Wild Angel

by Shari Copell

  He gripped her by the upper arms and pulled her close. She pushed, struggled free, and bared her teeth at him. “Don’t you grab me like that. Get out!”

  “Not until you hear what I have to say. I’m on your team, Nicks. I was as mad as you are now. In fact, I told them if they refused to let you play, I wasn’t playing either.”

  “You did not.”

  “I most certainly did. I saw it for what it was, and I couldn’t believe it. I hurt for you.”

  “Well, tough shit. I’m not sharing the stage with a bunch of dickheads who think like that.” She fisted her hands and let some of the tantrum fly. “Goddamnit, Stone, I’m going to make it someday. I’m going to be the one in Rolling Stone, and they’re going to be talking about my fabulous technique and how goddamn awesome I am on guitar! I’m going to get there because of what I know, and what I can do, and not because of the size of my tits!” She stopped to catch her breath then pointed a finger in his face. “Nicks Sorenson is going to be the one they credit years from now with smashing the perception that women who rock are jokes. You stupid fuckers who didn’t get the memo are going to be eating my dust!”

  Stone stood back and stared. It didn’t look like he was breathing. After several long moments, he blinked. “Wow. I believe every single thing you just said, and I want to be by your side when it happens. It can start tomorrow.”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I won’t do it.”

  “Are you going to let your stubbornness rob you of this opportunity? If you don’t play those two songs with Heavy Remedy—and I know perfectly well you don’t need me to coach you on them—then those three guys win. They’ve kicked your ass already, Nicks. They get to set the tone for everything you do from now on. If you let them get away with this, they diminish you not only as a guitar player, but as a human being.”

  She scoffed, a huff of irritation, though she let his last few words sink in.

  “I know you’re hurt. And I know you’re angry. I am too. But you can give them the finger in a big way by showing up and blowing their minds with your talent tomorrow. They’ll think they were right about you if you chicken out.” He bent down to catch her eyes. “And you’ll make it that much harder for the next female musician who wants to rock.”

  She gritted her teeth. There was no need for any deep introspection on her part. Everything he’d said was dead-nuts accurate.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why the hell are we standing here talking then? Get your damned guitar out, and let’s get to work. I didn’t haul all this shit into the sunroom for nothing.”

  Stone grabbed her in a bear hug. “There you are! I knew you were in there somewhere.”

  “I told you I play better when I’m pissed.” Nicks laid her guitar in its case and closed the lid.

  Stone could tell she’d put some time into learning both songs. He’d only had to go over them once with her, stopping her a few times to point out places where she’d want to watch their drummer as they did something a little different. Otherwise, she was good to go.

  He never had any doubts about her ability, but he was glad he’d been able to jam with her. It was something he’d always wanted to do, even when she wasn’t speaking to him. He couldn’t say enough good things about her guitar skills. She was unreal, one of those people you have to see to believe.

  “Jesus, I guess. I’ll have to find a way to piss you off tomorrow.” Stone laughed and rolled up his black patch cord.

  She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t want to be mad when we play. It sucks up too much energy. I want to enjoy being on the stage with you. Where is this Oktoberfest anyway?”

  “Point State Park. Do you want me to pick you up? We can ride together.”

  “Not in your Camaro. Our gear won’t fit, will it?”

  “No, I’ll bring my van. It makes sense for me to get you. I’ll pick you up at nine in the morning. Heavy Remedy goes on at noon, but I want to be able to walk around a bit with you on my arm.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “Really? Good thing you don’t have an overinflated ego or anything.”

  “I know, right?” He laughed. “You won’t need an amp. I have an extra I’ll bring along. Just bring your axe of choice. Or two.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “It’s early yet. What do you want to do now?”

  “Help me put the amps in the office closet then we can make some popcorn and find something on TV. I know that sounds boring, but I wanted to ask you about something.”

  They cleaned up the sunroom then retired to the family room with Pepsi and two bowls heaped over with popcorn.

  “What did you want to ask me?” Stone sank into the sectional couch and settled the bowl in his lap.

  “T.J.—my little brother—surprised me last night by expressing an interest in playing bass. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not though. He was sort of bummed because everyone in the family seems to have a ‘thing’ they do well, and he doesn’t. I told him I’d ask you if you knew anyone who gave bass lessons.”

  “You’re in luck then. I play bass. I could teach him.”

  “Really? You’ll have to negotiate with Mom about payment. And T.J. can be a wiggle-worm. It’s hard to get him to focus sometimes.”

  “I’d be happy to take T.J. on as a student, no payment necessary.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re awesome. I’ll talk to them about it when they come back Sunday night.”

  “When are you going to tell me who you are?” She asked the same question every time, but got no answer.

  The man stood back in the swirling mist, arms down at his side, his head cocked at an angle. She saw a flash of white teeth in the shadows as he laughed softly. “Stone knows. Ask him.”

