Death Metal

by Mark All

  She sensed she was going in the wrong direction, though. She pulled into a small strip mall shopping center, turned around, and whipped back out onto the road, back the way she’d come. She’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

  When her phone rang, she started and shrieked, her nerves frayed. Snatching it up, she fumbled the Talk button. Maybe it was David.

  “Hello?”

  “Jessie, it’s Ben.”

  “Ben! Did you get my message?”

  “Brace yourself, sweetie. Are you okay, are you ready to hear this?”

  She shook in frustration. “Hear what? Spit it out!”

  Ben sounded more emotional than she’d ever heard him as he said, “Jessie, Charlene’s dead.”

  Jessica’s gaze went out of focus as her brain froze, refusing to process this information. The car in front of her, which was stopped at a red light, blasted its horn and she came back to reality realizing she was about to plow into it. She dropped the phone and hit the brakes, screeching to a halt.

  She still felt wired, jittery with energy, but had gone numb. Charlene dead. Inconceivable. Any other day, she wouldn’t have been able to believe it, but now, she knew it was the truth. In fact, in hindsight it seemed inevitable. A cold calm took hold of her and her eyes narrowed. She would put an end to this horror, even if it killed her.

  The phone jabbered distantly from the floorboard. She leaned down and scooped it up as the light changed and the car in front of her moved off. Functioning on some survival instinct autopilot, she gently accelerated.

  Ben was frantic—“Did you hear me, are you okay?”—but she cut him off. “What happened?”

  He recounted his apprehensions, his horrid discovery. She hesitated only briefly, then told him about Vince appearing and was surprised when he didn’t question her story or her sanity. She told him she’d been calling Sharon Stevens and David but hadn’t gotten hold of either yet.

  “Jessie, I think we knew all along on some level that there was something very wrong with this music. Both of us. All of us—but it was my job to say no. I ignored my reservations, hell, they seemed crazy, and I gave you the go ahead, but now I’m going to fix it.” He told her his plan to go to David’s, force his way in if he had to, and destroy all the files of the music.

  “Ben, I’m on my way there now. I can be there in minutes, and you’re in Atlanta.”

  “Stay the Hell away from there!” Ben screamed. “Go back to your hotel and just sit there till I get back to you.”

  “No way in Hell am I going to do that,” she said, her voice icy. “This is my fault, and—”

  “Sweetie, Charlene’s dead. I’m…I’m afraid that if you try to stop this…something won’t let you. Something will kill you.”

  “Have you ever been able to stop me when I’ve made up my mind?” She saw Cedar Shoals Drive, the turn she’d missed before, and swerved into the turn lane.

  Ben huffed and was silent a moment. Then he said, “Look, you go to the theater, find the manager, stop that goddamn concert. I’ll take care of the files on the guitar player’s computer.”

  She thought for a moment. She felt she had a duty to take care of the main problem herself, and she wanted to see David again. He could possibly even help, although he’d caused all this. She wanted to go to him, but she was still shaking from nearly being killed, and she was fearful of approaching that basement studio, where the evil had arisen. The concert did need to be stopped. Maybe she could be more forceful in person, maybe the manager was there and just didn’t want to come to the phone. Jessica could make her see reason. There were two dead bodies to convince her.

  “All right,” she conceded. “I’ll turn around and go to the theater. I'll try to find Sharon, but you call me if you need help.”

  “Sure,” he said, and she knew he wouldn’t. “Listen, Jessie, be careful. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

  She punched the End button and dropped the phone on the passenger seat.

  As she scooted across an intersection with another major road, a black SUV hurtled toward her from the right and slammed into her car.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Saturday evening

  Ben Westfeldt sped along GA 316 from Atlanta to Athens, pushing just a hair over the speed limit to avoid getting pulled over by the police. He planned to delete everything on every computer and external hard drive he could find at David Fairburn’s house, reformat the hard drives, smash them if he could, and pray the guy didn’t have an online backup service. The guitar player should have gone to the theater by the time Ben reached the place. He only hoped Jessica could stop the show.

  Afterward, he was going to kill David Fairburn for what he did to Charlene, what he turned her into.

  Darkness fell swiftly, reflecting his mood. He didn’t feel good about this trip; in fact he was scared shitless. He sensed mortal danger but did not know what form it might take. He thought about what Jessie had said about seeing Vince Buckley, but shook his head. That didn’t matter. He owed Charlene. He owed Jessica. He had the oppressive feeling that he owed the world. I must not fail. I will stop this music or die trying.

  * * * *

  Jessica came to with a pain in her chest. She was leaning forward against her seat belt, head hanging over the steering wheel, motionless. What had happened? She blinked, disoriented, and found herself facing a utility pole at the edge of the parking lot of a laundromat, the car half in and half out of the road. The right side of the vehicle was crumpled in, the passenger door close enough to touch. Her neck ached as she craned around to see what had happened.

  As she took in the scenario, she remembered being blindsided, and felt again the bone-jarring impact. There was the black SUV, sitting in the middle of the intersection, its front end smashed, the tangled and torn grill resembling long, sharp teeth in the gathering gloom, and jagged edges lit by headlights from other cars. It must have rebounded after striking her Lexus. Other vehicles had stopped on both streets approaching the intersection and people were getting out. The driver’s door of the SUV creaked open and a dazed, matronly woman climbed unsteadily down. She focused on Jessica, scrunched up her face, and hobbled toward her.

