Voice

by Joseph Garraty

  “Just a minute!” Case heard movement, and the bolt slid back.

  And there was Erin. She was in her pajamas—ghastly purple and green flannel things—with the phone in one hand. Her brow furrowed as she looked at Case.

  “Hi,” she said.

  That one word was enough. Case had been mortally afraid, she realized, that Erin would stare blankly at her for a short eternity and, when Case couldn’t think of anything to say, slam the door in her face. But now it was going to be okay.

  “Hi,” Case said. She still wasn’t sure how to approach this problem, but she knew she wasn’t any good with subtlety. “They’re gonna revoke my Tough Chick card for saying this, but I miss you.”

  There was a pause. Case could hear a car horn honking down the street. One floor down, a door opened and then closed. She felt her face getting warm. She’d given Erin an opening big enough to drive a truck through, and a list of potential biting retorts scrolled through her head. Top of the list was You miss me? Just like you miss Quentin?

  Erin wasn’t saying anything, though, and her expression hadn’t changed. It was still—what? Expectant? Accusing? Maybe just puzzled? Case didn’t know, but she was starting to think this had been a horrible mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” Case said. “I mean—we’re all sorry. But I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

  Still no answer.

  “Look, I didn’t mean—didn’t mean to bother you. I guess I should get going.”

  “You wanna come in for a minute?” A ghost of Erin’s old grin hovered at the corners of her mouth.

  “God, yes.”

  Erin held the door open for her.

  ***

  “It’s good to see you,” Erin said. “I didn’t think it would be, but . . .” She shrugged.

  “Yeah.” Case sat on the arm of a living-room chair. “I wasn’t kidding. I do miss you. I understand if you want to stay away from the band, but I’d hate for one stupid argument to . . . you know.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it stupid,” Erin said.

  “I didn’t mean you were stupid,” Case said hastily. “I mean, I didn’t handle it that well.”

  Erin put the phone down and sat. “No, you didn’t. Neither did I, though.” She held her hands open. “It’s hard to keep everything in perspective. How do you weigh the opportunity of a lifetime in a situation like this? I don’t know.”

  Case shook her head. “Neither do I.”

  “Did you find another bass player?”

  Case looked down at her hands. “Yeah.” She felt the urge to explain, but Erin nodded.

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Erin shrugged. “I do know that mourning can only go on so long before it becomes unhealthy. I have to admit, yesterday I started thinking about who was going to handle the email list and the merch booth during the tour.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, not really. Work isn’t a bad way of coping, they tell me. Also, I think it might be cool to book a homecoming show here in Dallas. Make it your last stop.”

  Case laughed. “You have been thinking about this.”

  “Nothing definite, but yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  Case thought that maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

  Chapter 26

  The tour started in Atlanta on the fourteenth of June. They’d managed to buy a conversion van by selling Danny’s car and making a loan on hideously unfavorable terms, and the five of them crammed into it with all their gear.

  “This is cozy,” Danny remarked.

  “See how you like it in another three weeks,” was Case’s reply. Johnny laughed an eerie laugh that ran up the scale and back down again and gave Case the creeps.

  Nonetheless, spirits were high. They arrived at the venue with ample time, and Case was thrilled at the luxury of getting a real, professional sound check.

  “Gonna be scary,” she said. “I’ll actually be able to hear Johnny for once.”

  Johnny grinned. “That is scary.”

  The guys from Crashyard walked in as the road crew was setting up (“Roadies!” Danny had said, laughing and pointing at the crew. “We get roadies!”), and they offered words of encouragement.

  “You’ll do fine,” Kerry Buchanan said. He smiled wickedly. “Just try to forget that there will be two thousand people watching your every move.”

  Case looked at Johnny, expecting him to start coming down with a bad case of nerves starting right then, but he looked jazzed. “No problem,” he said, showing his teeth, and she thought he meant it.

  Sound check went smoothly (one of the mic cables turned out to be dead, but the sound crew identified that and swapped it out in record time), and the five of them laughed and joked backstage.

  “A real road crew, a real sound check, and a real green room,” Danny said wonderingly. “What’s the world coming to?” They had a few hours before the show, but nobody suggested going anywhere. Erin asked if anybody was hungry. Nobody was.

  “I’m too nervous to eat,” Case admitted. “It’s a big show.” Danny nodded his agreement. Even Johnny’s cocksure swagger didn’t look so hot on a face that had taken on the color and texture of pale cheese. Allen looked frankly terrified, and he got out his bass a full two hours before the show and started warming up.

  “Little early for that, huh?” Case asked him.

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “It gives me something to focus on besides sheer terror.”

  That actually didn’t sound half bad. Case got out her own guitar and started practicing scales. Twenty minutes later, Danny produced a practice pad from somewhere and started whacking on it. “You know we’re all going to be too tired to actually play by the time we go on, right?” he joked.

  An hour passed, then another. Case had expected her anxiety to wane as the show got closer—she hadn’t been nervous before a show in years—but it worsened.

  “It’s a big show,” she said to nobody in particular.

  Fifteen minutes before the show was supposed to start, Johnny raised his hand. “Quiet,” he said. “You hear that?”

