by Jack Wallen
I nodded. The man wants feeling, does he? I thought.
As soon as the track started anew, I unleashed on the mic to fill the room with every ounce of human emotion I could fake.
Tony stopped playback before the chorus.
“What the hell’s wrong now?” I demanded.
Drew entered the room, arms folded. “I was about to ask the same thing. We don’t really have time to piss around. These sessions are on the label’s dime. If Gordon finds out we managed get fuck all done today, because you were—” Drew tossed his arms into the air. “I have no idea what to call this. Care to explain?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing? Seriously, Grog? You have nothing to say about this?”
Again, I answered in the negative.
“Fuck,” Drew exclaimed.
A few more pushes and the man would snap. Once Drew lost control of his emotions, I could pull him through the veil and into the shadows.
“Care to do a duet with me, Drew?” I teased.
In an explosion of frustration, Drew exited the room, leaving me with the camera crew. I offered up a quick smile and wink, at which point, Dizzy raised his camera and pulled in for a close up. I started to sing the song one more time—toying with Drew by giving him exactly what he wanted.
After the first verse, Drew’s voice sounded off from the speakers. “That’s bloody it, Grog! Get back to the mic, wait for playback, and give me just that.”
Very slowly I turned, blew a kiss toward the booth, gestured for Dizzy to follow me, and returned to the mic to don the headphones and await the playback.
It came.
I channeled every ounce of seduction I could muster to give Tony and the gang a show. By the time this song was over, more than the music would come.
This was too easy, I thought as I continued to ply the mortals with gyrating hips and vocal acrobatics. I will own them all.
Dizzy brought the camera in close enough for me to see into the iris. I winked as the song came to a close. From the other side of the glass, a celebration erupted. Dizzy turned the camera’s attention toward the joyous noise and made the short cross to the window to capture the moment on film.
Drew was the first to leave the booth; he came at me as though he wanted to crush me with the sheer force of momentum. When the man reached me, he wrapped his arms around my waist and hoisted me from the ground.
“That was bloody brilliant, Grog! I’ve never heard you so filled with—Jesus, I have no idea what got into you for that take. Whatever it was, let’s bottle that shit up and make use of it the next go-round.”
I offered up a mortal giggle—doing my best to play off the part so to avoid suspicion. “Don’t get your panties in too much of a bunch, Al.”
Before I could say another word, everything came to a stop.
“What’s wrong? Why did…”
In that instant, I knew what I’d done. Although it wasn’t intentional, it did have a rather interesting effect. With a single syllable, I’d completely changed the trajectory of the moment, and drained the joy from the celebration.
Drew left the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him. The area began to spin and grow dark, with a lingering contrail of sorrow hanging in the air. I dropped to my knees, unsure whether something was about to enter the realm or if I was about to be ejected.
There were rules to abide when crossing the void, rules that I didn’t always respect. The number one regulation was do not mock the dead. Why that particular entry was so cardinal, I had no idea. Nevertheless, my momentary lapse could have been misconstrued as mockery—whether intentional or not, was of no consequence.
Was this to be my very own reckoning?
An even darker shadow coalesced, the absolute absence of color on a backdrop of blackness. A brilliant red light pierced the veil and landed its circular beam on my chest.
“What is this?” My voice fell dead in the soundproof chamber. I reached my hand out, in a vain attempt to grab the scarlet beam. As I expected, I came up empty; however, the act had the added effect of dismissing the bloody light and draining the room of shadow.
Dizzy and Bella stood, staring at me with wide eyes and wider mouths. I half expected them to bolt from the room, in fear for their very lives. I was tempted to shout “Boo!” to see just how much tipping they needed. Instead, I remained silent. My curiosity was still piqued; what had brought about the spiritual eclipse? Was this something that should concern me?
I wasn’t certain how much time had passed—as I stood in perfect stillness—before Drew returned. When he did, our gazes locked, and I did the one thing I felt necessary to keep my charade going.
