“I want to sit up,” Kris said.
Bill kept smiling, so she tried to sit up on her own. She thrashed beneath the rubber sheet for a minute, whipping her legs from side to side, but couldn’t get any leverage. She started to panic.
“It’s okay, Kris,” Bill said. “This is standard when someone passes out in the sauna. It keeps you still while your circulation balances.”
“I’m claustrophobic,” Kris said, voice tight.
“Just breathe deep,” Bill said. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We were talking about contract night.”
To distract herself from her rising panic, Kris focused on her memories. She remembered pushing open the blue door to the basement on contract night. She remembered going down the stairs and seeing everyone sprawled out on the sofa, the half-filled green beanbag, the deflating plaid air mattress, their equipment leaning against walls, cables drooling out of blue milk crates. And then she was in the van, driving, not thinking straight, scared.
“There’s a hole in my memory,” Kris said.
“Good,” Bill said. “The best thing you can do about the past is forget it.”
“Where’s Tuck?”
“He left,” Bill said. “He has a family, responsibilities, a comfortable life. He’s moved on. Scott had a comfortable life, too, before you showed up.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Kris said.
Bill raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Whose fault was it?” he asked.
“Terry’s,” Kris said. “The UPS drivers’.”
“There you go again,” Bill said, clucking his tongue. “Refusing to take responsibility for your actions.”
Beneath the sheets, Kris felt a tube against her right calf. She got it between her toes and pulled. Immediately, something sharp pinched inside her bladder.
“Ah!” she gasped.
“Don’t pull on that,” Bill said. “It’s the catheter. We put it in to make urinating easier.”
Kris’s spine turned to ice. “How long have I been here?” she asked.
“There are three phases to your time at Well in the Woods,” Bill said. “Orientation, integration into the community and, finally, graduation. Today, you’re a caterpillar, but we’re going to turn you into a beautiful butterfly. Flying free. Not tied down to the past. Living in the moment. That’s what we did for Scott.”
Kris saw the tattoo of the butterfly on Scottie’s calf. She saw the butterfly logo on the hand towel. She heard Scottie getting the phone call with the “Stand Strong” ringtone.
“Scottie came here for rehab,” she said.
“He’s one of our biggest success stories,” Bill said, then his eyes got sad. “Was.”
“How. Long. Have. I. Been. Here,” Kris said.
“Three days,” Bill said, and Kris felt her stomach go into freefall. “A court-appointed evaluator saw you, and, with your brother’s help, you’ve been admitted to recover from your traumatic experience at Scott’s house. We all think you experienced a break with reality. Terry has generously agreed to foot the bill. This place ain’t cheap.”
Bill laughed at his little joke, but Kris started to panic. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the air.
“I need to get out,” she said. “I can’t breathe.”
She struggled against the sheets again, but only succeeded in a little boogying motion that made her catheter pinch. The pain made her angry.
“Why’s Terry so scared of me?” Kris asked, fixing her eyes on Bill. “You don’t have to do what he tells you.”
“There you go again about Terry,” Bill said. “Terry is paying for your treatment because he cares about his old friends. He likes to keep up with how you’re doing. He enjoys keeping tabs on all of you.”
“He’s spying on us,” Kris said.
“I’d hate to be married to you,” Bill said. “You really don’t let go of things.”
Kris pushed all her air out from down in her stomach, projecting her voice so it bounced off the walls. “Let me up!” she shouted.
“And there’s anger,” Bill said, pretending to check his watch. “Right on cue. I hope we get to acceptance soon.”
“Bill,” Kris said, controlling her voice, managing to pull her cheeks into what she prayed looked like a smile. “Come on, we’re friends. Just loosen this a little bit, okay?”
Bill considered her a moment, his face blank, not trying to look like he was in charge, just being Bill. Kris saw the kid she remembered in the tightness of his mouth, the way his eyes always looked worried, the unruly bits of hair that always stuck up.
“Okay,” he said, and his voice sounded real for the first time since she woke up. “Just a bit.”
