by Jacob Rayne
‘That’s from one of our songs,’ Zeke said.
‘It looks like you’re at least partly responsible for this then,’ said one of the cops. ‘Writing such inflammatory lyrics.’
‘Hey, we didn’t know some frigging psychopath was gonna act it all out one day, did we?’ Eddie said, about thirty seconds from popping him one.
Ricky met Eddie’s eye and shook his head slowly. ‘It’s only a song, Officer,’ he said, ever the voice of reason.
The cop held Eddie’s stare for a second then looked away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Don’t take it to heart.’
Travis almost burst out laughing at the unintentional pun, but Ricky silenced him too with a shake of his head.
‘We’ll get this processed,’ the cop said. ‘And in the meantime you might want to make some sort of statement, you know, denouncing this psycho’s actions.’
‘Good idea,’ Ricky said. ‘Thank you for your time, Officers. And we’ll certainly think about taking your advice.’
‘Reckon we should make a statement?’ Zeke said.
‘Fucking right we should,’ Eddie raged. ‘We can’t be associated with this.’
‘Think of the album sales after this, man,’ Travis grinned. ‘We’ll be notorious.’
‘Travis, this is not cool,’ Eddie scowled. ‘We could get shut down over this.’
‘Ah, controversy is part of the game, man. Alice Cooper, Slayer, Judas Priest… Fuckin Ozzy himself. Them names mean anything to ya?’
‘Don’t forget Marilyn Manson,’ Zeke piped up.
‘Fuck Marilyn Manson,’ Eddie said. ‘And fuck Berserker 84. He’s brought this shitstorm on himself.’
‘What are you doing, man?’ Travis said as Eddie picked up Wentworth’s phone.
‘Wentworth, what’s the name of our press guy? I’ve got something I need to say.’
The press appeared en masse outside the bar where Eddie had arranged to meet them.
His bandmates accompanied him, on Wentworth’s recommendation that they remain united on the issue.
Wentworth had had to go back to the office to deal with a furious call from the record label management.
‘Shame he’s not gonna be here,’ Ricky said. ‘He’d have handled this better than us.’
‘I’ll handle it just fine,’ Eddie said.
Ricky wasn’t convinced.
The camera flashes were constant for the first few minutes.
‘I am not answering any questions, so don’t ask any,’ Eddie began. ‘Just listen to what I have to say. We are in the middle of every band’s worst nightmare. We recently had a dispute with a music journalist from the Metalheadz magazine. There were comments about it made online, which escalated and resulted in the unfortunate journalist being murdered by one of our fans.’
There were gasps and muttered comments from the journalists present.
‘Which fan?’ someone shouted.
‘I told you, I’m saying nothing other than this official statement,’ Eddie said. ‘My brothers and I are all united in the belief that this man is a criminal and a psychopath and we are deeply ashamed to be associated with him. He is no longer welcome at our shows and we hope he is found soon and sent down. We are deeply sorry for the death of Mr Maggiano and we wish to make it known to his family that we are 100% against his murder. Thank you for your time.’
There were calls for questions, but the four men left without saying another word.
They were trying to relax at home when Eddie’s face appeared on the local news.
The words, ‘Local musician slams psycho fan,’ scrolled across the screen beneath him.
‘You know,’ Ricky said, upon hearing Eddie’s words properly for the first time. ‘You didn’t stick to what we agreed there.’
‘I know. I improvised, like all the greats,’ Eddie grinned.
‘Well you shouldn’t have,’ Ricky said. ‘Don’t you think you were a bit harsh on him?’
‘Harsh? He cut a fucking journalist’s heart out. He’s a nutjob.’
‘Yeah, so is it really wise to slag him off in front of the press?’ Ricky said.
‘Ah shit, he’s right, man,’ Zeke said.
‘Yeah, it’ll be your heart he cuts out next, Ed,’ Travis said, his face drawn back in mock horror. Then he burst into laughter.
‘This is serious, man,’ Ricky said.
