Voice

by Joseph Garraty

  Unsaid was the alternative—humiliating himself onstage one more time to an audience of people that would put a finger in one ear and talk to their friends a little louder. Letting Allen and Case down. Letting Danny down. Most of all, letting himself down.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “Let’s do this.”

  The thing—“Johnny”—swept forward like a plague of locusts swarming through his mind. Johnny didn’t resist, and he felt it in his head, spreading throughout his body, tingling in his fingertips and feet. Dark thoughts swirled elusive in his brain. His hand flexed of its own accord. He felt it move and wanted to look, but his eyes pointed ahead, refusing to obey.

  That’s okay, he thought, oddly calm. Easier this way.

  “Come on,” Danny said.

  “Fuck yeah,” answered something that spoke with a voice that was not quite Johnny’s.

  Johnny watched himself take the stage. The others followed.

  ***

  Run, Case thought. It was the same instinct that caused her to look for exits in some of the rougher places she’d been, the same one that told her when it would be a bad idea to cut through an alley to get to her car. It was usually right—but where was the threat here? She was onstage, in full view of a thousand people. Burly security guys, bored and probably looking for an opportunity to bust some heads, stood around everywhere. The crowd wasn’t even rowdy—just gratified that somebody was finally going to play some music and relieve their boredom for a few minutes before Crashyard came on.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, yet her skin prickled and her heart pounded like a piston in her chest.

  Fuck that. I’m here to play. Her hands, at least, weren’t shaking when she started the first song. She played it automatically, fingers moving where they were supposed to with the ease of long practice while her eyes scanned the crowd. There were the familiar faces—the Fan Club, Johnny called them, and there were now more than twenty of them packed in close to the stage. They watched Johnny with an almost religious ecstasy, their expressions so like the Pentecostals she’d grown up around that she expected them to start speaking in tongues at any time. Surely they weren’t the threat her body was screaming at her to run from?

  Johnny sang the first line of the song. A collective shudder passed through the Fan Club, and the girl with the blue mohawk made a loud shrieking noise that sounded suspiciously like she just came, right in front of God and everyone.

  Case shuddered, too, but for a different reason—she knew what she was afraid of, now.

  Johnny.

  His voice was deeper than ever. Deep, and commanding. It thundered through the auditorium, drawing cheers and enthusiastic screams from people in their hundreds—but it was not Johnny’s voice. There was no way to fool herself about that any longer. It was the voice of an angry god cracking the sky open to bellow at his wayward flock.

  Either I’m cracking up, or something bad is happening. That’s what Erin had said, and Case felt it, too. She checked the Fan Club again. Sure enough, a thin man with a spiral notebook binding wound into his ear stood next to the girl with the blue mohawk. He grinned at Case, his tongue curling out to touch his lips. The girl with the blue mohawk was grinning at her now, too. Then the biker and the tattooed woman.

  Case fucked up the next chord. Nobody seemed to notice, except for the Fan Club, many of whom laughed. The biker pointed and leered. Case moved to the back of the stage. Their eyes followed her, but they all looked away when Johnny started singing again.

  The whole third verse was gone, replaced with a horrifying sequence of nonsense syllables that made Case’s legs weak with terror. Danny dropped one of his sticks, though he was quick enough with the spare that there was scarcely an interruption.

  What the fuck is going on?

  ***

  The sense of outright terror faded rapidly after Johnny stopped singing and Case got off the stage. Still, she remembered Erin’s words: You don’t remember the bad parts very well later. Case thought there had been some bad parts, some very bad parts indeed, but Erin was right—they seemed indistinct and unimportant, as if she’d watched them on TV or they’d happened to somebody else. That worried her. It had seemed very real at the time, she reminded herself.

  She turned to check out Johnny, suddenly unnerved at the idea that he was behind her.

  He wasn’t behind her. He wasn’t anywhere.

  “Hey, where did Johnny go?” she asked.

  Danny pointed at a side door they’d just passed. It was slightly open.