“I’m sorry, Drew. I didn’t mean…”
Drew held his hand up and shook his head. “No, Geepers, you’re the one that is owed an apology. It wasn’t like you intentionally called me Al. Besides, I’m guilty of letting it slip now and then as well. I can’t help that it still gets to me.”
Instead of risking the wrong words spilling from my mouth, I wrapped my arms around Drew and pulled our bodies together. Flesh on flesh was revolting … but a necessity at the moment.
From just inside the boundaries of my peripheral vision, I spied the camera taking in Drew’s and my intimacy. I turned our bodies so that Drew’s back faced Dizzy. I gyrated my hips slightly enough to be barely seen, but not felt. Hopefully the scene unfolding before the camera would have just the right effect on the unknowing eye. Even with only a cursory understanding of the living, I was fully aware sometimes the unseen truth had the most profound effect.
“What’s next?” I asked quietly.
“I’m going to help shore up the drum track. Tony’s not quite sure which way he wants to go with it, so I figured I should be along for the ride to make certain we get just the right Die So Fluid sound in the mix. I’d love to have you hang out, but I’m sure that last take probably zapped you.”
“You could say that again,” I lied. “I have an idea, why don’t me and the wonder twins locate some grub and bring it back?”
“Oh, bloody brilliant. I’m famished,” Drew exclaimed.
“You have a preference?”
Drew shook his head. “Dealer’s choice.”
“You got it.” I turned to Dizzy and Bella. “You two are with me.”
Bella grabbed for her purse. “What are we doing?”
“The three of us are on a mission.”
Both Dizzy and Bella perked up. Dizzy shook his head before replying, “Oh fuck yeah … I’m down for a covert operation.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping my mouth. “Sorry to disappoint, Dizzy; it’s just lunch.”
“Shit, I wouldn’t care what you call it—if it gets me out of here and into the open air for a while, I’m cool. These lungs prefer nature.”
My hands would prefer your throat.
SEVEN
It’s easy to order sacrifice, when you’re one bullet away from paradise.
Beyond the confines of the studio, my energy ceased thrumming within the fleshy carcass that concealed my truest self. Even without the barrage of spectral sine waves crashing into my skull, I wanted so badly to peel away the lie of skin to reveal what horrors lay beneath. I knew the King of darkness had a plan, one that dictated my only purpose was to open the gate. Now that I was freed from the thrall of shadows—and my living twin sister emptied from this plane, I wanted to play.
“What kind of food does Drew prefer?” Bella’s saccharine voice grated against my resolve. I turned to face the doe-eyed youths and had to restrain my hand from lashing out and gutting the girl. I could so easily…
Before the sentiment came to any semblance of closure, the air pressed against me, threatening to pop my skin sack like a pus-filled blister. He was coming … for me. Before I was judged, I genuflected and dropped to my knees.
As quickly as the presence came, it went. I opened my eyes to see Dizzy’s camera lens but a few feet away.
Dizz
y went through the motions of playing back the footage. “Fuck.”
Bella leaned in close. “What’s wrong, Dizz?”
“My camera.” Dizzy shut the device down, waited a few seconds, and switched it on. Soon after it was back up and running, Dizzy replayed the footage again. “Still there. Son of a bitch.”
Bella crossed her arms. “Care to fill us mere mortals in on what’s going down with the hardware?”
Dizzy swung the camera until the monitor faced Bella. “See those artifacts surrounding Grog? That’s never been an issue before. As far as I know, there’s no way of removing them. I’ll have to go back through everything I’ve captured so far. Hopefully this is an anomaly, so we’ll only lose a portion of the work.”
For whatever reason, neither of the camera crew questioned my kneeling position. Either that or they were expecting a bit of odd rock star behavior now and then. I stood and brushed off my knees. “Let me see.” Dizzy turned the monitor my way. Much to my chagrin, what they were seeing was very much present. To the camera’s eye, the force of shadows pressing against the mortal reality was indeed visible. That was an unexpected twist … one that would certainly hasten my quest to fully open the rift between the realms. I’d have to come up with a possible explanation; unfortunately, I knew nothing about film, light refraction, or lenses.
