Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  The Niles chap continues to kiss Jane and then goes back to groping her breast. The lucky bastard gets the thrill, and I have to play along with whatever direction he wants to take things. Or do I? Maybe I can do some fancy finger work so she will finish early and toss him.

  He nudges down the cup of her bra and his lips go to her tit. I follow along while Jane writhes. This sorry sod has no idea how lucky he is.

  "What the hell?" asks a voice from above. Below me, Jane looks startled. I jump up, and the guy's eyes follow me. What the hell is right!

  Why is Niles looking in Peter's direction? "Niles, who are you talking to?"

  Niles stands and looks down at Peter. "Him."

  "You can see Peter?"

  "Yes, I can see him," Niles says while sounding freakishly calm. Oh, thank God I'm not imagining him! "How was he on you and yet I couldn't feel him?"

  Oh no!

  No! No! No! No! No!

  "Niles, this is Peter Lane. Peter, I believe you have strangely met Niles."

  "The dead singer? The last anyone saw of him his skin was charred and flaking off like burnt Eczema."

  Peter's expression grows indignant. "I looked a mess because I was in a fire. What's your excuse? And why are you so unfazed by my apparitional self?"

  "I'm a lawyer. It takes a lot to faze me. Besides, when I was a kid not all of my so-called imaginary friends were nonexistent, but I'm betting even the fabricated ones could take out your scrawny little butt."

  "Niles, I—I'm sorry. I want to explain, but I don't know I can."

  Niles seems to have already figured out what transpired. He doesn't show the slightest trace of anger. I'd be pissed.

  "It's fine, Rox," he says, solemnly. "I get it. This isn't the first time that— I should go." Niles grabs his coat and heads for the door.

  "Niles, wait."

  "It's okay, Rosalyn. You shouldn't care about me when it can only be one sided."

  "What are you talking about?" One sided? Please tell me it's not what I'm thinking.

  Niles takes his hand off of the doorknob and leans his weight against the wall. The scrunching of his eyes makes the hurt on his face redden. "I've been so dishonest with you that I don't know where to start." He gives himself a moment before the words fly out. "The night we met I was on a date."

  My throat tightens. Facing Niles is the last thing I want, so my eyes focus on a dark piece of lint on the carpet. "I guess that explains a lot. You were waiting for someone and that's why you couldn't talk to me. But that should have nothing to do with now unless—unless you still love her." So that's his baggage. No wonder why I have been so hesitant with Niles. My heart already knew what my brain wished to ignore.

  Niles forces a brave face. "No, Rosalyn, the guy was my date."

  He's gay? I expect everything to hurt less, but it doesn't. "You mean that guy who looked like a business associate?" Wait, hard-ons don't lie. Unless he was just thinking about another guy while he was with me. If that is the case, I no longer feel bad about what I allowed Peter to do.

  "Yeah."

  The pain in my heart shoots deeper. "You could have fooled me. I thought he was trying to sell you something you didn't want."

  "Actually, you're not far off. He was definitely trying to sell me on him, but I quickly found he wasn't what I wanted."

  "So what you are telling me is that you can't love me because you are still in love with a former boyfriend." A metaphorical hand reaches out of my chest and pulls my heart back inside. I didn't realize how much I had put myself on the line.

  How did we get here? How do I explain to Rosalyn this isn't her fault, and that for decades I've done all I possibly could to find a solution? Hell no, I'm not gay, but that was the last stone unturned, and I finally got the courage to flip it over and try. "Years ago my mom sat me down for a dose of the truth. From the look on her face I thought she was going to tell me someone had died. Instead she told me that I was already dead. I'm incapable of processing love. Hate and passion are on the list too."

  "Oh, please, Niles. This is the worst spin on the, 'It's not you, it's me' thing I've ever heard."

  Rosalyn's eyes look watery. When people cry you comfort them, but that means getting near her, and that's not what she wants. What do you do then? "Rosalyn, when my dad walked out his final words included calling me a sociopath. Mom has no idea that I remember. While it's far from true think about what just happened. You get nothing from me because I have nothing to give. Admit it, Rosalyn, when you touch me my response carries the emotional warmth of a wall."