  Case pushed it open the rest of the way—it was a door to the loading dock. Johnny was standing in the midst of the Fan Club. There were dozens of them, all gathered around with hands outstretched, seemingly desperate to touch him. Their faces were flushed and avid, their eyes fevered.

  “We’re hungry,” one of them complained. Others echoed him. “Come with us.”

  Johnny grinned at Case and ran his hand over his greased hair. “You coming?” he asked with a sleazy wink.

  “Are you insane? You don’t know any of these people.”

  “Sure I do. We go way back.”

  Several of the Fan Club looked at Case with interest. She backed away. “Have fun,” she said, and she went back inside.

  She made sure the door closed behind her.

  ***

  “Johnny has lost his fucking mind,” Case said.

  Danny was sitting up in the hotel bed next to her. He looked old, she thought. Even in the low light from one lamp, the lines on his face were dark and pronounced. She doubted she looked any better. The tour was taking its toll on everyone.

  “I don’t know,” Danny said. “He’s taking that alter ego of his a little too seriously, but I wouldn’t say he’s lost his mind.” The words lacked any conviction, and Danny’s eyes kept drifting to the window.

  “Are you kidding? Did you see that pack of crazies he left with? They’re like some kind of cult, and he just wandered off with them, happy as a pig in shit.”

  “Yeah,” Danny whispered. “He’s worked hard, and I know he likes the attention, but those people make me nervous. They’ve been following us.”

  “I know. Erin noticed them, too. They’re part of the reason she left.” Case thought of Erin’s story about the man with the earrings, and of the bad vibe she got onstage sometimes. All the time, lately. She thought carefully before speaking again.

  “Danny, I think there’s something really weird going on here. Something I don’t understand, but I sure know it’s not normal.” She put her hand on his knee. “I think maybe Erin was right. Maybe we ought to get the fuck out of here.”

  Danny looked at her hand and then slowly, as though it pained him, moved his gaze up to her face. “No.”

  Case waited for him to say more, but none was forthcoming. “That’s it? No? You don’t think we ought to talk about this?”

  His face stretched into a pain-streaked grimace. “Please don’t go,” he said.

  Case got quiet. She was aware of her heartbeat and the hiss of blood rushing through her ears. In the next room, the bed thumped against the wall, and somebody swore. She didn’t know if she could bear Danny looking at her that way much longer. “Why not? I can’t do this forever. Not like this. Not with Johnny. Things are getting bad. The first thing you ever learn in a self-defense class is to avoid putting yourself in bad situations, and I feel like I’m hip-deep and sinking.”

  “Just finish the tour,” Danny said. He was pleading, Case saw, breaking her heart and simultaneously disgusting her. She hated herself for the latter. “We’ll talk about what happens next after we get back to Dallas, but please don’t leave now. I’ll talk to Johnny.” He covered her hand with his own. “I’ve got this band, this tour, and you,” he said, “and that’s all. Remember what you told Erin? We’ve sacrificed so much for this. Can we just finish it? Please?”

  Tears streamed down his face, and Case gathered him into her arms. Big, softhearted Danny.

  I love you, s
he almost said, shocking herself as the words rose to her lips. “I’m scared,” she said instead.

  “Me, too.”

  As she held him, she wondered if they were scared of the same things.

  Chapter 30

  Two more shows, Danny told himself. Two more.

  He wasn’t going to last that long. He could feel it. The strain was more than he ever could have imagined. Johnny wasn’t just taking his alter ego too far—somewhere, down in his mind where the dark things slithered, Danny knew that. He didn’t like to think about it, though. There was enough to worry about.

  There was the goddamned Fan Club, for starters. Danny had been having bad dreams and getting lousy sleep ever since that first night in the van. Nobody else seemed to notice, or maybe nobody wanted to say anything, but the bleached blonde with the leather choker that had been following them for seventeen shows and counting had been one of their visitors that night. At every show, she gave Danny a sly look, as though he were her co-conspirator. He’d started to see that face in his dreams, and in every dream she changed to something pale and reptilian and opened her jaws unspeakably wide as she came for him.

