by Jack Wallen
I gave Drew’s head a pat. “You’re my hero.”
Drew missed the all-too-obvious patronizing tone in my voice.
Once I was all patched up, I took a seat on the sidelines so Drew could do his thing. From out of my peripheral vision, I caught Dizzy glaring my way. I snapped my head to take him in. “Is there a problem, cameraman? Did I fucking say you could look at me? Don’t. Don’t even think you are worthy of laying eyes on me. Look the fuck away. Do it.” My voice shot up to scold the boy; he retreated like a frightened dog. I wanted so badly to laugh in his face.
I didn’t.
There was too much yet to be done.
Drew was so engrossed in strapping on his guitar that he missed my outburst. Shame that; I would have loved to see his reaction. Would he come to the pup’s aid or would he back my position? No matter, as that didn’t happen. Instead, Drew did his thing; as he did, Dizzy busied himself filming the guitarist and, every so often, pointed the camera my way. Bella scratched notes on a pad of paper. Or maybe she was writing sickening love poetry to some ponytailed lover. Dear diary, I’m bored. My life’s purpose has yet to rise to the surface and my white cotton panties have never been breached.
Whatever.
As much as I hated the living to their core, it didn’t suck listening to Drew play. The man was good enough to make me wonder if he’d sold his soul to become something far greater than his station in life would normally allow. Sad thing there wasn’t enough lifetime left to find out. His end was nigh.
Drew finished to a round of applause. I hopped from my seat and rushed him for a hug, slamming into his body hard enough to send the guitar flying to the floor with a gut-lurching crunch. Drew stiffened and shouted, “Fuck, Grog. What in the hell is up with you?”
A chuckle slipped out. “Just so thrilled to hear you rockin’ the free world.”
“Har-dee-fucking-har,” Drew replied. “How many times have you heard me play?”
I shrank, not knowing the exact answer to the question. “Enough.” I pulled the singular word out of my ass—Grog’s ass, to be more specific—”I’ve been with you since…”
Drew turned to me. “Since what?”
I shrugged. “The beginning?” My question lofted into the space between us, landing with a dull thud.
“Not good enough, my dear.” There was doubt in Drew’s response.
I had to dig up an answer, something more concrete. The last thing I needed was to have Drew questioning my truth. I dove deep into the recesses of memory to find something, anything, that might placate the man. An image of a cat appeared.
“Feline.” I announced with a show of confidence.
Drew shrugged. “Fucking loved our work with that group.”
That was a moment of purest luck. I had to gain control of Grog’s emotional core—otherwise everyone would, rightfully so, get very sick of me, very fast. As much as I’d enjoy crushing the skulls of those in attendance, my actions were being seriously scrutinized and I needed to play the long game.
Wrecking Drew’s guitar did not factor into that plan.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Grog. That was uncool of me.” Drew scooped up his guitar and examined the damage. “This baby’s seen worse.” He strummed a quick chord. “Fuck yeah, she could be hit by a train and still stay true.”
I was going to have to work a bit harder to elicit the flood of emotion necessary to open the gateway between The Seduction and The Planar Mortalis. Unless I pulled off that trick of my trade soon, the suffering I would endure would be the stuff of legend.
Or worse, I’d wind up back in The Shallow, with no hope for escape.
“We done here?” I posed the curiosity to Drew. He gave me a curt nod and locked the case on his guitar.
Tony lumbered into the room, a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other. “That was inspired, my man. I could never get tired of listening to you shred.”
Drew shrugged. “Shred is a bit of a stretch.”
Always the humble servant, my inner voice ground against my resolve.
“We’re almost finished with the main recording. Once we knock out the next couple of tracks, we can start post-production. That puts us a bit ahead of schedule. Gordon’s going to love that bit of news. It’s a rare occasion a manager gets to hear one of their bands is actually saving them money.”
This was one of those moments I so desperately wanted to rip the human to bits, tear him down so he’d never wish to stand again. Instead, I allowed the engineer the moment of glory—let him survive, assuming his life would continue on after “One Bullet From Paradise” wrapped up.
