by Karina Halle
But I couldn’t dwell on it—I wouldn’t let myself. Jacob was right: I just had to be there for her, that’s all I could do. We had to go on, take that step into each hour, toward the end of each day, and hope that we could handle whatever horrific thing was going to be thrown at us. It wasn’t much of a life, but we had to make do. And tonight I had a show to put on in motherfucking Rome. I had a show to make up for the drunken one I played in Nice. I had a show to prove that I was capable of coming back from the brink.
Those fucks didn’t have us yet, no matter what deal was made.
Our hotel was the best one on the tour so far, a white-and-gold temple, just steps away from the Trevi fountain and a gelato shop that Jacob called the world’s best.
I looked at Dawn as we sat in the backseat of the cab, holding her hand before we stepped out. “Gelato sounds good. It sounds like Rome to me. You ever see Roman Holiday?”
She shook her head, her eyes squinting at the harsh sun coming through the dirty windows.
“You haven’t?” I asked. “Audrey Hepburn? My man, Gregory Peck?”
She gave me a funny look. “Your man?”
“There was no greater hero for me than Gregory Peck when I was growing up. Atticus Finch, man. Almost made me want to be a lawyer.” She still looked confused. “Jeez. Okay, well, let’s live a little. Let’s do fun things today before the show.”
Her brows came together in trepidation. “Are you sure that’s smart?”
I leaned into her and kissed her softly. I pulled away and stared into her eyes. “We have to keep going on. We have to live a little…while we can. Where better than Rome?”
She sucked in her bottom lip but nodded. We got out of the cab and stared at the bustling world around us. Tourists with their knee-high socks and giant cameras around their necks, little boys playing around the edge of the fountain, an old man in a purple suit selling newspapers from a cart. Pigeons everywhere and the scent of coffee beans in the air.
We checked into the hotel and naturally Max had to insist he was staying in our room. The front desk clerk seemed really disturbed at the idea of two men and one woman sharing a room together, especially when she saw the roadies behind us with my acoustic guitars in their arms, but she let it slide. It may have been 1975, but Rome was still a pretty conservative city.
I started thinking about that as we put our bags away in our tiled-floor room. The churches in the city, the Vatican, the Pope, the Holy See. I wasn’t a religious man, though in hindsight perhaps I should have been, considering what I’d been through. But when I was a boy, when my mother was alive, we went to church in Redding every Sunday. She was a devout Catholic, as most of our family in Mexico had been, although my father had no interest. The church-going stopped after she died, but I still held on to a kernel of my faith throughout the years. I wasn’t sure if I was about to rediscover it now, but churches were always a haven for those in trouble, if not a place to seek answers.
However, I didn’t want to bring this up around Max. I didn’t know how he fit into any of it. He admitted to there being a Heaven and a Hell, but he never described himself as an angel, even though it was the closest thing I had to compare him to. A guardian without the angelic part. Even still, I didn’t want him to tell me it was pointless or futile because I would have no choice but to believe him, and the little faith I did have would be gone.
“Let’s go explore,” I said to Dawn, grabbing her hand and pulling her to me. I looked up at Max, expecting him to say something. He wasn’t protesting, but he looked uncomfortable with the idea all the same. “Any objections?”
His eyes narrowed in thought, studying me carefully.
I added, “And I do mean just Dawn and me. I know you probably got off on that little peep show we gave you on the beach, but it’s broad daylight outside. I don’t think anything is going to happen now with all these people around.”
Max and her exchanged a quick but loaded look.
“What?” I asked, feeling like I was missing out on something.
“Nothing,” he finally said, rubbing his lips together. “Yep, fine. I reckon that’s fine. If I heard Jacob correctly, you only have two hours before your soundcheck anyway, so…be my guests. Just…be careful. Don’t let go of each other. And if you come into any trouble…”
“There isn’t some dog whistle we can do?” I asked, feeling like a bit of a jackass as I did so.
He crossed his big arms. He wasn’t amused. “Actually, if she knew how to get into the Veil, she could find me there. But that’s…nothing for her to worry about. Go have fun.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as she grabbed her purse and we left the room.
As we walked down the stairs to the lobby, she smacked my chest with her hand. “You could be nicer to him, you know.”
“I am nice. I’m a nice guy. I just don’t like him following us around all the livelong day, that’s all.”
“Well, he’s not one of your roadies, you know,” she said. “He’s a lot more useful than you think.”