‘Yeah,’ Eddie said. ‘Ah crap, what have I done?’
‘Well we know he must be somewhere close to the Metalheadz office,’ Ricky said. ‘Cos those posts were only half an hour apart.’
They all nodded.
‘And he knows where Wentworth’s office is, cos he managed to send us the frigging heart,’ Zeke said.
‘He’s gonna be looking out for us now,’ Ricky said.
‘You guys are being pussies. There are four of us and one of him,’ Travis said. ‘He’s only a little guy. We’ll just go jungle on his ass. No problem.’
‘He could have mates,’ Ricky pointed out.
‘A little freak like him?’ Eddie said. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Yeah, you might be right,’ Travis said. ‘He has loner written all over him. In fact I’m sure he has a tatt that says it.’
‘I think we should be careful,’ Ricky said. ‘Till this guy is taken in we should stick together and have our guards up at all times.’
An uneasy few weeks followed, with the band going everywhere in pairs, or with Wentworth standing over them with a baseball bat in hand.
For a good few months, nothing happened.
They began to forget about the threat, but Ricky, always the voice of reason in everything (he’d even stopped drinking to make sure he was alert at all times) was constantly reminding them.
‘This wacko is still out there,’ he’d say, a knowing look in his eye. ‘And I think he’s waiting for our shows to come around.’
His bandmates felt their blood run a little cold at the thought.
The night of the first gig came around and there was still no news from the police or the press that Berserker 84 had been captured.
They were on a high, but still in the back of their minds was the thought of their psychotic ex-fan causing trouble at the show.
Despite their fears, the show went well, their nervous energy adding a new intensity to the performance. The crowd were almost as loud as the band.
‘It’s a shame we can’t meet the fans tonight,’ Eddie said.
‘Not worth the fucking risk, my friend,’ Wentworth said.
‘Ah, but we’re gyping the fans out of something they might remember forever,’ Travis said.
‘There’ll be plenty of tours after this,’ Wentworth said. ‘As soon as this idiot is locked up there’ll be plenty of meet and greets. Until then you guys are staying under lock and key.’
‘I’m glad we didn’t have this rule on the last tour,’ Zeke said.
‘Me too,’ Petra, Zeke’s leggy, blonde girlfriend, said.
‘Say, that’s right, you guys met after one of our shows, didn’t you?’ Eddie said.
‘Sure did,’ Petra said. ‘I loved your music ever since they put Tomb of Forgotten Children on the Metalheadz sampler CD. Everyone was nervous to meet you guys, but I was shaking like a shitting dog. I had no fucking idea what to say to any of you.’
‘Did you fancy Eddie?’ Wentworth said, a grin creeping across his face. ‘But had to settle for the drummer instead?’
‘Fuck off,’ Zeke laughed, throwing an empty beer can across the room at his chuckling manager.
‘No, I fancied Zeke from day one,’ Petra smiled, rubbing her hand along his inner thigh. ‘When I met you I remember being so scared I could barely look any of you in the eye. And Zeke had come over first and said hey. I didn’t dare even look up at him. My reply was so quiet he could hardly hear me.
‘“You don’t need to be nervous around us,” he said. “We eat, drink and shit metal just like you do.” He grinned at me and I still couldn’t
seem to find the strength to look up. My hand was shaking like fuck when I pulled out a CD and poster for him to sign.’
‘And here we are,’ Zeke grinned.
‘Yep, the only one who’ll get his end away tonight,’ Eddie said. ‘Come on, Wentworth, I wanna score. Did you see the girls in here tonight? They were hot.’
Wentworth shook his head.
Eddie scowled and went to the bar to drown his sorrows.
After the gear was packed away, a baseball bat-wielding Wentworth accompanied the band back to the bus.
‘Well that went a lot better than I’d thought it would,’ Ricky said.
‘Yeah, I told you he didn’t have the balls to do anything,’ Travis said. ‘Fucking joker’s scared of us.’
They clinked a beer each and got back on the bus to head for the next venue.