It’s too bad his future would be so short-lived.
C’est la vie and all that.
“Right.” Tony clapped his hands. “So, I’m going to give ol’ Gordo a call while you kids make your exit. I have to prep this bitch for D’Queen. I’m tellin’ ya, those girls have some funky-strange riders with their contracts. That band needs to get their egos in check damn quick, otherwise … oh hell, listen to me gossip.”
Tony huffed as he spun around to make his exit, but not without calling over his shoulder, “Die So Fluid for the win!”
Drew pointed at Dizzy. “Do not include that in the video. The last thing Tony needs is a group of pre-teen rock princesses suing his ass for slander.”
With a single nod, Dizzy focused his attention to the camera and responded with, “Deleted.”
“Thank you.” Drew took in the crew. “What’s say we hit a local dive for some eats before retiring to the flat?”
A quick cheer from everyone and we were out the door. The sweltering heat and stink of urine nearly knocked me to my ass. The filth of life was overwhelming, and the living seemed to relish in their rot.
“Anyone have a preference for grub?”
Your still-beating heart, I wanted to scream my answer to the heavens.
Not that they’d hear me—the heavens being empty and all. What could I say, I’m a ruiner, it’s in my blood.
“Pizza,” Bella and Dizzy shouted in unison.
“We have a fucking winner!”
***
The sign above the shop read “Louis Pizza Shack”. The place looked like a dive, but the gathered crowd, standing room only at the moment, lent the diner a much hipper air. Maybe this was a hipster joint—one made popular by some Pinterest post done at the right time by the right millennial.
Once inside, I had to backtrack my disparaging remarks about the spot. Sure, it was wall-to-wall authenticity, but it was sans irony, which offered great relief. Even so, being knee-deep in the stink of human flesh made me want to retch.
“Over there.” Drew pointed to a lone table that had just cleared. As one, we threaded our way through the crowd and slipped into the seats.
Bella nodded her approval. “I can’t believe you scored us a table. At this time of night, only a certain few are worthy of that privilege.”
“Coming through.” A thick New York accent called out over the masses. The man carried a large pan over his head, dodging bystanders with the grace of a ballet dancer. He reached the table next to us and placed the pie down. “For you, Grim and X, a new recipe.”
A man with a mop of dreadlocks pointed at the server. “Did you remember to special it up?”
“Darthaniel, my friend, you know I can’t—”
“I’m just messing with you, Louis.”
Laughs were shared, sending a shiver of anger racing through my system. It took every ounce of control I could muster to not leap from my chair, slam the hippie’s head into the hot pizza and shout, “Kabong!” Emphasis on the bong, in this case.
Louis turned to our table, a great grin plastered across his face. “New people. Welcome to the Pizza Shack, my friends. What can Louis get you?”
We ordered the biggest pie offered and, after a quick check of IDs, beers all around. Before we could dive into some semblance of banal conversation, I caught the man Louis had called “Grim” staring at me
. There was something familiar about him—an energy I couldn’t place. As I unapologetically glared, recognition crossed his eyes. Grim turned away to discuss something with the perky goth girl at his side.
Drinks arrived. Drew immediately held his aloft and said proudly, “To Die So Fluid. May she continue on into the future with the blessing of our dearly departed Al.”
All glasses were raised. To avoid suspicion, I followed suit and together we drank.
Dizzy retrieved his phone and pointed it toward Drew and me. Bella picked up on the cue and posed a simple question. “What’s next after Bullet?”
Drew didn’t miss a beat. “I believe Gordon is working up a US tour. Hopefully we’ll get back to the UK and do a festival or two. I’d like to see us spend a year or so on the road to support the new album and get some serious buzz going again. We’ll have to find a drummer up for the task.”
“Any idea who that’ll be?” Bella continued with the interrogation.
“Not yet. Whoever it is will have some seriously big shoes to fill.”
An image of Al slipped out of my subconscious. The second his face lit up my cerebral cortex, something latched onto my spirit and dragged me, against my will, from the Pizza Shack.
