by Tasha Black
Well, fuck that. Here he was, a star, good looking, wealthy, and the world was at his feet. He was in a safe place and this could be his one chance to get rid of his animal.
All the kids had talked about it. If there were a price to be paid at your 300th Moon, surely the price was to give in to the animal, or to lose it completely, right?
As an adult, Johnny knew that few things were rarely so pat and simple.
But it felt right.
The dragon hadn’t pushed at the seams of his consciousness like this since childhood. And presumably since he wasn’t allowing it to come out, the creature was trying to call the shots from inside.
Not cool.
If his brothers and sisters had been right about this 300th moon, then if he kept his head down until the new moon, all his troubles would be over.
He pushed his flannel up over his forearm to study the marks.
Beneath the faded tattoo, the fiery red shapes swirled as if they were coming to the surface. Johnny gazed at them, fascinated and repulsed at the same time.
The last time they had been barely visible.
At least the dragon hadn’t locked down on his mind since that last performance.
But he could feel it. It was pushing to the surface, nosing the sea air and promising him adventure.
That magic had given him control, control he’d needed desperately.
But it was time to pay the price.
If he could resist the call, deny the change for just one more month, as he had done in all the years before, could it all be over? Would it finally lift from him, and leave him free to live the closest approximation of a normal life that Johnny Lazarus could live?
If there was a chance, then he was banking on it.
He didn’t even know how to picture it - living without the shimmering shadow of his other self.
Maybe he would finally stop filling his Johnny Walker Blue bottles with iced tea and pretending to get wasted, just to keep up the appearance of a rock star. Maybe he’d actually be able to relax once in a while and enjoy himself without worrying about what might happen if he let his guard down.
And still part of him wondered…
What would happen when it was gone?
Would he still be himself?
Would he be Johnny Lazarus?
The dragon was what made him so cool, so irresistible - he felt its charisma exuding from his pores.
Would anyone still care about him when he was just Johnny?
What happened when a man tried to amputate his soul?
Oh wow, that was good stuff.
He scrawled a few lines in the notebook.
Whatever else was going on, he’d been writing like crazy the past few days.
He looked over the song he was working on today.
It was uniquely his.
Frankly, it was probably some of the best stuff he’d ever written.
But it was… a bit of a departure.
Usually his songs were really self-affirming. “Upbeat, ass-kicking, instant rock anthems” Rolling Stone had called Somnambulance’s music style.
Of course Rolling Stone had also put the band on their list of the Top 10 “Gym Dandies”. And Johnny figured they were right, his previous creations were probably on half the workout mixes in the country. He definitely knew how to get people fired up.
But this new stuff was different, more introspective.
The lyrics were less straightforward, but the themes were clear: love, loss, regret.
As always, he faithfully wrote what was in his heart, but this time he wasn’t sure if the band would get behind it.
He could always do a solo album. But his fans would probably hate it.
Well, fuck ‘em.
It wasn’t his job to make them like it. It was his job to pull the music and lyrics out of his head and bring them wailing into the world where they could be loved or hated on their own merits.
He cradled little Ruby in his arms and crooned some of the new lines along the melody he’d been fooling with. Yeah, it was almost there.
When the tune and the words embraced each other at last, he forgot to stay quiet, and gave the song his voice.
A tiny concert for no one - just himself and the birds.
And for a little while, nothing else mattered.
11
Neve was rushing off to relax. Just one more nonsensical element of her sensible life.
But truly, it had been a hectic morning and if she could get through the cafeteria and around behind the building before anyone stopped her to talk, she would have twenty full minutes to eat her sushi before reporting back. And she was going to need sustenance.
Tonight she would be leading the group session. Not that they wouldn’t have food there. The place was half group session, half buffet. But she seldom had a chance to eat as everyone wanted to talk.
The sun was bright enough overhead that she had to squint for a moment after exiting the cafeteria. She slipped past the swimming pool without any of the residents noticing her, and continued on out back.
She normally grabbed a picnic table in the blazing afternoon sun where no one else wanted to sit. Sometimes that was enough to ensure her a meal alone, sometimes it wasn’t. But she figured any patient needing her help badly enough to corner her there was deserving of it - lunch break or not.
She had nearly reached the table she’d had in mind, when the music caught her attention. It was simple and sweet, acoustic guitar and vocals.
Someone must have a radio on by the pool.
But no, it was coming from the opposite direction.
She scanned the area behind the sanctuary all the way to the palms that surrounded the reflecting pool.
Nothing.
Oh, boy.
Neve headed for the source of the music.
If there was one danger in rehab, it was solitude, especially somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.
She took no joy in it, but if someone was screwing up their treatment plan, she had to put a stop to it and help get them back on the right path. Ideally before anyone else discovered them and joined in or got judgmental.