  Case stopped her restless hands and listened. There was a dull grumbling noise that sounded muted but vast. She felt her face pale.

  “Holy shit. That’s the crowd.”

  Danny’s eyes opened wider than she would have imagined possible. “Shut the door, for Christ’s sake,” he said. “I don’t need to hear that.”

  The crowd couldn’t have been that big, Case thought; she would be surprised if the room was even half full for the opening act. Then she remembered the size of the room. Half full might be more than a thousand people.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, the anxiety in the room ratcheted up to levels that nearly shrieked. At five to nine, Case stood up. “Are we going, or what?”

  “Gotta wait for the road manager,” Danny said. “He’ll tell us.”

  “Is he gonna make us wait until the Second Coming?” she snapped, even though they had five minutes before the show was even scheduled to start—and she knew they’d go on late. It was like the eleventh commandment: Thou shalt go on late.

  At ten after, the road manager popped his head into the room.

  “Showtime,” he said.

  The four players looked at each other.

  “Give ’em hell!” Erin said cheerfully.

  ***

  They await us, “Johnny” said. It never shut up anymore, offering a seething running commentary on everything, and today gave no exception or reprieve.

  These are your people, John. These are our people. They hunger for us, though they do not yet know it. We can raise them above their miserable little lives. Make them better. Make them something more.

  Yeah, I know, Johnny told it. He didn’t, not really, but he didn’t know what “Johnny” was talking about most of the time, only that it wasn’t a good idea to piss it off. “Johnny” was the only thing keeping him stead
y right now, keeping him from running down the back alley in a complete panic.

  They took the stage in the dark, but there was no disguising the sound of hundreds of people, and the sharper eyes in the crowd saw the members of Ragman even in the low light and raised a cheer.

  They’ve been standing around bored for hours, Johnny thought. Of course they’re cheering. Nonetheless, the sound bolstered his courage.

  He took his place in front of the microphone, and the lights came up.

  Do you see them, John? They will be ours one day soon. Every one of them.

  He couldn’t not see them. Christ, there were so many!

  Behind him, the band started. “Burn,” of course—always a crowd-pleaser, and with the short set typical of an opening act, they had to make every song count. They started too fast, way too fast, but maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. The song cooked—maybe it would cook that much hotter faster.

  Then it was time to come in, and “Johnny”—the voice, the thing in his head—surged forward. It didn’t bother asking anymore, just channeled itself through his vocal cords.

  “Johnny” sang.

  ***

  This is it, Danny thought. This is what it’s all about. Case had started the damn song too fast, but it didn’t matter. The energy was good—smoking, in fact—and that’s what counted. The band was into it, and so was the crowd from what Danny could tell.

  What a rush!

  Case and Allen made their way back to the drum riser—it seemed to take forever, the stage was so wide—and jammed with him during the bridge, both of them grinning like happy drunks. The song was barely half over, and already sweat poured off Case’s face.

  Up front, Johnny milked the crowd. Before the last verse, he whipped out that tired line again, screaming “Is it hot enough for you, motherfuckers?” at ungodly volume, and the audience went nuts.

  He’s gotten really good at this, Danny thought with a surge of pride for his little brother.

  They finished the song, and applause rolled over them, crashing down like thunder. Case shook her head in disbelief and gave him a huge smile. Then it was on to the next song.

  Case was hot tonight, there was no doubt about that, but Johnny was incredible. He growled and snarled and soared, drawing the audience in and inciting them to ever-greater frenzy. That ominous, paranoid sensation Danny sometimes felt during shows crept in, that weird sense that something malevolent watched him and laughed, but it was weak and buried beneath the adrenaline rush.

  The last song was “Rust,” and Danny couldn’t believe the set was almost over. Hadn’t they just taken the stage?

  Johnny held his hands high before the last chorus. “My children!” he said. “Sing with me!” That was weird, Danny thought—next he’d be announcing that he was the Lizard King—but the audience ate it up, and the chorus was simple enough that they could follow along. Amazingly, hundreds of them did. Danny stared in shock, muscle memory and hundreds of hours of rehearsal the only things carrying him through the song as he stared at the crowd.

  Then the show was finished. The cheers and shouts of over fifteen hundred people followed them off the stage.

  ***

  “Holy hell, guys,” Erin said. “We’re going to need to call up the duplication company and see if they can press a lot more CDs and ship them to us. At this rate, we’re going to run out before we get to Chicago.”

  There were cheers all around. It had been a good night, no doubt about that. Kerry Buchanan himself had found the five of them after Crashyard had finished and given his congratulations—and that wasn’t all. He’d beckoned to Case, pulling her out of the knot of loudly chattering people.

  “Great fucking show,” he said. “But you can’t gig without a backup axe.” He handed her a guitar case, one with a very distinctive shape and the words Gibson USA on the top.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  “Open it.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She put the case on the floor and knelt in front of it. Her hands shook as she flipped the catches. Dimly, she was aware that a small crowd had gathered around her.

  She opened the guitar case. Inside was a pristine Les Paul Standard guitar, wine red and utterly, completely gorgeous.

