
"Hey?"...Herman's serenade woke the girl up.."Hey?".."You alright in there buddy?"..She sat up, lit a smoke..
"Dizzy", Herman choked out..The woman rolled her eyes and flipped on the tube. "I got to split man"..
Even with his head three quarters in the toilet bowl he could hear her pulling on clothes and something else..
Rummaging..
"Stay out of my wallet, bitch!"..
"What the fuck?..I am getting my own shit, ok?"
"Stay the fuck away from my wallet!" His head pounded, swooned, and the white porcelain faded to gray.
"Fuck you asshole!"
Herman rolled off the toilet and lay face up on the bathroom floor..The cool tile saturated and numbed him..
She appeared. Hovering...Shimmering in his perception.."Your in a mood" she said paying as much attention to her reflection in the mirror as to him. "That's the thing about guys, in bands."
He stared at her..She'd been here before..He just couldn't remember her name.."Enlighten me."
She pulled long blond hair back and slipped it into a pony tail.. "You guys"...She turned on the facet and scrubbed her teeth with an index finger.."Your always so much more attractive, up there."
She wiggled washing her teeth and Herman realized he was getting horny..He reached and stroked her ankle..
"Up there?"
Her sharp features turned ugly and she pulled away.."Yeah, up there..On stage."
Herman grinned..The bitch had a point..We were all better 'up there'. Everything else was just about waiting to get back 'up there'...
"I am out of here" she snapped.
He got to his feet and staggered to the bathroom doorway watching her go.."You'll be back"..
She hung on the front door nob.."Oh yeah?..Why is that?"
Herman's face narrowed and his eyes blazed an insiders wisdom.."You heard of Daniel Webster and the devil?"
Her golden mane shook side to side.."No I ain't heard of no Daniel what the fuck!..The hell you talkin' about?"
"You'll find out"..His eyes glazed over, and for a moment the wisdom was replaced with fear.."It's a done deal sweet meat..All that's left is the signing."
She stood there a moment, his words sinking in..
"Your fucked up Herm"...She said it with more honesty than she had known herself to possess. "You've always been fucked up..So what the fuck are you getting yourself into now?"
Chapter 1
San Diego, California
The revolver was a mock. A stage prop Nick had used from time to time as the occasion called..
A souvenir from his community theater acting days..
Times long passed, and what often seemed like another lifetime.
"I wish I had a girl " he thought slipping a single .44 MAG shell into the empty Smith & Wesson.
The idea was in reality a no win situation, and dismissed simultaneously as it rose in his mind...
The way things had gone over the last year, there was no point making another human being his clone of misery.
It just wouldn't be fair..
Nicolaus Flannery was no saint, but he did try to play fair.
Like liquid motion he spun the revolver chamber, slammed it shut, stuck the barrel in his right ear, and pulled the trigger.
Click...
"Fuck!"...He dropped the Smith & Wesson to the lumpy mattress..It bounced hard and thumped..The barrel lay goggled facing him,.. accusing. "Your still here asshole".
His eyes stung from stale cigarette smoke and lack of sleep..
He covered them with his palms like lids over boiling pots of water..
"Fuck, fuck, fuck"..
Pulling his hands away he swiped the wet on yesterdays jeans.
The place was small, cluttered, the way one bedrooms can get in a hurry.
Badly in need of paint. Once off white walls now streaked yellow with dirt and nicotine stain.
"A man needs a maid"..The old Neil Young song popped in his mind.
He'd been here all most two years when the realization hit him... There was not a single picture hanging in the place.
In a fit of inspiration he'd dug out some old lp's and tacked the jackets up on the walls..
Beatles 'Magical Mystery Tour', Led Zepplin's first, David Bowe, Jimi Hendricks, The Pretenders, Jethro Tull, to name a few..Innovators, inspiration generators..
Dragging to the bathroom he braved a look in the smudged medicine cabinet mirror.
Deep blue eyes stared back..A yellow mop of styled long hair and three days of stubble.
He twisted the 'hot' and waited until it smoked, splashing the near scalding stuff through his hair and face.
Better.
"Coffee..Need coffee"..He stuck out his tongue..White..."Fuck it"...He brushed his teeth.
The day matched his mood..Cold, windy, with a low smothering sky..
Cinching up the neck protector on the worn black leather jacket he viewed the waiting Harley and saw himself..
He turned away from a stirring memory..Those good days when he and the bike were first together..
Ashlee, Nick and the Harley..
Road trips to nowhere in particular..She clung to him and he to the bike..
"Bull shit"..
He pushed back hard and the memory disappeared. Like driving an easy eight ball through the center of a corner pocket.
The Harley sprung to life. Cold seat, tired motor, once bright chrome now dirty, dingy...