  The woman looked angry, and that, fueled by the new surge of adrenaline from the crash, pissed Jessica off. Who did this moron think she was? Jessica had had a green light, this crazy person had run the red light, and she was pissed?

  Jessica opened her own door and got out. She had to lean against the door for a second to steady herself, then surveyed the damage. Her car was totaled. This was not good; she had to get to the theater. How could this have happened? It was as if some force had intentionally thrown this major obstacle in her way to prevent her from getting to the theater.

  “If you try to stop this…something won’t let you. Something will kill you,” Ben's voice echoed in her mind.

  The woman from the SUV picked up speed as she approached. Jessica’s eyes widened when she saw the look of murderous rage on her face.

  “You broke my song!” the crazed woman shouted as she rounded the rear of Jessica’s car. “You broke my song!”

  Then she was on top of Jessica, knocking her to the ground, pummeling her with fists, clawing with her nails. Jessica’s head hit the pavement and the world went black.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Saturday night

  David finished his last-minute check of the connections to the computer and the in-ear monitor system for him, Alan, and Mike to hear themselves and the backing tracks as they played. The drummer, the singer, and his wife ambled around the stage, making adjustments to their setups, tightening mic stands and the like.

  David felt eyes on him and looked out into the theater. They had a while to go before the show, but the place was already busy. Music pounded out of the PA, most of the tables up front were taken, and people milled about the open area in front of the stage with beers and drinks. Every once in a while they’d break their conversation and stare at David, Alan, Nancy, and Mik
e as if in awe or mystification, until something or someone else drew their attention. David felt like a high priest or something. He’d always wanted to be a rock star, but the way the people were looking at him was unnerving. He felt as if he were on the brink of a significant life moment from which there would be no going back, and he wasn’t entirely pleased with that prospect—it was more than he had bargained for. It wasn’t too late to call it all off.

  A tiny glint of metal from his gym bag of spare cords caught his eye. The key to Vince’s safe deposit box. How had that gotten in the bag? Seeing it, he suddenly felt relaxed, as if he’d been joined by his old comrade. A lightness washed over his being, smothering a tiny voice within him that warned of something deeply disturbing about the music and its effect. Hadn’t he always wanted to move people with his music? What was a musician but an emotional engineer?

  He stepped from behind his workstation and leaned over to pick up the safe deposit box key from the gym bag.

  A creak and then a metallic clank came from far above him. Feeling the air moving, he whirled and backed away just as one of the large Par 64 cans from the lighting rig fell right where he’d been standing. With a horrendous crash, the bulb shattered and spewed shards of broken glass as the metal crumpled and the end of the connecting cable whipped past his head.

  “Jesus!”

  He leapt back, tripping over the gym bag, and fell on his ass on the stage, vaguely aware of shouting and the others running toward him. He looked up to the lighting truss system hanging twenty feet above the stage. One of the C clamps dangled from the pole, still swinging. He saw movement on the catwalk along the back wall, just below the ceiling. A figure pulled back into the shadows—but not before David got a glimpse of its face.

  “John?” he whispered in disbelief.

  “Goddamn!” Alan yelled. Even in his shock, David was relieved to see that the singer had come out of his trance state.

  David looked at the light rigging again, but the figure was gone. Could he have imagined seeing someone there? Seeing John there? The bass player had made his feelings about the Oblivion album clear, but surely he didn’t feel strongly enough to try to murder David to stop the concert. What difference would that make anyway? The album would still be released—Sage had a contract.

  “Dude,” Mike said. “How the hell did that happen?”

  The others looked up at the lighting rig. David saw nothing there now.

  “Must have been loose,” he said, his voice shaky. He shuddered, thinking of how close he’d come to being killed or at least admitted to the emergency room at Athens General.

  “I saw the sound and lights guy tightening them down,” Mike said, frowning up at the empty space in the light truss.

  David shook his head. He had imagined it. A light just fell. Shit like that happened.

  His gaze fell on the safe deposit box key in his gym bag. Noticing it and going for it had saved his life. It was like an omen, that he was meant to manifest Oblivion in reality. At the same time, he felt again like the rope in a tug of war between unseen forces.

  “Are you okay?” a woman’s voice called, interrupting his thoughts. David sat up and saw Sharon Stevens, the club manager, down on the dance floor at the front of the stage. She looked concerned. He was sure it was genuine, but she must have surely also been thinking about liability and insurance. There would be lost revenues if the concert was canceled.

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s cool, Sharon. Thanks.”

  She looked around nervously, as if fearing the rest of the lights might come cascading down and kill them all. “Thank God. I’m so sorry.”

  Mike extended his hand and helped David up as the manager surveyed the room. “It’s going to be a sellout,” she said, smiling now. “This is your big chance, you better rock the place.”

  “Hell yeah,” Alan said enthusiastically. “Mark this night on your calendar, you’re going to remember it forever.”