***
Blackness, the likes I’d never before witnessed—a complete absence of everything. I couldn’t tell where the walls, floor, and ceiling met; I couldn’t be certain I was indoors, outdoors, or trapped in some heretofore unknown dimension.
“What the fuck?” I shouted. My voice bounced back immediately, to wallop me in the face. “You do not want to mess with me. I am a Lieutenant in a very dark army.”
Nothing.
If anything was ever so infuriating, it was being met with silence. I was not some inconsequential soul who served a weaker power. Without someone—or something, for that matter—to latch onto, I was powerless.
“Hello! It’s me,” I called out.
From the above darkness, a man floated down, haloed in a brilliant white light. His face was familiar—too familiar, in fact. He wore a trench coat and leather boots; a spark of humor danced behind his eyes.
“You don’t belong here,” the man spoke gently.
I tilted my head to the right, simultaneously hiking up my left eyebrow. “I belong everywhere.”
“You have no soul,” the stranger continued, a certain curiosity in his voice.
“I’ve been told I make up for that singular lack in many ways,” I responded, full-on snark. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am on a rather important mission, so I’ll be taking my leave.”
The stranger crossed his arms. “I don’t think so.”
“You look familiar.” I stared into the man’s eyes. “Yeah, the pizza joint. You were there. What the fuck?”
Out of nowhere, a sense of desperation gave me the reach around and insisted I get the hell out of this dark Dodge. I focused every ounce of energy I had, concentrating on Drew, Dizzy, and Bella.
The man faded into the blackness and my spirit spiraled down some cosmic drain.
***
“I’m certain Gordon will have a few possible candidates for us to audition, once the recording is complete.”
I’d returned, not missing a beat.
“We have to go,” I snapped.
Drew shot his gaze to me, confusion filling the pools of pupils. “What the hell, Grog? We haven’t eaten yet. I must have calories from more than beer.”
I stole a glance over at the neighboring table, where he sat. To my surprise, the man wasn’t glaring my way; instead, he remained oblivious, lost in some other world. Any second he would rouse from his temporary coma, spot me, and drag me back to that vast emptiness. There was something deep within that begged me not to allow myself to fall prey to whatever power the man held.
“Get the food to go; we’ll eat it at the flat.” I insisted and made my leave.
Outside the Shack, I sucked in a desperate gasp of air. I didn’t care that the sidewalk was still occupied by the living. In this moment, the only thing of importance was my survival. Whoever that stranger was, he wanted me … and not in a sexual way. Vau-eal did not give fair warning there would be some form of spiritual bounty hunter ready to fill my void with inky darkness.
I hated surprises.
“What was that about, Grog?” Drew exited the Shack, box in hand.
“Stalker.” I lied.
“Why didn’t you say so? You had me worried as fuck in there.”
Drew handed the newly dubbed take out to Dizzy and pulled me into an embrace.
Much-needed on Drew’s part, not mine—or so I assumed.
“Everything okay?” Dizzy asked, trying not to interrupt the moment.
“Brilliant,” Drew confirmed. “Let’s get our asses back to the flat. “We’ll eat, drink, and fucking be merry. Or merry be fucking. Maybe we’ll be fucking Mary.”
“Who’s Mary?” I asked. “And do I get first crack?”
We all shared a laugh—mine a false layer of joy—as we walked back to the car.
FOURTEEN
I once told you I’m yours til the end of time but how long is that anyway?
The Shallow was cold, empty. I couldn’t be sure if seconds, minutes, and hours bothered to pass in this desolate realm. If the Universal clock did tick and tock, was it at the usual rhythm?
“Get it together, Grog. There are more pressing matters at hand than Father Time.”
I drew in a calming breath, half tempted to run through a few yoga poses to direct my center back into place. Instead, I formed the Grog mudra and focused the entirety of my power on the image of Drew. Much to my chagrin, I remained, trapped within The Shallow. A second go at the gesture—my mind revisiting our music—returned nothing as well. I was trapped. This wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go down.