Thinking about it made him tired, allowing the relentless memory to seep again.
The local 7 Eleven was quiet enough at 7am..
Nick pulled in,shut off the bike, pushing pass the resident
homeless begging spare change..
The warm interior of the store was a comfort, but the loud persistent tone that signals entry echoed in his head like a crashing surf. He grabbed the big 24oz. size and forgot the stupid heat shield sleeve like always.
The bright red vests of the employees always hurt his eyes..Like safety gear..They must all ride bicycles to work..
He stood in line and got cut twice by self immersed customers beating the clock to their daily desk jobs.
In a way it didn't bother him..Yeah Nick Flannery had regrets..Yeah Nick Flannery had debts..Yeah, lately every day seemed like a life lead through the dark cave of an unhappy mind..
He managed a sip of the java. It's warmth and flavor overwhelmed him..
This stuff right here," he took another sip. "This stuff is worth getting up for."..
He paid the cashier in quarters..It's all he had..
Times were lean and the gig his band was currently doing didn't pay out till the end of the weekend..
He nodded to the standard "have a nice day" drone and turned toward the exit stopping dead in his track..
A tall slick suit was pulling the door open for his companion..He was way too happy for this time of day, and she was all smiles..All smiles and all Ashlee.
The couple didn't notice Nick. They didn't notice anyone..They were,...involved.
After a moment Nick felt himself breath in and breath out..
She could have been Ashlee...She should have been Ashlee..But Ashlee was dead..
He pushed through the exit door barely aware the imprint of redness the hot coffee cup was leaving on his palms.
Almost made it back to the Harley before his brain caught up and registered 'hot'..
His hands reacted though, dropping the steaming liquid right in the center of the parking lot..
A miniature mushroom cloud bellowed up in the cold air..like a smoke signal.."Here I am..Get your fucking video..Dumb shit of the day."
Los Angeles, California
Herman Gilespie barely remembered last night or the 'bitch' who still lay face down spread eagle over his king water bed..
It was some good coke though, and the sing song thread of her moaning "fuck it baby, fuck it" over and over like a broken record brought a sardonic smile to his stringy lips..
"Surreal" he muttered then gagged on the too familiar hot collusion of dried blood caked against the back of his throat..
He high tailed for the toilet tripping his way over empty beer cans and mostly empty bottles of cheap wine littering the floor.
Spitting out chunks of black that eventually turned to liquid runny red mucus and blood.
He couldn't help being distracted by a discarded cigarette butt comically wedged between his toes.
"Surreal" he grinned, and vomited again.
"Hey?"...Herman's serenade woke the girl up.."Hey?".."You alright in there buddy?"..She sat up, lit a smoke..
"Dizzy", Herman choked out..The woman rolled her eyes and flipped on the tube. "I got to split man"..
Even with his head three quarters in the toilet bowl he could hear her pulling on clothes and something else..
Rummaging..
"Stay out of my wallet, bitch!"..
"What the fuck?..I am getting my own shit, ok?"
"Stay the fuck away from my wallet!" His head pounded, swooned, and the white porcelain faded to gray.
"Fuck you asshole!"
Herman rolled off the toilet and lay face up on the bathroom floor..The cool tile saturated and numbed him..
She appeared. Hovering...Shimmering in his perception.."Your in a mood" she said paying as much attention to her reflection in the mirror as to him. "That's the thing about guys, in bands."
He stared at her..She'd been here before..He just couldn't remember her name.."Enlighten me."
She pulled long blond hair back and slipped it into a pony tail.. "You guys"...She turned on the facet and scrubbed her teeth with an index finger.."Your always so much more attractive, up there."
She wiggled washing her teeth and Herman realized he was getting horny..He reached and stroked her ankle..
"Up there?"
Her sharp features turned ugly and she pulled away.."Yeah, up there..On stage."
Herman grinned..The bitch had a point..We were all better 'up there'. Everything else was just about waiting to get back 'up there'...
"I am out of here" she snapped.
He got to his feet and staggered to the bathroom doorway watching her go.."You'll be back"..
She hung on the front door nob.."Oh yeah?..Why is that?"
Herman's face narrowed and his eyes blazed an insiders wisdom.."You heard of Daniel Webster and the devil?"
Her golden mane shook side to side.."No I ain't heard of no Daniel what the fuck!..The hell you talkin' about?"
"You'll find out"..His eyes glazed over, and for a moment the wisdom was replaced with fear.."It's a done deal sweet meat..All that's left is the signing."
She stood there a moment, his words sinking in..
"Your fucked up Herm"...She said it with more honesty than she had known herself to possess. "You've always been fucked up..So what the fuck are you getting yourself into now?"
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