The paper bag with her sushi in it slapped sadly against her thigh as her legs automatically adopted their purposeful nurse’s stride.
But as she got closer, the music became clearer.
The dutiful rhythm of her feet subtly adjusted to something more mellow before she understood why.
She couldn’t hear the words yet, and the melody wasn’t anything she’d heard before. But it was somehow familiar anyway, like an old friend.
A strum, a shower of notes, the thump of a thumb against the pick guard, and then another strum.
Neve had danced in college. And she was good, good at Modern and Jazz at least, and she loved ballet though her body curved where her instructor most wanted it straight.
There was a time when she’d thought she couldn’t live without dancing, where she would have equated it with water or breath.
One more thing that went by the wayside as real life got in the way.
But now, for the first time in forever, she felt the music tug at her body, like a puppy on a leash.
The feeling was incredible. She had automatically drawn herself up into a dancer’s posture and it was like a weight had been lifted. Her whole body seemed to be suspended from her solar plexus, her limbs weightless, awaiting her command.
The music continued, soft and harsh at once, the bang of the thumb against the hollow body of the guitar setting the rhythm of her pace, as sure as a puppeteer tugs at the strings of a marionette.
Her body craved the stretch and release of dance. She could feel the shapes it wanted to make as if she were obeying it already: swooping, turning, leaping. Holding it together to walk instead of dancing now was like trying not to yawn. How long had it been since she’d felt this way?
What can fill the void once you amputate your soul?
The lyrics floated to her at last and she felt the
tears prickle her eyelids.
It was as if the words had been written just for her.
By the time she rounded the corner of the maintenance shed, tears were streaming freely down her cheeks.
What was the source of all this beauty?
When she caught sight of Johnny Lazarus curled around a hollow-bodied electric guitar she was so surprised she cried out.
The music stopped as he turned to her.
His amber eyes met hers and for a moment time stood still.
Neve felt as if she were looking into his soul. All his pain and joy were bared to her and she could see the man beneath. He was not what she thought. And he was in trouble.
Then his walls came up.
She could see it happen, as surely as she felt it happen in herself.
“That was beautiful,” she told him honestly.
“It’s not finished yet,” he shrugged.
“I can’t wait to see how it turns out,” she said.
“Me neither,” he replied.
There was an awkward silence. What else could she say? Neve wiped the tears from her cheeks in a quick gesture.
“Want some lunch?” she offered, holding out the white paper bag.
He moved over in answer, making more room in the shade of the shed’s roof overhang.
She seated herself before she could think about whether or not it was appropriate to be hiding away out here with a patient.
She opened up the bag and pulled out the container of sushi.
“Nice,” he said.
She looked up and saw he meant it.
“I haven’t seen you at any of the sessions or activities,” she said lightly, as she opened a packet of soy sauce and poured it into the overturned lid of the sushi container.
“Probably because I haven’t been at any,” Johnny replied with his mouth full.
“Your story checks out,” she said lightly. “You know, I need to report on your progress. If you don’t make an effort, I won’t have much to report.”
“It’s just… not really my scene,” he said.
That was typical. Neve had a piece of sushi and studied the palm leaves floating in the slight breeze, as if she were working over what he had said.
“Tell you what. If you come to the group session I’m running tonight, I’ll forget that I ever found your little hiding spot,” she offered, taking a last bite of sushi.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he considered.
“Deal,” he said at last. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where Neve could see the distant sparkle of the ocean.
She wanted to stay. She wanted to ask him to play it again, the song that brought back her spark. She wanted him to show her his soul again.
The nurse in Neve would never be satisfied knowing someone was in pain without fixing the hurt. But if she were honest with herself, she would know it wasn’t the nurse in her that was curious.
It was the woman.
No. He was a patient. And Neve was a professional.
And it was already too much that he’d seen her crying.
“I’m glad we have a deal, then. I’ll see you tonight,” she said, hopping up and dusting herself off.
He smiled up at her, his amber eyes flashing, and she felt her own mouth turn up immediately in response.
She turned and began to walk back down the hill toward the sanctuary.
“Hey,” he called to her.
She stopped and turned. He was silhouetted against the bright sunlight now, so she couldn’t see his expression.
“Why do you care so much?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“I mean, you guys already have my money. Why do you care so much if I don’t play along?” he asked.
“You think it’s all about money?” she asked.
“For most people, yeah,” he replied.
“Is that why you’re writing that song?” she asked before she could think better of it. “For the money?”
He turned his face away, and even with the light behind him she could tell she had stung him. She’d probably overstepped her bounds.
Quickly as she could, she turned again and marched away, before he had a chance to answer.
And before she had time to think about the real answer to his question.
Why did she care so much about him?
12
Johnny slunk down the hallway toward the Sharing Center.
The mere fact that it was called The Sharing Center was enough to make him want to turn around and jog back to his room.