I pondered that for a moment, wondering if she was getting at something. I decided she wasn’t.
“My roadies are useful, by the way.”
“For getting drugs and stoking your ego.”
“Yeah, well, it all counts.”
Our first stop was the gelato, which was pretty damn good but since they didn’t really serve gelato in California, there wasn’t much to compare it to. Kinda like watery ice cream with a kick. Perfect in the heat, anyway. Next we went on to the Trevi Fountain, where we wrestled aside the tourists to get a prime spot to flick coins into the fountain. The color was so blindingly blue that I thought it would make a fine album cover. Funny that my head was making all these plans for the future when the future seemed so fucking precarious.
After the fountain, we headed for the Spanish Steps. Since she hadn’t seen Roman Holiday, I couldn’t run down it and pretend to bump into her. And every time I attempted to explain the film, she looked at me as if I were missing my testicles, so that quickly shut me up.
And renting a Vespa—that was totally out of the question.
After the Spanish Steps, we wandered the winding streets, past the street kids begging for money, the groups of nuns who seemed to float as they walked, and the vendors trying to sell fruit. It was about then that I started to feel uneasy, like people were staring at us funny, that the gargoyles and statues around us had eyes. I was sure it was just my imagination, but it was enough that I pulled Dawn toward the first church I saw, which happened to be around the corner from the awe-inspiring dome of the Pantheon.
“Where are we going?” she asked as we entered the small white building with its thick door of dark wood. “Is this a famous landmark?”
“No,” I whispered, my body already feeling reverence for the place. It was even smaller inside and sparsely decorated compared to the Catholic church I went to as a kid. It was completely empty, save for a woman in black kneeling in prayer at the front pew, and the air inside had a strange kind of hush to it.
I led Dawn to a row of pews halfway to the altar and we sat down. We both looked around us at the crosses on the walls and the rad stained glass designs, which would have looked amazing had the church had any view beyond the windows. For some reason, it was completely closed in on each side by the surrounding buildings, which gave it a claustrophobic feeling, as if we were in a box of reverence.
“Why are we here?” she whispered, leaning close to me, her eyes never leaving the altar and the woman who was at the front.
“I thought we could find…” I started, not realizing how ridiculous it might sound to her, “…solace in here. Safety. Whether you’re religious or not, churches are a haven. I thought maybe this would make you feel better.”
She seemed to take that all in, nodding slowly. She shot me a sly look. “I never pegged you to be a religious man.”
“I’m not, not really. But my mother believed in it.
Believed in it a lot. It never did her harm. I just know what we’re dealing with is…” I looked around me uneasily. “…The Devil.”
Though I was talking in an extremely low voice, the woman in black lifted her head. She didn’t turn, but it was obvious she was aware of us in the church with her, and was suddenly paying attention.
I gulped uneasily and continued, lowering my voice so it was a harsh whisper right in Dawn’s ear. “We know that’s who you made the deal with. Who I made the deal with. And if there’s a Devil, there is a God. I figured, Jacobs aside, maybe he owes us a favor. And even if he doesn’t, maybe this is one place you can be without fear.”
She turned her head to me, her nose brushing against mine. “If that’s the case, then why do I feel so damn afraid?”
Her eyes were watering, her forehead lined. She was afraid. In fact, she was trembling.
“What is it?” I asked, putting my hand behind her head, my fingers melting into her tangled hair.
Her eyes drifted over to the woman at the pew who was slowly getting to her knees, her black robe draping around her, her back still to us.
“She’s not human,” Dawn said quietly, her fear audible with each syllable.
I couldn’t tell if Dawn was being overly paranoid or not, but if she didn’t feel safe here, in the place I thought she would, then I wanted us to leave.
“Let’s go,” I said, assuring her. I got to my feet, my knees hitting the back of the pew with a whack, the church not constructed for someone as tall as me. I pulled her up and we squeezed out into the aisle.
We both stared dumbly at the front. The woman was standing absolutely still in the middle of the aisle, facing the altar.
A huge BANG caused us both to jump and flip around.
The huge wooden door we came in through had slammed shut. The flames in the candles around it danced, and it felt like a shadow came over the whole room, like a cloud going over the sun.
We looked at each other. I could tell the terror inside Dawn wanted to annihilate her. But it was just a closed door. It was just the wind. Nothing could happen in here, in one of these houses of the holy, with Rome going outside the door as normal. If it could, it would rewrite everything I thought of as a sure thing in this world.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand.