  There was something else, too, something he’d been afraid to share with Case. After the last show, Johnny had tossed his journal into the nearest trash barrel like a man throwing away an empty beer bottle.

  Danny didn’t know what had possessed him to go after it, but he had. Maybe it was that he hadn’t seen Johnny without a journal since Johnny was about twelve, or maybe it was that Johnny had been acting weird and Danny thought there might be a clue inside. Maybe it had been some other perverse impulse entirely, but he had waited until Johnny was gone and fished the journal out of the trash. He hadn’t had a lot of time alone with it yet, but there was a whole section with show dates and grim newspaper clippings that made his stomach do unpleasant things.

  It has nothing to do with Johnny, he told himself. Johnny was with us all the time. That was true—but why was Johnny even keeping those articles? Danny didn’t know, but he thought of Quentin a lot. And the Fan Club.

  He’d torched his marriage and shot a budding career in the head for this tour, but the dream was starting to show a lot of wear around the edges.

  Two more shows.

  ***

  Terror gripped Danny from the first note that came out of Johnny’s mouth. Johnny’s voice sounded strange, but that wasn’t all—his voice always sounded strange these days. This time, though, he stepped up to the mic and opened his mouth and—

  Two light bulbs exploded at the back of the room, sending a sizzling shower of short-lived sparks to the floor. The room got darker, too, much darker than it should have with just the two lights out. Case looked back at Danny with an expression that was half afraid and half I-told-you-so. Danny pretended not to see her and tried to concentrate on playing the drums, but he felt it, too. The room had dropped ten degrees and a dank odor, fish and sewage, permeated the air.

  Danny muddled through the rest of the song—it wasn’t hard; he could play it in his sleep by now—and at the very end he noticed the Fan Club. They hadn’t sent up their usual raucous cheer at the end of the song. All twenty-odd of them stared up at Johnny, eyes wide and mouths open, as if they were about to ascend directly to heaven in some kind of bizarre rock concert micro-Rapture. The girl with the leather choker had her tongue out slightly, and she appeared to be panting. Danny shuddered.

  Johnny turned around and put his hand over the mic, getting a squeal of feedback. “Come on!” he said.

  “Fuck,” Danny muttered, realizing he’d been spacing out for who knew how long. He started the next song.

  It should have been hot under the lights, he thought. The goddamn stage lights were so horribly bright he had to squint, but there wasn’t so much as a droplet of sweat on his skin. The room was getting still colder, and though he couldn’t actually see his breath, he felt like he would be able to any minute. Despite the cold, the smell thickened, and now there was a hint of the ocean in the fish and shit stench.

  Case and Allen had pulled back toward Danny, leaving Johnny out front to do his thing. Allen’s face was pale; Case’s was murderous.

  They kept playing. The lights focused in on Johnny, leaving everything else swaddled in a thick, palpable darkness. Danny could see nothing beyond the stage, hear nothing above the music. They could have been playing Madison Square Garden, for all he knew. Or Venus.

  Another song came to an end. No cheers came from the audience, no shouts or cries of “Freebird!” Danny couldn’t tell if there was even anyone out there anymore. He felt empty darkness swirling at his back, eyes boring into his neck, and he shivered.

  Johnny turned around. His grin was wide and hungry, and his eyes gleamed with a light both fanatical and predatory.

  “Do ‘Slipping,’” he said. “I like that one.”

  Danny’s mouth had gone completely dry. He gaped, offering no response.

  “Allen doesn’t know it,” Case protested in a small voice. “We didn’t rehearse that one.”

  Allen must have seen something in Johnny’s face that bothered him. “Just play,” he said quickly. “I’ll watch you and catch up.”

  “It’s awfully down-tempo for this crowd,” Case said.

  “They’ll love it,” Johnny said, smiling until Danny thought his face would tear. “Trust me.”

  Case took an obvious glance toward the back of the stage, her eyes white and darting.

  “I wouldn’t,” Johnny said. “The Fan Club paid good money for this show. I’d hate to see them disappointed.”