Kris’s heart broke into a trot as Bill leaned forward in his chair, reaching under her bed, grunting with the strain. Then he leaned back.
“On second thought,” Bill said, “that’s probably not a good idea.”
“No,” Kris said, struggling to keep her face and voice friendly. “No, Bill, it’s fine. I’m fine. I won’t do anything. It’s not a big deal.”
“How stupid do you think I am, Christine?” he asked. “How stupid did you always think everyone was? You acted like you were better than us, the real musician, with your tortured artist bullshit that made you superior to us.”
Kris had been alive long enough to know it was dangerous when men accused you of being better than them.
“No, Bill, that’s not true,” she said, trying to keep smiling. “I never thought I was better than you, I never thought I was better than anyone. I was shy. Maybe that came across as standoffish.”
“You were never happy with anything unless it was your way,” Bill said. “Play this song, release this album, don’t sign the contracts. We all signed the contracts, Kris, and we’re all happy. But that’s not good enough for you, and now you’ve put everyone in a difficult position. I don’t want to hurt you, and neither does Terry. We made our peace a long time ago. He helped me start Well in the Woods and today he’s our biggest investor. He’s the reason we’ve been able to open centers across the country.”
Bill wasn’t aware of the small smile he gave whenever he said Terry’s name, the way he savored it in his mouth, but Kris saw.
“Bill, I don’t have a problem with anything you’re saying,” Kris said. “I think it’s great.”
“No,” Bill said. “You are the problem. You can’t let go of the past, and now you’re running around, hurting Terry’s brand when he’s got these concerts coming up. You never made anything of your life, so you want to tear down someone who has. These are the most important concerts Terry’s ever given, Kris. The message he is bringing to the world will change everything. He has a dream for humanity, and this is its greatest expression. And because it’s not all about you, you want to ruin it.”
Everything clicked into place inside Kris’s head. The “Stand Strong” ringtone, the way it changed Scottie’s personality, Terry coming out of retirement, all of them being watched. Why now? The concerts.
“What’s he doing at these concerts, Bill?” she asked, not just scared for herself anymore.
“You thought you were better than everyone else, but Terry is better than you,” Bill said. “He’s richer, he’s an international celebrity, a rock-and-roll icon, and you’re a Best Western receptionist. You’re not even on the same level. Don’t try to compete.”
The door opened, and Kris felt a surge of hope as Miranda entered the room, pushing a rolling steel tray.
“Help me,” Kris said to her. “I’m being held here against my will. This is illegal. Please.”
Miranda bent over the bed, her crunchy dreads falling into Kris’s face. Kris pressed her head back into the foam rubber pillow, trying to get away, but there was nowhere to go.
“We love you,” Miranda said, kissing Kris on the forehead, ca
ressing her cheeks with soft hands that smelled like antiseptic. “That’s why we’re going to make you better.”
Miranda smiled and stood up.
“Before Miranda helps you with your orientation,” Bill said, calm again, “I want to share something with you. That hole in your memory—it’s okay, Kris. Stop worrying about it. Everyone has a hole inside of them, and it’s not a problem. The whole world has a hole in it, and eventually you learn to love it.”
“And inside that hole,” Kris said, “is Black Iron Mountain.”
Bill thought for a moment, then his face fell, and looked sad.
“Scottie’s note,” he said, nodding to himself. “You shouldn’t have read that, Christine. Honestly, if we’d had any idea he’d written something like that, we would have gotten there sooner. It’s never good to say their name.”
“It’s a song,” Kris said. “I wrote it. I invented it.”
Bill looked excited now, practically wriggling in his chair.
“No, Kris. You only named something that existed long before any of us were even born,” he said. “Terry took me into his confidence and showed me. It’s so beautiful once you see the pattern. The whole philosophy that Black Iron Mountain brings is about embracing your place, not struggling against things you can’t change. We all have a place, and standing over all of us is Black Iron Mountain. The sooner you accept your place, the sooner it all stops hurting.”