As we stared dumbfoundedly at one another, a street punk raced by, snatched the camera from Dizzy’s grasp, and sped off. Without thinking, I sprinted after the idiot; little did the prick know what he had pissed off.
Me.
“Grog!” Bella shouted. There was no way I could allow that footage to be seen by anyone with the slightest knowledge of quantum or emotional trans-realm interaction. Assuming that’s a thing on this side of the veil. Much to the dismay of the naysayers, there was serious science to ghost hunting.
The thief turned down an alley, tipping over a bagel cart in the doing. I made the turn with exponentially more grace and spied the prick at the end of the line; he scrambled backward a few steps, before it must have dawned on him there was no way out—no doors to crack open, no chain link fence to climb. There would be no Hollywood ending for this young turk.
In complete desperation, the young man raced toward me; it took him no time to reach full ramming speed. As the sack of meat reached me, I brought my hand to bear on his cranium. The second my palm met his bald pate, a flash of red light blinked from the connection, grew to an almost blinding intensity, and faded to nothing. The return of the scarlet glow was a curiosity, at best, one that might warrant my attention, should it return again.
The force of my energy stopped the thief in his tracks. No matter how much the punk pressed forward, his feet digging into the oily pavement, he was getting nowhere.
“Come on, motherfucker!” the young man shouted.
My heart slowed as a powerful confidence gained strength within my system. “You are in no position to spout such epithets. Give me the camera.”
“You know that’s not how this is going to play out.” The kid took a few swings at me, to no avail; he struggled against my grip, only to find himself quickly exhausted.
My patience with this toy was wearing thin, as this sidetrack to my goal extended beyond the limits of reason. “There‘s nothing you can do at this point. Give me the camera.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
And there was my answer. Fuck. You. Bitch. The thug pronounced every word in such a way as to remind me how little I meant to it; which, in turn, illustrated how little it—and the many its that plagued this dimension—meant to me. In the thinking, it was time I did away with the punk.
“You have one last chance of leaving this scene alive.” I leaned in and opened my mouth as wide as it would go without bifurcation. As soon as I was near enough to plant a lipstick kiss on its head, I opened my maw and unleashed a rain of dark energy. It violently spasmed against the palm of my hand as a wave of suffering inundated its mind.
Just before it dropped from a decided lack of life, an idea overcame me. Not just any idea, but the idea. I needed a legion of sorrow to open the gateway back to my realm; I would have that army and it would serve my every whim and folly. With a rank and file of soldiers at my side, I would return and become Queen of the Black Blizzard.
With just the right amount of strength, to avoid crushing its skull, I forced it to its knees and insisted it gaze upon me.
“What am I?” I demanded.
“I don’t understand.”
A joyous backhand cracked down on the left side of its face. “I asked you a very simple question. What am I?”
I raised my hand a second time; this go-round, however, to send tendrils of dark energy snaking toward its eyes, tears raced down quivering cheeks as it mumbled out an answer.
“What was that? I don’t believe I could hear you.”
“You are my Queen. I worship at your altar and will do absolutely anything you ask of me.” The strange worm sniveled until a thick string of snot looped from its nostrils.
“That’s more like it.”
My energy continued to burrow its way deep into the core of the worm as its will drained into the surrounding air in a grayish mist. I leaned down and whispered into the subjugated piece of meat’s ear, “Do bad things.” My voice dropped into a dangerous octave, “Do very bad things.”
Without a word or a shift in comportment, my puppet stood and made its way out of the alley. Its legs took a few strides to resemble normal human locomotion—the left foot dragging a half-step behind the right. In the worm’s wake, I was given to my own thoughts and devices, happy to be alone for a breath or two. The camera I sought lay on the ground, near enough to a puddle of questionable nature, its rising stink, in the humid summer air, letting me in on its urine-drenched secret. Inside the device could be a damning evidence of my existence. Deep within me, the slightest fragment of doubt crept toward the surface. I raised my leg, preparing to crush the machine underfoot, when Dizzy’s voice broke my sacrosanct reverie.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you got it back.” He scooped up his camera, retrieved a handkerchief from a pocket, and wiped the device clean of unwanted debris and memory.