  This is crap. It is, however, the most creative crap I've ever heard. Also, I feel his pain as if he's a radiator, and it burns. "How can you hurt and not love? And how can you be so calm about it?"

  He simply shrugs, but his eyes reflect he's admitting a lack of self-understanding. "I have all the compassion in the world but none of the stuff that drives it. I only get by because while my mom worked her butt off to send me to doctors my grandparents made a point of teaching me what empathy is and programming responses into me. I'm a big hoax, Rosalyn. A hoax that is the product of sensitivity training and acting lessons. Some people are driven by love and hate to the point where they tune out all things standing in their way. I'm the exact opposite. It's like when my soul was built a few little details were left out."

  "Well, I'll be …" Peter mutters.

  "Truth is, Rosalyn, I've never felt an emotional connection to anyone. You may have soft, warm skin, but the differences between you and a lamppost— Oh, God. I'm sorry. I almost said something really stupid." He says it so calm and matter-of-factly that not only does the burn of my own pain deepen, but now I hurt for him as well. So this is the impossibility he is trying to overcome. This poor man. How can you possibly fight a war when you don't have the tools?

  "What are the odds?" Peter seems to be marveling over this scene. Right now I find him to be absolutely disgusting.

  "Peter, will you please give us some privacy?" I shout. With a quaint nod he disappears.

  "Rosalyn, I know kissing me is similar to the emotional equivalent of when you were twelve and practiced on your pillow, right?"

  I give an embarrassed nod. Niles is perfectly putting words to what I haven't been able to describe. I'm seeing it now. His eyes are missing the light that shows his heart is alive. In them I've seen hope and boyish innocence, but never have I witnessed an expression of love—not for me, not for anything. "Niles, I really don't want to hurt you."

  "Don't worry. I don't process hurt the way you do. Apparently, in order for that to happen you need passion. All you'll do by dumping me is toss me back into loneliness. That's okay. I'm used to it."

  Niles heads out of the room. He rushes down the steps and out the front door with the urgency of fleeing a building of dreams that's crumbling behind. While I couldn't feel love off of him, his pain fills this room and digs deeply into my heart. Whether it is brought on by the truth of his words or by my personal sense of loss, another person I love is dead.

  The Ghost Of Change

  My most difficult moment was experiencing what the doctor called lesson one—understanding what I lacked. Next came acceptance, then learning right from wrong. Some would say I'm an absolute idiot for leaving Rosalyn, but if I stayed I'd eventually hurt her more. I'm surprised things worked out as long as they did.

  The briefs on my desk have turned into one giant haze from my prolonged staring while the spot where Rosalyn's picture once sat continues to nag at me with loneliness.

  Eyes and mind back to the briefs, Niles.

  I stare towards the floor as if the drawer is open and I can see her photo that faces downward inside it. This is lame. After the yank of a metal knob I lift the corner of the frame so I can face the damage I've caused. I knew better, and I hurt her anyway.

  Put the photo back, Niles, but … No, don't hesitate. Put away that part of your life.

  The slam of the drawer shows the acceptance of my stupidity.


  My computer screen buzzes, and my chest jerks at the sight of Peter Lane. "Got a case of the Monday blues?" he asks.

  "Haven't you screwed things up enough already?"

  "I was only trying to help you, mate. You're the halfwit who walked."

  Interesting. This is the rubbing in of pain from one dead guy to another. If the dead can experience emotions, there's horrible irony in a corpse being more alive than I. "Peter, if you came here to see how I'm doing, the answer lies in the fact I've hurt my one true friend, and she was pretty rotten to me as well. Now, would you kindly leave so I can get caught up on work?"

  Peter plops his butt down on my desk. Well, it's more like he hovers and then spins to sit cross-legged. His legs penetrate my paperwork. "Nice try. We both know you can't work when you're gutted, which is why I'm here to help."

  What do I do next? Call Security? I can just imagine their reaction when I say they need to haul away a ghost. I'll probably get a free ride to the asylum. "What, like how you helped me before? Even if it didn't bother my ego, it's pretty awkward."

