Sweet Music
“So what’s wrong this time? I can soon find someone to replace you.” Dan Summer leaned across the desk, arms folded across the top.
Christian Vane looked at his manager and scowled. “You’ll never find anyone as good as me, and you know it.”
Dan snorted. “You think just because you’ve made a bit of money that you can rest on your laurels. Well, I’m here to give you a wake up call, sonny boy. People come and go in this business all the time. If you don’t perform, what use are you?”
“No one can create compositions better than me, and you damn well know it.”
Dan tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling. The cords in his neck flexed as he clenched his jaw. A moment later, he lowered his gaze and looked back at Vane. “You young people think you know everything. Well you’re wrong. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You owe me, Christian.” Spittle flew from his lips.
“I can’t perform to order. You know that, Dan. I have to wait for the muse to inspire me.”
Dan pointed a slender finger at Christian. “Well she’d better be fucking inspiring you now. There’s a few thousand people out there waiting to see you perform live. Do you know how much they’ve paid? More important, do you know how much we could lose?”
“I’m not in it for the money.” Christian’s focus fell upon the pitch in Dan’s voice. He had never noticed the quality of it before.
“Well pardon me if I piss on your parade, but without the money, how could you afford to live like you do? You could forget about the Ferrari, the villa in Spain, the penthouse inNew York. So don’t tell me it’s not about the fucking money, you arrogant sod. I want you to get off your arse, go out there, and give them what they want. Now!”
Christian took a deep breath. “Shouting isn’t going to make the muse appear.”
“Fuck the muse. I want you to go out there and perform. People aren’t interested in whether you’ve been inspired by the muse or the bloody Archbishop of Canterbury, but if you don’t perform, then that’s it. I’ve had it with you artistic shits. You’re all so fucking vain.” His face flushed red, bringing out a cobweb of veins across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “You’re not even that good.”
Christian closed his eyes. He remembered how his teachers all said he had an excellent ear for music, how he could identify perfect pitch. That’s how he heard something beneath the gruffness in Dan’s voice, something musical.
But he really didn’t need this right now. How could he be expected to get in the mood with someone shouting at him? He needed people around him who encouraged, not badgered. Managers were two a penny. Virtuosos, now they were rare. They had a talent. And that’s what he was. A goddamn virtuoso.
Christian jumped to his feet; Dan stumbled back in surprise.
“Well, I, ah ... I suppose the muse has arrived has she?” Dan mumbled.
“Not yet, but she’s coming.” Christian smiled. “I can feel her.”
Dan shook his head. “Whatever. Now get out there and play before we have a riot.”
A knock at the door interrupted them and a large, muscled young man entered. He fidgeted from one foot to the other. “Mr Vane, there’s been a problem.”
Dan threw his arms in the air and shook his head. “Give me bloody strength. What now?”
The man bowed his head. “It’s the alto. He’s, erm, dead.”
“Jesus, Mary, mother of God,” Dan bellowed. “That’s all we need.”
Christian looked across at Dan and smiled. “It’s not a problem. I know how keen you are for the show to go on. Well, it’s time to put your money where your mouth is, or rather other people’s money.” He nodded to the man who had entered the room. “If you would be so kind as to restrain Mr Summer.”
Dan backed away, hands held up to ward them off. “You can’t. Not me,” he wailed.
Christian smiled. “Oh, I think I can. As you said, if you don’t perform, what use are you.”
The curtain drew back, revealing a stage illuminated by red spotlights. Bound figures sat in chairs or lay on raised podiums in the centre of the stage. As Christian walked onto the stage, the crowd cheered and roared.
He bowed and smiled. The adulation always lifted him up, making him feel ten feet tall. He approached the bound figures and looked them over. If their appearance was any indication, some wouldn’t last the show.
Dan bucked and wrestled against the bindings that attached him to one of the chairs. He stared wide eyed at Christian, sweat coated his face.
“You can’t do this to me.” he screamed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I would have thought it’s obvious.”
Christian surveyed the array of sharp implements laid out on the table beside Dan before selecting a long, spiked tube. He tested the sharpness of the point against his thumb.
“You can’t be serious,” Dan said, swallowing.
“We were short an alto, and only a hack artist would perform without an alto – and as I told you, I’m a virtuoso. Now it’s time to strike the band. The audience is waiting, and I have a concert to perform.”
Using the implements at hand, Christian coerced a range of screams from his captive orchestra. The excruciating pain inflicted upon them stretched their vocal cords to the limit, creating sounds otherwise thought impossible – sounds that combined to form sweet music.
His trained ear allowed him to know when the screams reached a pleasing musical pitch, and he moderated his torture to sustain the note.
As the finale approached, he skewered Dan’s thighs with long spikes, prodding and gouging to play his human instrument, counter pointing it with a woman’s shrill tones as he sliced her bare thighs with a blood smeared blade. His manager’s screams varied in pitch and volume until his voice reached a perfect alto and then petered out.
“Looks like my muse arrived in the nick of time,” Christian whispered in Dan’s ear before he slumped forwards, his wide eyes closing.