“Bloody hell,” I shouted against the backdrop of nothing. When my voice left my mouth, the surroundings shimmered and glimmered as if someone had tossed handfuls of glitter into the air. As the sparkling bits floated to the ground, a new scene was revealed—a landscape of trees that looked to have been torn out of gray-scale construction paper. Walking among the various copses, human figures raced, running faster than the living could manage. I ran toward the trees, attempting to capture the attention of a passerby, but they were too fast for me.
“Hey!” I shouted. The effort failed. Not one person offered me their attention.
I’d escaped The Shallow once before—a second attempt should have been even easier. Never being one to give up, I redoubled my efforts and focused my energy on the Gyan mudra, hoping to gain some enlightenment.
My mind was a chaotic storm, shifting and drifting in and out of peace. No matter which mudra I attempted, the veil between The Shallow and The Planar Mortalis refused to open.
Thessia, the voice of Al whispered in my head.
That was a two and two I could easily piece together. Not only was Al turning into my spirit guide, he seemed to know the ways of these misbegotten realms better than I. Thess had been my conduit from realm to realm and stage to stage in my life. If there was a way for me to return to The Planar Mortalis, she would know it … or be it.
“Namaste, my friend,” I spoke into the void, hoping beyond hope the communication between Al and me was a two-way street.
Returning to my mentor should prove to be a simple exercise—in theory. Thessia and I had a very deep and profound connection, both in life and beyond. Once I made my way to her, she could help me return to the realm of the living. I placed my hands in the Grog mudra and focused my mind’s eye on Thessia. From deep within me, a shift occurred, a tug at my gut and not much more.
The Shallow held me fast.
Sing for me, Al spoke.
“Tonight we could go down in a hail of comets, like a cosmic sundance. To the last I’ll stay. You could sleepwalk all your life and never learn how to run. Don’t say tomorrow, tomorrow doesn’t always come.” My voice lifted into the paper leaves above, dislo
dging a few to send them floating to the ground at my feet.
Somehow, from the spectral distance, Al sang along, his voice gentle and comforting.
Give me all you’ve got tonight. Don’t hold out for the morning sun. Don’t say tomorrow, tomorrow doesn’t always come.
From my hands, a blue glow rose, powerful and thrumming. I redoubled my efforts on the image of Thessia. The gray foliage began to fade from sight. Each disappearing leaf was replaced by the familiar scarlet sky of The Dark Seduction. Like a rising crimson moon, The Shallow’s horizon was exchanged for one far more sinister.
The tug at my gut returned, this time pulling me down to my knees. A pain I could not deny promised to unmake me from inside.
“Thessia.” I cried out her name in a long pedal tone, far lower than my usual range. The vibrations issuing from my throat caused a ripple effect in the air until everything around me was caught in the sonic quake. The walls of dis-reality shattered and The Shallow splintered into a billion tiny fragments.
In its place was The Dark Seduction. Standing before me was a towering tribute to deconstructed DNA—a bipedal creature, torso twisted like a double-helix and stretched until its flesh was transparent to reveal rotting and ruined organs besieged by parasites. Both arms were chained behind its back, and its neck weighted down with some undulating, fleshy sack. The hideous malformation’s mouth was stretched open by a mandibular spreader to allow a steady flow of seeping gray-green gas.
I made to skirt the beast when the fleshy sack opened up and released a horde of smaller clones of the creature. Every single one of the bastards made a beeline for me, their speed far too fast for me to outrun.
I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, and formed the Surya mudra. A molten ball of fire exploded from my hands and engulfed the rushing army of darkness. The second fire met flesh, the things went up in a conflagration of putrid gas—the smell of sulfur and boiling pus permeating the air.
As soon as the funky cloud dissipated, I ran off; my destination was obvious—Jonah’s house. What should have been an easy win had become a living nightmare. In typical Seduction fashion, the house was nowhere to be found. “Fuck!” I shouted. “It would be incredibly helpful if The Seduction would at least try to adhere to the laws of physics and logic!”