The rest of the tour was a dream come true; rabid crowds screaming every word back at them, passionate and precise performances that they would never have imagined putting on a few years ago.
Everything was going perfectly until the final night of the tour.
It was going so well that their guards were down, as they assumed Berserker 84 wouldn’t have bothered to travel so far from home.
They imagined he’d just forgot about it, then a message from Berserker 84 flashed up on the band’s Facebook page: ‘Can’t wait to see you play tonight.’
‘Let’s see him fucking try it,’ Eddie bellowed, stomping round the dressing room in a blind rage, throwing plates off the catering table.
‘He could have a gun or anything, man,’ Ricky said. ‘Look at what happened to Dimebag, God rest his soul.’
‘Ah, that nutter ain’t got a gun. He’s probably just done it to put the shits up us,’ Travis said.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Zeke said, necking the rest of his beer and reaching for another.
‘I’ll fucking smash him if he turns up here,’ Eddie said.
‘You’ll have to get past me,’ Wentworth said, smacking the baseball bat into his palm.
Showtime slowly drew closer.
With nerves that had nothing to do with the anticipation of show time, they made their way to the stage.
Their eyes cast out into the crowd, searching for the man they all knew was after their blood.
They saw only a sea of grinning faces and raised devil horns.
The crowd chanted their name between every song, but the night’s performance was robbed of much of its energy by the overwhelming sense of paranoia.
An overzealous crowd surfer had the shit kicked out of him by security who’d been told to take no risks with people trying to get on stage.
‘That’s not him,’ Wentworth sheepishly told them and apologised to the startled young lad.
The end of the show came in a haze of feedback and chants from the crowd.
‘We’re definitely not doing a meet and greet tonight, lads,’ Wentworth said.
They all groaned. They were keen to have some female interaction. It had been a barren tour for everyone except Zeke.
Eddie wanted Berserker 84 to try and attack them it so he could take out his anger on him.
‘Nope. We’re not even drinking in the bar tonight. I’m not taking the risk,’ Wentworth said. ‘Straight to the bus with yas.’
‘Ah man it’s the last night,’ Eddie said. ‘I wanna see the sights, get some company. My balls are about to fucking blow, man. I need to get laid.’
‘No,’ Wentworth said. ‘Nothing is gonna happen to any of you dickheads.’
As Wentworth shepherded the band onto the bus, Travis gave Eddie a wink that went unnoticed by the others.
Wentworth downed most of his first beer in one gulp. ‘Thirsty tonight, lads,’ he said. ‘Sorry about this but you all know it’s for your own good.’
Within a few minutes he was passed out against the seat.
‘Hey, that kicked in quick,’ Eddie said.
‘I know, these things are great,’ Travis said, holding aloft the pack of roofies he’d brought with him to play pranks on their roadies.
‘Now the cat’s asleep the mice will play,’ Eddie beamed, peering out of the window. ‘Hey, there’s a good few fans out there. Few girls too. We man enough to risk this prick attacking us?’
‘Hell yeah,’ was the unanimous response.
The rain began to fall as soon as they got off the bus.
The queue of fans cheered when they saw their heroes emerging from the vehicle.
They eyed the fans a little suspiciously, but the man they were looking for didn’t seem to be there.
They signed anything that was put in front of them then went back to the relative safety of the venue. Eddie, Travis and Ricky took the lady of their choice with them.
Eddie rushed into the dressing room with a superhot goth girl who had a figure to make most porn stars jealous.
After what was arguably the best hour of the tour, Eddie emerged from the dressing room with his conquest. Both were grinning from ear to ear.
‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ he said.
‘I can come in too,’ she said, a glint in her eye.
‘Na, maybe later. I’m gagging for a pint. Make yourself at home in the bar. I won’t be long.’
Eddie came out of the shower, the strains of Ozzy Osbourne’s Hellraiser echoing through from the dressing room. He chuckled to himself. Zeke always put that on when he and Petra were getting busy.