Applause filled the silence, and Christian Vane bowed triumphantly before walking off stage to a standing ovation.
Not So Different
The blare of a horn startled Daniel Gerard from his slumber. He opened his eyes, unsure where he was – then it all came back as quick as the road along which he hurtled at the wheel of his Mitsubishi L200 truck. His heart turned to a block of ice, pumping cold blood through his veins. The car horn sounded dangerously close, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror revealed a vehicle that flashed its lights to indicate an imminent collision. Daniel grimaced. His truck had already strayed across the road, and he quickly turned the wheel, steering back into the nearside lane.
Daniel let out a huge sigh; felt devoid of strength. Up ahead, a sign indicated a rest area, and he signalled and pulled over.
That was just too damn close. He covered his mouth with his hand and yawned, then lowered the window to let some fresh air in, but smelt only pungent exhaust fumes.
According to the dashboard clock, it was seven o’clock. He should have been home by now, but a problem at work and a traffic jam a few miles back conspired against him. He glanced in the rear view mirror, saw blue eyes ringed black and his curly hair looking more wayward than usual.
The passenger door suddenly opened and a cold draft of air filled the vehicle, followed by the musty smell of an unwashed body.
“Good of you to stop,” a middle-aged man said as he threw a rucksack into the back and clambered into the passenger seat. “I’ve been trying to get a lift for hours.”
Daniel stared at the man, surprised. “I … erm.” He took a breath to compose himself. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve made a mistake. I stopped to take a rest, not to pick you up.”
“Well, now that I’m in.” He shrugged and took a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his dirty green army jacket. “You don’t mind if I smoke.” It sounded more like an order than a question.
“Yes, I bloody do.
Now get out.”
The man turned and glared at Daniel, cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. His pinched features gave the impression of a weasel, a facet accentuated by his brown ponytail, and for the first time, Daniel felt a moment of panic.
Despite Daniel’s request, the man lit the cigarette.
“Look, I said I didn’t want you smoking. Now get out of my car.”
“It’s not technically a car,” the man said.
“I won’t tell you again.”
“This is a truck – makes you feel like a right stud I bet.”
Realising the man wasn’t going to leave, Daniel leaned across and opened the passenger door, his head almost in the man’s lap. Despite trying not to breathe, the smell of body odour was powerful enough to taste.
“And how much do you charge for a blowjob?” the man asked as Daniel sat back up.
“Just get out.” He turned to retrieve the man’s backpack, but the man grabbed his arm and jabbed the cigarette on the inside of his wrist. The glowing tip sizzled against his flesh and he let out a little scream and yanked his hand away.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said as he rubbed the afflicted area. The air smelled faintly of burned flesh and singed hair.
The man sucked on his cigarette, exhaled and said, “That’s my property. You don’t touch it. Understand? Now drive.”
Daniel shook his head. “You’re crazy. Just get out of my truck.”
“I won’t tell you again, drive.”
“The hell I will. Now I’m asking – no, I’m telling you to get out.”
The man flicked ash over the dashboard. He grinned laconically. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that, but if you want to keep them, I’d suggest you drive.”
Daniel tried to swallow through his constricted throat. He turned the ignition off and opened the driver’s door to step out. “Well, you can sit there all day. I’m not driving anywhere.”
He swung his legs out, but the man grabbed his arm again. “I’ve got a date with destiny, and I don’t want to be late.”
“You can’t order me around, now get your filthy hand off me and get out.”
The man squeezed harder and Daniel flinched. He bit his lip against the pain and reached across to prise the man’s fingers apart, but his grip was too strong.
“If you don’t let go, then I’m going to punch you. Now let go.”
The man laughed; reached into a jacket pocket. “I warned you,” he said.
Daniel watched as the man pulled out a short, sharp blade. He gulped and his heart did a crazy little dance. This was unbelievable.
“Now just shut the door, start the truck and drive.”
Realising it would be foolish – perhaps even fatal – to say no, Daniel did as he was asked. The man pulled his own door shut and Daniel turned the ignition key, bringing the engine to life with a rumble.
“I’m supposed to be home already. My wife will be worried.” Daniel despised the small tremor in his voice.
“Change of plan.”
Daniel heart pounded at his chest like a boxer’s fist. This was crazy. He looked at the knife, turned the headlights on, indicated to pull out, and eased onto the road.
The man put his feet on the dashboard. “So what’s your name?” he asked.
“What the hell should I tell you for?”
“Because if we’re going to spend time together, I need to know what to call you.”
Daniel frowned. “We aren’t spending time together. You tell me where you’re going and I drop you off. And that’s it.”
The man waved the knife like a conductor. “Just tell me your goddamn name.”
Daniel shivered. The man scared him more than he would like to admit.
“Daniel. My name’s Daniel.”
The man nodded. “You can call me Soul. That’s not my real name, but when someone knows your real name—” he turned and stared at Daniel with an intensity he found unnerving, “—they have power over you.”
Daniel felt claustrophobic, could hardly breathe.
“So Daniel, tell me about your wife.”
Daniel shook his head. He had already given too much away by telling him his name.