But then his thoughts turned to Neve, and he found himself walking a little faster toward the session.
There was something about her. She seemed to understand him intuitively. That moment before she wiped her tears away and shut him out, he could have sworn he’d seen into her soul. And he’d seen pain. And loss - like he felt in himself. But he’d also seen something else - a light. A spark he couldn’t explain.
Had they even exchanged ten words?
Maybe not, but she’d convinced him to come tonight.
He wasn’t really going because she’d found his hiding spot. Johnny Lazarus didn’t do things he didn’t want to do.
No, he found himself strangely compelled to do what she asked because he wanted to please her. And her gratified half smile when he’d agreed felt worthwhile, even now as he was facing the actual session.
A voice inside told him that if he really liked her, he should stay away from her.
She didn’t seem like the type to be into bad boys. And he was about as bad as they came.
He chose to ignore the voice.
Taking a breath, he turned the corner into the open double doors. The room beyond was large and bright with a view over the reflecting pool, its surface a shimmering pink in the setting sun.
A circle of chairs had been set up in the center of the room - real ones, not the cheap metal folding kind. Next to them stood a chalkboard proclaiming: Coping with Past Mistakes.
Oh, brother, this would be a long night.
Tables lined the back wall, all manner of appetizers spread out along them. A small crowd of ten or so picked over the food as they waited for things to get underway.
“Hey, it’s J-Laz,” a young female voice said.
He looked over to see Jocelyn Wylde, her blonde hair lank around her face. No make-up, circles under her eyes - she looked awful. But relaxed - and better than he’d seen her in a long time.
That was one to think on.
“Hey, kid,” he said awkwardly. Last time he’d seen her she had been completely wasted and screaming at his drummer.
Next he heard she was going to rehab. He didn’t realize she was going to this one.
Good for her.
It would be easy for most people to dismiss Jocelyn as another manufactured pop princess. But Johnny knew she wrote all her own stuff, and he’d seen her play at least six different instruments while she was on the tour. The girl had some serious potential.
It was nice to see her trying to get her act together.
Jocelyn nodded, and offered a cucumber slice to the iguana in her arms.
“Tacos,” Johnny said with a smile. He’d always liked the little fellow.
The creature paused and turned its scaly head in his direction.
Something in Johnny cocked its head back in interest.
Tacos hissed and scrambled up Jocelyn’s skinny arm and around her neck, tangling himself in her hair.
“What the hell?” she said, dropping the cucumber.
“Sorry,” Johnny muttered.
“He always liked you,” she said.
Tacos hissed again as she tried to pull him down.
Johnny grabbed some strawberry slices off the table.
“Try this,” he said.
Jocelyn held them out and Tacos allowed himself to be coaxed back into her arms. He snatched the berries from her hand and tossed his spiky little head to swallow them down. He did not look at Johnny.<
br />
Was he sensing the change in Johnny, the push of the creature against his skin?
The room suddenly felt too small.
This was a bad idea.
He turned, ready to slip out, just as Neve marched through the door.
“Hi, there,” she said with a smile. “Nice to see everyone.”
She was tired, that was easy to see, but her brown eyes crinkled, telling him that her smile was sincere.
Like a herd of deer, the crowd at the tables moved to the seats in the center of the room.
Johnny moseyed after them and sat down in the last seat. He was opposite Neve and next to Jocelyn. He would’ve thought the patients would all be fighting for a seat next to the pop sensation, with her fame and youth. Maybe they didn’t want to sit near the iguana.
Come to think of it, this group was holding its cool pretty well even with him there. They were probably used to rubbing elbows with celebrities. If they were at Sanctuaries, they had money. Some of these blue bloods probably even saw stardom as a fancy way of saying new money.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Neve said quietly to the assembled group. It was probably just his imagination, but Johnny swore her eyes lingered on him for just a second too long. “Let’s do a round of introductions.”
One by one, they went around in a circle. There were three wealthy looking, middle-aged blonde women, Bonnie, Barb, and Mimi. It seemed like they stuck together based on how they were dressed and seated and the way they nodded like ducks at each other’s intros.
There was a young black guy in a nice button down, silk tie and trousers, Clarence. He seemed weirdly relaxed.
Jocelyn was there of course, then Johnny himself.
On the other side of him, an older white guy, Ed, was looking miserable, with his arms and legs crossed.
Helen, a really familiar looking woman, with even blonder hair, sat next to Ed. Johnny vaguely thought that maybe she had been a game show hostess once upon a time.
Finally, two young guys, Phil and Tony, sat next to each other. One was tall and thin, the other short and heavy, but they were similar in that both were trying not to make it too obvious that they were eyeing Johnny up.
“Today’s topic will be Coping with Past Mistakes,” Neve announced, when the introductions were complete. “But before we get started, does anyone have something they would like to share?”