He rolled slightly back from the bed. Miranda stripped the paper from a disposable hypodermic needle.
“Wait,” Kris said. “What if I don’t tell anyone? What if I promise to stop fighting? I’ll talk to Terry. Let me talk to him.”
“Terry doesn’t have time to talk to you, Kris,” Bill said. “He’s way up there, and you’re way down here. You’re just an item on a checklist that needs to be crossed out before the first show in San Francisco. The longer we talk, the more I realize you’re not going to be someone useful we can return to the world like Scott. You’re probably going to have to stay here for a long time.”
“Why is Terry so scared of me?” Kris asked, stalling, one eye on Miranda filling the syringe.
“You’re a sparrow, Kris,” Bill said. “You think you’re so tough, you posture and pose, but you’re just a tiny little bird flapping around a mountain. You’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, and nothing you’ve done will be remembered. But the rest of us have chosen to be a part of something larger than ourselves. Something important, that will be here long after we’re gone.”
Miranda rubbed a cold alcohol swab on the side of Kris’s neck.
“Don’t do this, Bill,” Kris said. “We used to be friends. He’s scared of me, don’t you want to find out why?”
A bee stung the side of her neck. Ice spread through her throat, something black and oily oozed through her veins. Cement filled her chest, her breathing got tight, her heart slowed.
“You’re a hysteric, Kris. Running around, upsetting everyone,” Bill said, rolling closer. “But we’ll teach you to accept things the way they are. If you ever return to your job at Best Western, you won’t feel like it’s such a bad fit. You’ll finally be happy.”
The air dimmed around the edges of her vision.
“What does Black Iron Mountain want, Kris?” Bill smiled. “It wants you. It wants me. It wants everything.”
As the air turned black, Kris saw Bill and Miranda smiling at each other, nodding, so pleased with themselves. She saw Little Charles, Tuck, Bill, Terry. Men who could hurt her, men who controlled her. She was one girl, alone, strapped to a bed.
They were bigger than her, they were more powerful, and she had been abandoned by her family, abandoned by her friends. She had nothing. Except her music.
Inside her head, she heard Scottie’s voice say, “Trust Troglodyte.”
Metal never dies. Metal never retreats. Metal never surrenders.
The world went black.
She was ready.
DANIELLE OTOMIES: Security is tight and anticipation is high for the first night of Koffin’s Farewell to the King Tour, debuting at the Rose Bowl in just one hour. With only five sold-out shows before bringing his career to a close, Terry Hunt has sparked a media frenzy, especially after the tragic murder-suicide involving his former associate Scott Borzek. The Rose Bowl is locked down, and police are asking concert-goers to arrive two hours before showtime to be screened. No water or laptops will be allowed inside the Rose Bowl for fear of a liquid bomb.
—790 AM KABC, “Today in LA”
May 30, 2019
elanie pulled back-to-back doubles. She sold her old textbooks on Amazon. She sold Greg’s old textbooks on Amazon. She removed backgrounds from photographs on Fiverr for $5 per job.
R U COMING 2 SHOW? Hunter texted her, three weeks out. NEED TO KNOW.
She converted some foreclosure specialist’s logo to vector graphics and made it spin for a $25 iTunes gift card she sold for $20 cash. She mowed the yard at the townhouse where Greg lived for $40. She made big pots of stew and froze them for lunch.
DO I WAIT 4 U OR GO WITH MY BOYS? Hunter texted her two weeks out.
After trying to convince Greg to apply for jobs, Melanie counted it as a victory when she got him to cancel Netflix. She searched her sofas and carpets and rolled the loose change she found. She watched their bank account pile up, penny by penny, building toward the cost of moving out West. But ten days out, she had to admit: it wasn’t enough.
SHOW WAS FUCKING DOPE, Hunter texted. SAW BOTH.
She missed the May Rose Bowl shows in LA. She missed the show in San Francisco. Now, the final two Koffin shows at the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas would happen without her, too.