  Danny winced. The subtext was painfully clear, and he could only imagine how Case would respond to the threat.

  This is going to get ugly.

  But Case’s face stayed neutral, and she played the first chord of the song, a dissonant, eerie chord that Danny had really liked—about a hundred years ago. Danny picked up the beat mechanically, following along out of habit more than anything else. It was a straightforward enough tune, and Allen picked it up after the first iteration.

  Johnny nodded and went back to the mic stand.

  “I felt it slipping

  A little yesterday

  A little bit crumbled away”

  He sang, and the darkness crowded around. Danny could see the crowd now, hundreds of pairs of gleaming eyes reflecting the light back to the stage. The crowd swayed back and forth with the music, making no sound. An icy finger slid down the back of Danny’s neck, and his body stiffened. Sweat, he realized. Now he was sweating, cold beads of ice water.

  “I think I’m losing traction

  I think I’m losing touch

  I think I’m sliding away”

  The Fan Club started singing with Johnny. There was no way they could know the words, but they did. Their voices swelled in an eerie harmony, and the darkness closed in even tighter. Breath was hard to find, and each labored inhalation brought the stink of decay.

  Something cold touched Danny’s neck again, but this time he knew it wasn’t sweat. Claws or sharp fingernails ran down his spine, and he shivered. His mind gibbered at him: Don’t look don’t look don’t look maybe it will go away maybe it’s nothing don’t look. He fucked up the beat and dropped a stick.

  Then the cold hand, a cold mind pushed against him with a rancid and intolerable pressure. It beckoned to him, whispered seductive things in his ear, and all the weeks of strain and travel and fighting caught up to him. He was so tired. He felt it push again, and he offered no resistance.

  The world stopped. Case, Allen, and Johnny still moved, but Danny’s body froze, and his thoughts became strange and alien. His limbs felt cold and dead, and he was suddenly filled with a yawning, vast hunger, like nothing he had ever experienced.

  A moment later, he was kicked to the back of his own mind, and he watched in horror his arms started to move on their own, picking up the song in the middle. Laughter filled his head.

  Somewhere, buried back in his own head, Danny s
creamed. No sound escaped his lips.

  ***

  That’s it. I’m bugging the fuck out. Case left the stage after the last song, just as the lights came up and the crowd inexplicably burst into riotous applause. She’d make one last attempt to get Danny to leave with her, but she was done either way. Everything about this is wrong, she thought, even as the memory of the show drained away, losing some of its power.

  Was it really that bad? she wondered as she hit the first stair. By the time she made it all the way down the stairs, all she remembered of the show was a vague unease. The Fan Club—they’d done something strange, hadn’t they? And Johnny had demanded the band play—what was it? Something Allen didn’t know, she was sure of that.

  The specifics were gone already, but she knew she was done. Something had gone pear-shaped up there, and the fact that she couldn’t remember it just minutes after the event was all the proof she needed.

  She turned around to see if the others were coming. Allen was right behind her, a confused twist to his features. He rubbed his head and looked puzzled. Danny was in conference with Johnny. God knew what that was about, but Case doubted anything useful would come from it. Johnny was . . . not Johnny these days.

  When Danny turned to her, that lingering sense of unease cranked way up. He gave her a disturbingly flat smile and patted Johnny on the shoulder. “We’re going out,” he said. “You wanna come?”

  “Uh. Where are you going?”

  Danny shrugged. “Out with the Fan Club. Johnny says they’re a scream.” His smile stayed fixed, like a drawing that had been stapled to his face.

  Case took a step backward. “You guys go ahead,” she said hesitantly. Every nerve in her body screamed. You need to get out of here, Case, she told herself, trying to keep calm. Don’t let them know anything is wrong, and as soon as they leave, go. Far away. It doesn’t matter where. Get the hell out of here. It didn’t matter that there was only one show left—it wouldn’t have mattered if there were only one hour left. It was time to go. “I’ll see you back at the hotel,” she said. The lie sounded hollow and transparent in her ears, but Danny just smiled. Johnny nodded, grinned, and touched up his hair.