  "Niles, old chum, you're misunderstanding the nature of my visit. Oh, silly me. I haven't told you yet. Is it my turn to talk?"

  Can I scare him off? What could frighten a dead rock star? Maybe if I turn on some Yoko Ono.

  No, Peter Lane loved soulful R&B. A dose of Auto-Tune laced hip-hop is the perfect insult. "Fine, Peter, go ahead. Say your piece." My feet lob onto my desk with my mind still on the contents of my drawer.

  I'm astounded by how his words are testy yet his tone is relaxed. It's annoying. "You know, I can solve all of your problems. It's just going to cost a teensy bit of your time."

  The sorry sod keeps his eyes fixated on his desk. "All of my problems? Buddy, no one's been able to fix any of them—not me, not my family, and not any shrink on the planet. I strongly doubt you have the solution."

  Damn lawyers. A sales pitch is always necessary with them. "Oh, I've exactly the solution, and I understand your problem better than anyone. You see, you and I are split souls. When I allowed your creation, or rather, when we allowed your creation, I kept all the parts that will help me fix a little issue from our last life. Now I just need a smidgen of living, human help to carry out a teensy, little task. Once that is done I'm willing to fix your problem."

  I've heard some crazy stories, but this one has got to take the cake.

  Wait, is this apparition an apparition? Maybe I'm dreaming all of this. Why imagine Peter Lane of all people? Maybe I can get him to teach me a few guitar riffs. "You're telling me you're my soul mate? I know you don't need to use a door to leave but there's one right behind you."

  "Don't be ridiculous! I am not your soul mate. Our soul is split. Search it out on that Internet thing you people can't seem to survive without. You and I were both Peter Lane. When it was time for us to reincarnate we split into two people. You got all of the pesky parts that would impair my ability to right things with Stoddard, like morality. We shared the rest. Well, actually I hoarded the bulk of hatred, love, and passion because it's my love for Jane that feeds my hatred for Ben Stoddard, and it is passion that fuels the desire to tidy things up. I wanted to keep all of each, but I couldn't be heartless."

  I really wish people wouldn't raise their voices. I'm glad I don't have anger. People's anger gives me a headache. "Who's Jane?"

  "Did I keep all the smarts, too? Rosalyn is Jane, or at least she was when we were married to her. After we were murdered someone rubbed her out too. Once you help me right some wrongs I can re-merge our soul. All that passion Rosalyn just felt for me, she will actually feel for you. You'll be normal."

  I'm grateful that I'm propped back tightly into this chair else my ass would be on the floor. Married? I was married to Rosalyn? She loved me? If I were normal, would she love me again? Could I finally get this loneliness to go away?

  This guy sounds completely crazy. I must be insane to give him a moment of my time, but his—what an idiot I am for thinking this—his illogical mumbo jumbo makes perfect sense. What if the reason I feel like half a person is because I am and it's all his fault? "So the reason I'm so screwed up inside is because of you? I've spent my life hurting people because I lack a full range of emotions just so you could get the balls to act on a grudge? I should throttle you."

  Oh, that was wussy. I need to take more acting lessons.

  Yeah, the acting lessons I wouldn't need if this bastard didn't rob me of a full range of emotions.

  How calm Niles is during all of this is fascinating. With his words I would expect him to be on his feet and towering over me in threat. Instead he looks lost in thought. "Then why aren't you throttling me as you so eloquently put it? You've a very interesting way of thinking and emotions are pesky little beasts for most people. You used your gift and your curse to your advantage and became a lawyer."

  Niles opens the drawer of his desk and peers down at the backside of a frame. So that's where his eyes have been staring this entire time. "That tiny bit of love you left me is hitting full force. What do I have to do?" he asks.

  I don't allow the guy a second to reconsider before giving my sales pitch a go. "We're going to get Stoddard the way he got us. All you need to do is waltz in, sprinkle a little lighter fluid, and strike a match. You have to find a way to kill the surveillance system because—"

  "Wait a minute. Are you saying somebody set that fire? According to legend you were wasted, hit a wall, and nodded off with a lit cigarette."