  The ominous mood was broken, and on some level David was aware that they had settled back into their intended tracks after almost being derailed. That was a good thing. The music wanted to be released.

  He reached into his gym bag and picked up the safe deposit box key, studied it a moment, then tossed it back in. Somehow, having it here eased his anxiety.

  He looked across the stage, then the house, wondering where Jessica was. She’d been to see Alan and Nancy hours ago, and had planned to see John after that. He hoped that wasn’t going badly. Feeling in the gym bag for his phone, he found nothing but cords. He’d left the damn thing at home.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Saturday night

  “Miss? You okay, miss?”

  Sounds came rushing back into Jessica’s consciousness as she opened her eyes and tried to focus on what she was seeing. A face. A police officer, black uniform. Must have been horrid in the summer evening heat and humidity, but his shirt looked pressed, smooth, with well-defined creases. His shoulder radio crackled and an electronic voice said something she couldn’t understand.

  Jessica’s head hurt badly. She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. The concert. She had to get to the theater and stop it. She realized she’d been unconscious. How much time had she lost? She looked at her watch, but the quartz was cracked, the face smashed, the hands bent and crumpled.

  “I’ve got to…” She sat up too fast and the world swam around her, her stomach rolling.

  “Take it easy, ma’am. The EMTs will be here momentarily.” The cop squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, but she was not comforted. She had to go. Once everything stopped moving.

  “What happened?” she croaked.

  The officer looked around at the spectators and his partner directing traffic in the street between the wrecked vehicles. “Witnesses say the lady in the SUV ran the red light, hit your car, and knocked you across the street, into the utility pole. Then she went nuts and came after you. Couple of guys pulled her off you.” He nodded in the direction of two college students, who nodded at her, one smiling tentatively. She saw the squad car planted diagonally across the street, with the crazy lady pitching a fit in the back seat, hammering on the glass with her fists.

  “She’s insane,” Jessica said.

  “She’s something, all right,” the officer said. “A lot of craziness going on tonight, Hon. We got the whole force deployed around town, and all the EMTs are pulling double-shifts, all busy, or they’d be here already. It’s like Halloween and New Year’s Eve put together.” He looked worried.

  It had already begun.

  A fight broke out among the onlookers on the other side of the street. The cop in the road began waving animatedly at the oncoming cars, indicating they should stay where they were, then ran to the disturbance.

  The officer beside her took it in, then turned to Jessica. “Miss?”

  “Go, go, I’m fine,” Jessica said, waving him away.

  As he ran, the commotion spread. The crowd began to push, punch, and shout. Things were going to Hell. Literally, she thought with a cold feeling.

  Something was trying to stop her from calling off the concert. She had to get there, now.

  Jessica got to her knees, picked up her bag, and stood. Sighting the college kid who’d saved her from the kook and had smiled at her, she went to him and took his sleeve.

  “Dude, can you give me a lift?”

  The kid looked torn between concern for her physical and mental state and elation that a hot babe—okay, older woman, probably a MILF to him—needed his help. He hesitated before saying, “Um, do you think that’s a good idea? You should probably wait for the EMTs.”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Can you give me a ride? I’m in a big hurry.”

  “Wow,” said his friend. “You must be. Your car was totaled, Man, then that old bat laid into you—”

  “It’s important,” she said to the first guy, ignoring his buddy. She looked back at the fight on the other side of the street. She glimpsed blo
od on someone’s briefly raised fist.

  “Uh, okay, sure. Let’s go.” The guy turned and trotted off across the parking lot with a nervous look back at the crowd. “Come on, Bill, this isn’t a good place to be right now.”

  “No shit,” said Bill, coming up behind Jessica as she followed the first kid. “What the fuck is going on tonight, anyway?”

  They reached a Camaro and piled in. Her new friend fired it up and headed out onto the street, back the way Jessica had come. “Where to?”

  “Athens Theater,” Jessica said.

  “Whoa, fucking Penumbra’s playing there tonight,” Bill said from the back seat. “Can you get us in?”

  “Trust me,” Jessica said, “you don’t want to be there. After you drop me off, you get the hell as far away as you can.” She glanced out the back window, where the entire mob was in violent motion. “In fact, I’d leave the city if I were you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Saturday night

  David Fairburn’s house was dark and sinister-looking; a long, skulking shape in the night.

  Ben had made good time, and the place was in the suburbs southwest of the college town, closer to Atlanta. He pulled into the driveway and slowly drove down the hill and around back, stopping in front of the sliding-glass doors. When he got out, the quiet of the neighborhood hit him, making him feel as if he were in the middle of the woods, miles from anywhere. Trees surrounded the back yard, walling it in like a clearing in a forest. The place should’ve had a homey atmosphere, between the old toolshed and the little picnic area. It didn’t. He felt like the woods were watching him, and the shed was just creepy, as if some cold intelligence lurked in the shadows beyond the dirty glass windows.

  He hadn’t been able to reach Jessica because either her phone was off, the battery was dead, or it was broken. He prayed she would somehow find a way to call off the concert. For now, he had his own work to do. In the grand scheme of things, getting rid of the music files was the highest priority. He’d take care of the guitar player later.