I assumed a position of innocence as Bella staggered up close to Dizzy, her breath dragging in gasps. “Where’s the thief? Did he get away?”
The question caught me off guard. I retrieved the camera, assuming the owners, in their youth, wouldn’t care for any sort of retribution against a petty theft. When I failed to respond, Dizzy saved the moment, holding up the camera. “This is the only thing that matters. Thank you, Grog.”
With a quick nod exchanged between us, we took our leave of the crime scene and returned to the task at hand. Sustenance. We wove through a thick crowd on the sidewalk, one that had gathered to hear the apocalyptic ramblings of a street poet who called himself Psalm Shalom—or so said the cardboard sign leaning against his soapbox. The weathered and aged man shouted to the heavens dire warnings that the might of God would soon strike down a list of sinners that included nearly everyone on the planet; sexual preference, color of skin, political and dietary preferences, economic standing, artistic desire, fetishes of every nature—nothing was safe from Psalm’s list of the damned.
I couldn’t help myself, but to take a taste of Mr. Shalom’s mind.
“Your body is my temple,” I shouted over the meth-mouthed maniac. “It shall not want.”
Psalm glanced down upon me, his eyes widening with some form of recognition. “You,” he hissed and pointed. “There is a presence within you struggling to escape. The harlot’s paint on your lips is a devil’s playground that will send you straight to—”
Before Psalm could utter another word, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and sent a bolt of my electric hate into his system. The man seized and leaned down that I might anoint him with an unholy kiss. “Do bad things.”
Psalm Shalom hopped from his makeshift pulpit and walked away with a measure of dignity he was nev
er owed. I allowed it, as he was now my tool.
Bella grabbed my arm. “What was that all about?”
“Truth,” was all I needed to say.
With Psalm no longer preaching his laughable damnation, the crowd dispersed. Across the street I spotted our destination and pointed. “That sounds delicious.”
A neon sign promised the meat of lamb. I couldn’t help but salivate over the idea of dining on purest innocence.
“Gyros.” Bella nodded and turned to Dizzy. “They’ll have vegan options.”
I stepped out onto the street, not bothering to glance either way. A yellow cab screeched to a halt inches from me, the driver pumping his fist and shouting obscenities that wove between American English and Hindi. This would not do. I slammed my palm onto cab and slunk my way around to the driver’s side window—all the while tracing a blood red fingernail over the lines of the metal beast of a machine.
At the window, the cabbie snarled, “You are either a paying fare or a witch.”
I leaned through the window and hissed, “A what?”
“You have heard me, lady. A witch is what you are.”
My lips met the driver’s; he did not resist. I pulled back and whispered in his ear, “Do bad things.”
The moment I stepped away from the car, the driver punched the gas, swerved the cab out of its lane, clipped a female pedestrian, and continued on. The woman rolled onto the street and was crushed under the tires of a delivery truck.
“And thus it begins,” I whispered.
***
We returned to the studio, lunch in hand, to find Drew in the live room, working his own kind of mysticism through a six-string god. I had to admit, as much as I hated these creatures, their music had started to infect my darker sensibilities. I could see this becoming a glorious distraction from their vile existence. The sound was enough to give me just enough pause to forget how badly I wanted to return to the Black Blizzard.
“The man’s a fucking genius,” Tony spoke between bites of overcooked meat. “Gordon was right, Drew’s working on a completely new level. This is going to be huge.” Another bite, another swallow. Had it not been for the sound of Drew’s guitar drowning out every other despicable noise, I’d probably hear the lump of masticated mush making its way down his fat esophagus in a peristaltic churn. The desire to puppeteer the man grew to a nearly uncontrollable urge. Unfortunately, Tony served a purpose, one that must be followed through to completion. ‘One Bullet From Paradise’ had to be recorded.