SAW ALL 3, GOING AGAIN IN LAS V, Hunter texted. SO WORTH IT.
“Just watch it on pay-per-view,” Greg said the night of the second-to-last Las Vegas show. “You can watch it on the big TV. I’ll play in my room.”
Melanie tried to explain that it wasn’t about the tickets anymore (she couldn’t tell him that her online, male friend with a shirtless Tinder profile would have bought the tickets for them), it was about moving out West and doing something with their lives. She tried to explain that the $49.95 pay-per-view package would put them $50 further away from getting out of West Virginia. She tried to explain that they still needed to go, even without the deadline of the Koffin shows, but without the excitement of the deadline, all the gas leaked out of her plans.
That night she dreamed of cold hands reaching up out of the West Virginia dirt to hold her down. She didn’t need a shrink to analyze that. On the night of the last Las Vegas show, she went into Pappy’s and took herself off the schedule for upcoming doubles. Why work herself into the ground for nothing? She should learn to be more like Greg. At least he was happy. On her way home that night, she caved and bought a pack of cigarettes. She hadn’t smoked in years because it was too expensive, but what was she saving her money for? She wasn’t going anywhere.
Her phone pinged as she sat in her car, unwrapping the pack.
DID U SEE? Hunter asked. U DOWN?
She looked online. In the final minutes of the final show of his final farewell tour, Terry stood on the edge of the stage and announced that he’d had so much fun, that the tickets had sold so fast, that so many more people needed to hear the message of Koffin, that in September, in the desert outside Las Vegas, he was holding Hellstock ’19.
“Fuck Burning Man,” he shouted. “This is Burning in Hell, Man!”
Melanie sold the cigarettes as loosies in the Pappy’s parking lot to drunk frat boys for a dollar each. She made $20 off her $5 investment, and started piling up her pennies again. She would not miss this.
Even Greg got into it this time. The night he told her he’d gotten a part-time job at the GameStop in Morgantown, she did everything he wanted in bed. It felt like a honeymoon, she felt like his partner,
she felt reborn. She had to tell Hunter.
CANT TAKE UR TICKETS, she messaged him, explaining that she and Greg were getting their money together, that they were moving out West together, that they were staying together. She expected Hunter to shut her down, but instead he texted:
GOOD 4 U. COMMITMENT. INTEGRITY. RESPECT.
Melanie almost cried. Hunter insisted that he buy her and Greg two tickets while they were still available, since they were selling out fast.
THANK U, she messaged. PAY U BACK —> PROMISE
The lineup for Hellstock ’19 looked insane. With two stages to fill, any band that had an edge, any act that was at all heavy, got booked. The original Woodstock was all about hippies humping in the mud. Woodstock ’99 was a disaster where everything got set on fire. Hellstock ’19 promised to combine both those events together into an apocalyptic end-times party.
All the bad press from Koffin’s Farewell Tour only got everyone even more hyped. In Vegas, a truck full of rednecks had thrown a beer can out their window at some Koffin Kids in corpse paint heading to the show. One of the kids had a .22 and he shot at the truck as it drove away, leaving the driver blind in one eye and with a plate in his skull.
In LA, a woman was attacked in the Rose Bowl parking lot, but rescued by a group of passing Koffin Kids who beat the perpetrator nearly to death. The guy was still in a coma one week later. But then the Koffin Kids dragged the sobbing woman out from under the car where she was hiding. One of them had a pair of scissors. They sliced her tongue in two, right down the middle. Three of them were arrested. One of them hung himself in the holding cell while waiting for bail. He was fourteen and shouldn’t have been in there in the first place, but the cops had thought he was older. His parents were suing the LAPD. The other kids were going to trial the weekend after Hellstock ’19.
All that just made ticket sales fly faster. Within a week of Terry’s announcement in Las Vegas, Hellstock ’19 tickets were taken offline. By then 440,000 tickets had sold, 10,000 more than planned. Out of all those tickets, two of them were earmarked for Melanie and Greg.
We Sold Our Souls Page 10