  Nicks blinked. She was aware she was in the throes of another one of those disturbing dreams. It surprised her to hear him mention Stone.

  “How in the hell would Stone know who you are?”

  “Ask him.” The man turned and slowly walked away.

  Nicks woke up with a gasp, the man’s last words echoing in her thoughts.

  Stone knows. Ask him.

  These damned dreams were starting to feel very real, with a creep factor that was off the charts. Now Stone had been dragged into the weirdness. How could that be? He had no idea she was even having these dreams.

  Or was he having dreams too?

  Ask him.

  The man had sounded so sure. It would require telling Stone about the dreams first, but she’d make a joke out of it if he teased her. She’d have to approach the whole tale from a self-effacing angle anyway, or he’d think she was bonkers.

  She stared at the ceiling, debating her choices, feeling as though she were simply a marionette dancing at the end of fate’s strings.

  Her mother knew something, but it frightened her—that much was clear. No amount of begging or cajoling would convince Chelsea to open up to her.

  Stone knows. Ask him.

  She flicked on the light, threw off the covers, and went to her jewelry box. The three picks the man had given her in another dream were still there. Red, black, and cream, lying against the blue velvet lining. She picked them up and held them in the palm of her hand.

  The only way to get answers was to ask questions. And if Stone did know...

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Stone picked her up at nine sharp Saturday morning in a van that looked like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo.

  “Man, you weren’t kidding when you said it was held together with zip ties and body putty.” Nicks put her tobacco-sunburst Les Paul into the back alongside his amps and gear. Since she was only playing two songs with Heavy Remedy, she’d decided to bring just one guitar. “Are we going to make it downtown in this thing?”

  “This is Old Reliable. We’ll make it.” He crawled up into the driver’s seat. She got in on the other side.

  Last night’s dream was burning a hole in her
brain. It was the same man who’d given her the picks in an earlier dream. She’d shoved the picks into the front pocket of her jeans before she went downstairs to greet Stone. She was going to ask him what he knew, hoping he wouldn’t think she was crazy if she had physical proof of the nightly visitations to show him.

  She felt for them in her pocket as she searched for the words. The picks were still there.

  “Do you have a moment to listen to me babble?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You may be sorry you said that.” She fidgeted with the string on her hoodie. “I have something to ask you, but I have something to tell you first. And I don’t want you to say anything until I finish, because at some point in this story, you’re going to think I’ve gone nuts. I’m not so certain I haven’t. It’s just that…things keep happening. And last night, your name was mentioned.”

  “Huh?” He gave her a blank look.

  She drew in a fortifying breath. “Several weeks ago, I had a dream. A man I didn’t know was in it. I asked him who he was, but he wouldn’t tell me. He told me in a later dream that he loved me. ”

  Stone gave her a crooked grin. “Should I be jealous?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s that kind of love. He actually seems to be focused on my mother. He keeps asking me to tell her he’s sorry, and that he’ll wait for her. And the worst part of it is, Mom’s having dreams too and....” She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself.

  “Anyway, last night I dreamed of him again. He’s always standing in shadow, with this gray mist swirling around. I can see him but not in great detail. I always ask him who he is, and he never tells me. Last night, when I asked him, he said—and I quote—‘Stone knows. Ask him’.”

  She watched Stone’s face, hoping to see some flicker of recognition, yet knowing she wouldn’t. The whole story sounded crazy—even to her—and she was the one who’d had the dreams.

  His brow furrowed. “That’s weird. How would I know the man in your dreams if you don’t?”

  “Well, that’s what I thought too. I seriously debated not telling you. I know the whole thing sounds nuts, but he seemed so sure you’d know him.”

  “No. Sorry. Drawing a blank here.”

  “There’s something bizarre going on with my mother too. I think she’s having dreams about the same guy, but she freaks out and denies everything when I ask her. I think she knows who he is. She just doesn’t want to tell me.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, and that’s not even the weirdest part of this story. Are you ready for this?” Nicks put her hand in her pocket and closed them around the picks. “During the first dream I had about him, he put three worn picks in my hand. Very deliberately placed them in my palm in the dream. One each: black, red, and cream.”

  “Yeah? And…?”

  She pulled her hand from her pocket and opened it in front of him. “When I woke up, I had these in my hand. The same picks he gave me in the dream.”

  Stone opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him with an upraised hand.

  “I know what you’re thinking, so let me run down the list of why I couldn’t have awoken with these picks in my hand. I didn’t go to sleep holding them. I wasn’t practicing before I went to bed. I don’t use picks this thin, and I would never use a pick this worn.” She turned a pointed gaze to him. “These aren’t my picks.”

  Stone glanced down at the picks in her palm then up at her before turning his attention back to the road. “If you’re trying to say what I think you’re trying to say…you believe somehow the man in your dreams gave you those three picks.”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “No shit. But here they are.”

  “And he told you I knew who he was?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I could. What does he look like?”