“That wasn’t a question. It was more of an order, you understand?”
Daniel tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Swallowed to wet his throat. “There’s nothing to tell. We’ve been together eight years, married for six of them.”
Soul nodded. “She got a sweet pussy? She like me to taste it?” He grinned.
Bile rose in Daniel’s throat. Just the thought of this man looking at his wife made his skin crawl.
“Look, just tell me where you want to go and I’ll drop you off.”
Soul cocked his head. “Now, now Daniel. Who’s in charge here?” He waved the knife. “I ask the questions, and you answer. Okay. Now this wife, what’s her name?”
Daniel bit his lip; had to think fast. “Julie.”
“Nice, now like I said, would she let me taste her pussy?”
“No, she damn well wouldn’t.”
“That’s a pity. I could do with a bit of pussy about now. How about we ask her, you know, let her tell me that herself.” Soul prodded the knife into Daniel’s ribs. “I asked you a question.”
“She’s not at home.”
“Now ain’t that strange, considering only moments ago you told me as she was waiting for you, would be all worried about where you were.”
“I’m meant to call her when I get home. She’s at her sisters.”
“She’s got a sister. Hot damn, I bet you’ve thought about taking the two of them together – now don’t lie to me, I can see it in your eyes you dirty dog. How’s about we call on them instead of phoning. Wouldn’t that be a surprise? Hell, we could have a foursome.”
Daniel knew he’d added fuel to Soul’s lecherous thoughts. “She lives miles away.”
“Well it’s not as if we’re not mobile. Just think, you could be banging the wife’s sister while the wife watches. How hot is that?”
“I don’t like my sister-in-law in that way.” Unlike his wife, his sister-in-law possessed the scruples of a sewer rat; he was certain she had somehow gotten her father to change his will before he died so she inherited everything.
“What’s her name, the sister in law?”
“Emily.”
“Pretty name. But I don’t believe a word of it …”
Daniel flinched.
“…What man hasn’t imagined boning his wife’s sister?”
“You’re sick”
“This ain’t about me. Now how about we head right on over to Emily’s house.”
“I told you, she lives miles away.”
“Then you’d better drive fast.”
The lights of a roadside café appeared up ahead, a comical bright red neon picture of a chef propped on the roof.
“If I’m driving a long way, I’ll need to use the toilet,” Daniel said.
He felt Soul staring at him, but kept his gaze on the road ahead.
“You wouldn’t want to be trying something, now would you?” Soul asked mockingly.
“I just need the toilet.”
“Okay, but listen very carefully. You try anything, and I’ll gut you. Then I’ll track down your wife and use the blade of my knife as a dildo. Can you imagine what this blade would do to her insides? Man, she would bleed.” His voice rose an octave as though he were getting off on the thought.
“I won’t do anything. You have my word.” Daniel found it easy to lie; had to make Soul believe he could be trusted.
He indicated and pulled off the dual carriageway into the car park. He stopped alongside a BMW and switched the engine off.
Light from the neon sign bled across the tarmac in front of the building. Daniel opened his door and started to slide out when Soul grabbed his arm.
“Remember what I said.” He waved the knife in the air to add substance to his warning.
Daniel g
ulped and nodded.
Soul loosened his grip as he shuffled across the seat to step out behind Daniel.
Daniel started walking, each step difficult, Soul an anchor at his side.
Tall trees bordered part of the car par. Beyond the building, he saw nothing but inky blackness. Through the window of the café, he noticed people sat around tables; all oblivious to the threat he was about to bring into their midst.
The door opened smoothly and without ceremony. Daniel stepped inside. The aroma of food and coffee rushed into his nostrils like water to a drowning man. His mouth salivated and his stomach rumbled.
The café wasn’t large, and although people occupied five of the eight tables, it didn’t seem packed. Yellow Formica seemed to be the decoration of choice, with splashes of red thrown into the mix.
Daniel couldn’t help noticing the trays of cutlery by the till, of which the knives seemed to shine brightest.
On the far side of the café were two doors for the toilets. No one in the café seemed to take much notice of him – he didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. Soul trailed like a shadow.
The toilet contained two cubicles and two urinals and smelled of disinfectant.
He faced the first urinal and stood, cock in hand. He felt Soul staring at him; became self-conscious, which delayed the act of going for a piss until Soul prodded him with the knife, providing the incentive for his bladder to empty itself whether it wanted to or not.
Once finished, he washed his hands and stepped back out into the restaurant. “Mind if I get something to eat and drink?” Daniel asked.
Soul grinned. “Sure, get me a coffee too. Black. No sugar.”
Daniel nodded and walked to the counter, selected a Danish pastry and poured both coffees from the machine before paying the bored looking teenage girl at the till. If she thought anything of his companion, she didn’t mention it, didn’t even look at him as she passed him his change before returning to picking her fingernails.
Daniel carried the coffees and pastry across to the corner table and sat with his back to the wall, secretly hoping to make eye contact with one of the other customers and in some way relay the state of his danger by facial expression alone.
The Mutilation Machination Page 2