  "You're really foolish enough to believe that? Didn't anybody ever stop to think how bloody hard you have to hit a wall, or how wasted you have to be to pass out so deeply you would miss a fire? If I had been that far gone, I doubt I'd have made it up the stairs. No, Stoddard had me taken out. Now I'm to return the favor. Since I seem to not be able to really touch anything, I just need a tad bit of living help."

  "No way in hell. I'm not going to put blood on my hands with the offer of an empty promise."

  I should have seen this coming. The old Peter Lane would never go for it either. The part of us that would allow it is small, and it's all within me. "Trust me, Niles, my promise is not empty. Remember the little episode we just had with Rosalyn? Help me achieve this, and she will welcome us with open arms."

  "You really think I am stupid enough to fall for this trick?"

  He's astoundingly calm. I'm going to have to play this boy. My disappearing act begins as I fade from his sight. "Fine. We'll see how your future unravels. I hope you're used to being alone because you certainly won't get anywhere with Rosalyn like this. You'll be in touch."

  I Can Remember

  How did I allow that moment with Peter to happen? My cell phone gets tossed onto the nightstand before I turn out the lights for bed. Again I'm unable to bring myself to call Niles. For a girl who has never had a one-night stand I'm an unforgivable whore.

  Warmth comes in next to me, and my pillow emits energy as if it has taken on life. How wrong is it that I can get so much love and comfort from a dead man but little from a living, breathing one? My head nuzzles into the softness of the pillow as Peter ropes his arms around me. "You all right, luv?" he whispers.

  "No. I'm far from all right. What we did Saturday was unforgivable." Tears build in my eyes. I halt mid-reach for a tissue. I don't deserve its luxury for what I did to Niles.

  "I was only trying to make you happy. You have to admit, you weren't exactly complaining."

  Yes, I was all too happy and hate myself for it. I also hate myself for finding comfort now. "If you're here to try to talk me out of being with Niles again, don't waste your time. I seem to not have a choice in the matter."

  "I really don't know what you see in that fake, gay vampire. And by fake I mean the gay part."

  The back of my hand wipes the falling water away from my eyes. "Peter, crushing Niles has put me in no mood for joking."

  "We've really crept our way into your heart, haven't we?"

  God, this is like talking to my conscience.
If the episode with the three of us didn't happen, I'd stand by my theory that my imagination has gotten the best of me. "How is it I can feel so much with you, and I want that with him, yet it just doesn't work out even though logic tells me it should? None of it makes sense when you put it down on paper, but when you put it all in my heart my emotions for you seem so right. I should feel that way for Niles, but when I'm with him it's all wrong. I think of him, and I have the feelings I have for you, but when I'm with him those emotions completely disappear. Then when I'm with you they reappear again." I grab a pillow and smash it down over my face. "Gah! My brain has turned into a bowl of clam chowder that's all crackers!"

  "You know, luv, there's actually a very big reason for that. Though I have to warn you that the explanation sounds pretty daft."

  I smack the pillow onto my hips and draw in a deep sniffle of remorse. "It can't be any crazier than what I just tried to describe. If you've got a solution, sock it to me."

  With a little kiss on Rosalyn's forehead I reluctantly leave my position by her side. At her desk I point to the drawing she did of me. "Do you remember when I first saw this?"

  "Yeah, your reaction was a little freaky."

  With our new bodies come new brains, thus making us akin to amnesia victims. It's cruel. We all have a right to know who we were and the impact we had on others. "Jane used to draw as well. She did everything from beautiful landscapes to crazy swirls of color, but what she did best were portraits. You could never look at one of hers and not feel like you were being told a story. This sketch of me is a perfect replica of one Jane did—every last detail. It's as if you erased her name and signed your own. My expression, the lighting, the background, they're—" I choke back the pain that leaks out of my heart as I approach Rosalyn— "They're all the way she drew me on the day she said she knew we were on the verge of losing everything, yet she found a way to help me see the good in our lives."