  “He’s not overly tall. Slender, but muscular. He has an air about him. Oh, I don’t know…Confidence maybe? I get the feeling he likes being who he is. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.”

  She searched her memories for any and all details about the man in the dream. “Brown hair past his collar. Maybe not brown brown, but sort of a golden brown. He always wears a light blue shirt, unbuttoned about halfway down. He stands back in the shadows so it’s hard to see his face, but he has large, dark eyes with long lashes. Pretty for a man. He has a nice smile too. His fingers are long and delicate, and he—”

  The van came to a screeching halt when Stone slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

  Nicks screamed, dropped the picks, and straightened her arms out in front of her as her body headed for the dashboard at seventy miles-per-hour. Thankfully, the seatbelt locked at the last second, jerking her back almost as fast.

  The stop was so abrupt the van rocked back and forth for a second or two.

  “What did you do that for?” she asked.

  The expression on his face gave her chills, as though he’d peered into the future and seen his own grave, complete with death date. He shuddered as he gulped air.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  He said nothing, though his gaze darted all over her face. “What?” she asked again.

  Did he recognize the man’s description? How could he? And yet, his expression was one of horrific understanding. He knew something about this…and he wished he didn’t.

  When he continued to stare, working his mouth like a landed trout, she grew angry. “Spit it out, Jensen. Otherwise, you can just turn around and take me back home. The last couple of weeks have been weird, and if you have answers, I want to hear them.”

  He inhaled and stared forward through the windshield. His face was a mask of disbelief. “Nicks… I don’t know if I have answers for you, but…I might know who the man is. Could you identify him from a picture?”

  She sat back, dumbfounded. “Do you have a picture to show me?”

  All the color had drained from his face. “Maybe. I’m not saying it’s the man in your dreams, but you just gave a pretty accurate description of the man in this picture.”

  “I want to see it right now. Do we have time?”

  “Nicks, please…you may not like what I’m about to show you. You won’t be able to unsee it.”

  “You’ll show me, and I’ll be the one who makes that decision.”

  Shit. This can’t be happening.

  Stone didn’t believe in ghosts. And yet…

  He knew Nicks wasn’t making this up. She didn’t seem the type to go all New Age metaphysical on him. The look on her face, the way she described the man, the things she claimed had happened…

  Asher Pratt. She was dreaming of a man she’d never seen, in perfect detail. He’d placed picks in her hand in a dream. And she has the damn things in her pocket!

  He shook his head in disbelief. He’d mentioned the picture, and now she wanted to see it. He had no choice but to take her to Asher’s grave. Chills rolled over him as he thought of what might happen when she got an eyeful of the photo embedded in the stone.

  She would surely notice the resemblance to herself. It was plain as day. This was going to be a fist in the gut like nothing she’d ever experienced. And all he could do was be there for her.

  “Well?” Her gaze burnt into his temple like a laser.

  “This is going to raise more questions than it answers, sweet cheeks.” He turned to her with a sigh. “But I’ll show you if you insist. You can still opt out.”

  “I’m not opting out of anything. Show me the damned picture.”

  Nicks gave Stone a strange, slanted look as they turned into Calvary Cemetery. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “I wish it were. I don’t find any of this funny.” And he didn’t. The closer they got to Asher’s grave, the more he shook.

  With a huff, she turned away. They continued along the narrow roads in silence until he found the looping road. He
pulled over and parked the van along the berm.

  “I have a story to tell you before I show you the photo.” Stone took both of her hands in his. “After we talked, I was still curious about Asher Pratt. He was my idol when I was a kid. I hadn’t thought about him in years, so I went to the library to search for his obituary. You said he died four days before you were born in 1994, so it wasn’t hard to find on microfilm. The obituary said he was survived by good friends Tage and Chelsea Sorenson, and that he’d be buried in the Calvary Cemetery. I left the library and came here to find his gravestone.”

  She shook her head as though dazed. “I don’t understand.”

  “I found his gravestone with no trouble. There’s a ceramic photo of him embedded in the back.”

  “Are you trying to tell me Asher Pratt is the man in my dreams? Why?”

  He nodded and patted her hand. “I do think it’s him, Nicks. It’s up to you to answer the question of why.”

  They exited the van. She waited for him by the side of the road. “His grave is near here?”

  He took her by the hand and pointed into the center of the cemetery. “It’s right there. The big black stone. You can see part of it from here.”

  “I’ll never speak to you again if you’re playing games with me.”

  She spoke softly, but there was steel in her words. He gulped, tucked her hand under his arm, and towed her in amongst the graves.

  Nicks gave Calvary Cemetery the once-over and wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

  She’d thought Stone would scoff at her story of a dream man pressing real picks into her hand. She expected him to tease her, to ask her if she was drunk when she went to bed.

  But that isn’t what happened at all.

  Her tale had clearly unnerved him, to the point that he’d nearly wrecked the van. That, in turn, had scared the shit out of her. The more of the story she told him, the weirder he acted.