In an attempt to put his mate off his game, he shouted and slammed the base of his fist into the wall a few times.
When he’d dried himself, he brayed on the dressing room door.
He waited for his bandmate’s furious shout, but it didn’t come.
Laughing to himself, he put his phone’s camera onto record and shoved the door open, intending to catch his friend in the act.
‘Hey, guys, hope you aren’t camera shy,’ he chuckled.
But the joke was on him.
Zeke was slumped naked against the wall, his hands pressed tight against his throat which was carved open deep enough to reveal a gleaming section of spine.
The blood had ran down his chest in thick trails and pooled beneath his feet. His eyes were bulging and glassy.
Petra sat next to him, her clothes drenched in blood, her eyes closed, an agonised expression hewn into her flawless features.
‘Ricky? Travis? Get your asses in here,’ he bellowed.
The only reply was his own voice echoing off the walls.
He called each of them but their phones rang out.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, suddenly not so full of bravado.
He found Ricky in the toilet, his guts hanging out of his body, looking for all the world like an explosion in an abattoir. Blood spattered everything around him and thick trails led across the room as though he had tried to pull himself towards the safety of the toilet cubicles.
He was dead, and had been for some time.
Travis was slumped over the buffet table, his blood running down from the edge of the surface like a crimson waterfall.
Despite the many stab wounds in his back and the thick gouts of blood sprayed all over the floor and the walls, he was still breathing. His pulse was almost weak enough to be non-existent, but there.
Eddie nearly shit himself when he opened his eyes.
He let out a low moan, blood frothing out of his twitching lips as he tried to summon the words to warn his friend.
It sounded like he said, ‘Out there,’ gesturing weakly to the bar area with a nod of his head.
Eddie called an ambulance, but it was too late; Travis’s final breath deserted him while he was still trying to utter a warning.
Eddie picked up a carving knife from the buffet table.
When Eddie left the room, he heard low music coming from the bar.
Eyes bulging, stomach churning, he moved into the bar.
Sitting at the table was a skinny man with Slayer tattoos all over his head.
‘Motherfucker,’ the
man shouted as he saw Eddie.
‘You fucking pussy,’ Eddie shouted. ‘You have to use a knife? Not man enough to have a proper fight?’
The man’s brow furrowed then he put his head down and charged at Eddie.
Eddie threw the knife to one side, wanting to settle this with his fists. He wanted to stomp his enemy’s head into mush, fuck using a blade.
His punch caught the lad on the ear and sent him careering to the left but he still hit Eddie at knee level and took him off his feet. They rolled around the floor, trying to get the upper hand.
Eddie managed to get on top and began raining blows down onto his adversary’s tattooed skull.
‘Berserker fucking 84,’ he said, spitting the words out. ‘What a stupid name.’
‘What are you on about? I’m not Berserker 84,’ the lad said between skull-rattling blows.
Eddie slammed a few more blows in, until his enemy went limp.
‘If you’re not him then why did you go for me?’
‘You just fucked my wife, you wanker,’ the lad said, blood pouring from his burst lips.
‘Prove it,’ Eddie said, releasing his grip on the lad’s throat a little.
The lad pulled his phone out and showed a few photos of his wife, the goth girl who Eddie had emptied his balls into not ten minutes ago.
‘Yep, that’s her alright,’ Eddie said.
‘Believe me now?’
‘Happy?’ the lad said.
‘Ah fuck, I’m sorry, man. I thought you were someone else,’ Eddie said.
The lad shoved Eddie away, spat a thick wad of blood-flecked phlegm in his face and stormed out of the venue.
Eddie watched the lad leave then locked the doors.
He called the cops and went out to the bus, to see if he could wake Wentworth and the rest of the crew.
The door to the bus stood open, a river of blood dripping down the steps and forming puddles in the gutter.
He moved onto the bus, tears filling his eyes as he saw that every one of his friends was dead. Their eyes stared sightlessly at him, their throats smiling ragged red grins.