  “Oh my God,” she said. Looking up, she met Kerry’s eyes. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  He smiled. “You did good, kid.” Once, not long ago, she would have assumed he wanted something—sexual favors, most likely—for such a gift, but today she didn’t feel quite so cynical. He seemed genuinely happy for her, and in any case his wife was standing next to him, also smiling.

  Case looked at her bandmates, who grinned and clapped her on the back. Except Johnny. The blood had drained from his face, and he had the look of a man about to vomit. He grinned weakly at her. “Cool,” he said, and he put a hand to his mouth.

  After the revelry, there was a quick conference to determine sleeping arrangements.

  “We did pretty well tonight,” Erin said. “We could probably afford a motel. But we don’t know if every night will be like tonight, and I have a feeling we’re really going to want beds in a couple of weeks. I’d hate to be short on cash then.”

  The vote to spend their first night in the van was unanimous.

  ***

  Case couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the van, either. She had drawn the luxurious front seat, passenger side, and that didn’t even rate on the list of uncomfortable places she’d slept. She thought her insomnia might be an ugly aftereffect of her post-show high, but the others were sleeping just fine. Danny had dropped off almost as soon as he’d put the van in park. She certainly felt exhausted. Her legs were sore from being cooped up all day and then the sudden, spastic exertion of performance, and her whole body felt drained and achy.

  She turned on her side. It was awkward, even with the seat all the way back, but at least this way she was pointed away from the light. There were only a couple of lights in the parking lot, and Danny had made an effort to park away from them, both to help everyone sleep and to stay far away from the prying eyes of any of the cheap motel’s employees, who might take exception to their freeloading. There probably wouldn’t be any problems—with Crashyard’s bus in the lot, the staff was undoubtedly more worried about how trashed the rooms would be in the morning.

  Having her back to the light was a definite improvement. The light glided over her shoulder, lighting up Danny’s arm and hand, but at least it wasn’t in her eyes anymore.

  She lay still, listening to the night. Semis roared by on the freeway, and crickets and frogs chirped noisily nearby. There was a faint dank scent in the van. Perhaps it came from whatever marshy home the frogs made for themselves, but she thought it was that smell Johnny carried around with him. Nasty. Behind her, Allen breathed loudly. That was kind of obnoxious, but she tried to fall into the rhythm, and soon enough, her eyes fell shut. Images of the day spun in her head, and she sank down toward sleep.

  There was a noise, and she sprang to full wakefulness, her body tensed from head to foot.

  What was that?

  It came again—a scraping noise that Case immediately identified as that of a shoe on pavement. Her heart thumped in her ears.

  Calm down. This is a parking lot. People come to places like this to get in their cars. The sarcasm didn’t put her mind at ease. She waited, listening. She didn’t hear the click of an opening car door, or the clunk of a closing one.

  Another scrape, closer this time. There was somebody by the side of the van. She was almost sure of it.

  Somebody’s fucking with us. She thought of the equipment in back, adding numbers in her head. She guessed there was maybe twelve thousand dollars’ worth of gear back there. Had somebody got it in their head to liberate some of it? If so, they’d goddamn well better be armed. Anger welled up in her, but it seemed a small, feeble thing next to her fear. Something about this felt very bad, and there was a familiarity to the badness of it that she could
n’t place.

  Another scrape, closer still, and this time a shadow fell across Danny’s arm. There was somebody right behind her. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh. Case could feel eyes tracing her body. The door was locked, right? Sure. That was basic Sleeping in the Car 101. They couldn’t get in without breaking the window, and when they did, Case would go for the eyes. Or maybe she’d turn around right now, pop the door open, and slam it into the psycho standing back there. Both options sounded bad—sounded terrible, in fact—not least because Case felt paralyzed with fear.

  She could wake Danny.

  Even as she thought of it, somebody looked in through Danny’s open window, appearing suddenly and leering at her.

  She screamed.

  Danny jolted upright, and there was movement from the back of the van, too. Erin screamed next, piercing and terrifying in the close confines of the van, and even Allen yelled.

  Case turned, and—Jesus Christ! There was another person pressed to the window behind her, flattening the side of its face to the glass. The mouth was pulled back in a horrifying grimace, and one eye rolled madly. It settled on her, and the grimace stretched.

  Case pushed back, almost landing in Danny’s lap. Then she remembered the other one on Danny’s side, and she froze. The person on her side started clawing at the glass.

  “Johnny!” it said. “Johnny Johnny, we love you Johnny!”

  And then from the other side: “We missed you Johnny! We missed you where it’s so coooold.” It opened its mouth, reared back, and tried to bite the window. Its top lip split open and one of its front teeth broke off. It didn’t seem to notice. It tried again, tearing its lip open wider and leaving a cloudy smear of blood on the window. “Johnnyyyyyy! We love you!” Erin screamed again.

  “For fuck’s sake, Danny, get us the hell out of here!” Johnny said. “Drive, goddammit!”

  Danny seemed to remember where he was, and he cranked the starter. Not bothering to check behind him, he backed up as fast as the van could go. The side mirror knocked one of the people down, and Case heard it laughing as it slammed into the pavement.