We made it to a few pews outside the door when we heard the rustle. The sound of clothing dragging on the ground. Ragged breathing. Heavy thumps. Behind us.
I squeezed her hand, my way of telling her to keep going, to not turn around. Even though we both knew now that there was something behind us, that there was something very unnatural going on in this goddamned church.
We got to the door and I tried to open it, lifting the heavy iron latch on the handle.
It wouldn’t open.
There was a terrible, skeletal crack behind us, followed by more in rapid succession. It sounded like my dad when he cracked his knuckles, but deeper, more succinct, like someone was breaking every bone in their body, over and over again. The sound was so loud, so clear, and so sharp that it echoed loudly around the church.
Dawn started to turn around to look, but I tugged harshly on her arm, my eyes digging into hers. “Do not turn around,” I told her. “Whatever you do, do not turn around.”
I saw her swallow, her eyes bulging wide, her mouth quivering, but she held it together and nodded.
The cracking noise got closer, the rustling, dragging noise continuing. In my mind I saw the woman crawling on her knees, reaching for us with bony arms and long spindly fingers, her black cloak behind her, her joints and bones breaking as she stretched and grew and took on an inhuman form. I was so tempted to turn around and look, to see if the horror in my mind matched the horror that was right there behind us.
Fucking shit. I was going to lose it.
I took in a deep breath and tried the door again, willing myself not to panic, praying, fucking praying that we would be let out of the church.
The iron latch lifted. I gasped in relief and pulled open the heavy door and, with Dawn’s hand in mine, we ran out into the busy Roman street, the sunshine and crowds blowing the terror away from our faces.
We ran all the way back to the hotel. We never once looked back.
Despite what went on the church, despite the way we felt, what we saw or, more specifically, didn’t see, the concert in Rome went off without a hitch. Once Dawn and I got back from the church, trying desperately to make sense of what had happened (our theory was that either we were extremely paranoid—with reason—or the demons fed off our fear), we were quickly swept up in the soundcheck and the concert proceedings.
Normally I would have been worried about my performance, the setlist, the way the band was performing together, the fans in Rome, but none of that even crossed my mind. I just cared about Dawn and keeping her safe. When I knew Max would be on the side stage with her during the show and Jacob would be on the other side, I relaxed. I made the night about just going out there and delivering my music the way I wanted to. I conjured up all the dreams I had as a kid, just wanting fame and adulation and respect and the chance to share something I made—something I was—with the people who wanted to receive it.
So yeah, Rome was an awesome show. Thank you, Italy. I played sober, remembered all my lyrics, tried to give everyone my soul, and they in turn seemed more than satisfied. They sang along, they cheered, they danced, they rocked out. And every now and then, I’d look to the shadows of the side stage and see Dawn watching me, always watching me, like the fucking biggest fan, and that’s what I so loved about her. That through and through, she was a fan, a lover, a friend, a girlfriend. She was everything, and at that moment on stage, I had everything. A world at my feet and a woman with my heart.
Things didn’t get weird until we finished the encore. I decided on “Wet Lips” again, just because I was feeling respectful, just because I was feeling. Because, God-fucking-dammit, did Hybrid mean the world to me, and though I loved being a solo artist, I loved having the control and going at it on my own, it was lonely. It was lonely in this creative realm. I missed Robbie and Mickey and even Chip, our sound tech. I missed Noelle’s smile when you did something that actually made her smile. I missed the way Robbie argued the lyrics, even when he didn’t write the song. I missed it all. But now I was alone, the one-man show, and I was making a go of it. This was my tribute.
It was after the solo during “Wet Lips,” the one part where I really thought that I gave Mr. James Page a run for his money, where the licks just peeled off of my fingers, that I saw something that reminded me things were not one hundred percent normal and we were not one hundred percent safe.
I looked out into the audience. Half the time you were blinded by stage lights and couldn’t really see any individual faces, which usually made it that much easier to perform for someone like me, who didn’t get off on it (unlike Robbie, who did get off on it). But with the sporadic way the house had the lights for “Lips,” the spotlight was going off on the crowd.
And I saw a familiar face looking back at me.
Long white hair, calculating purple eyes, and a vicious, razor-sharp grin.
The ultimate groupie from Hell: Alva.
The last time I’d seen her was when she dragged me to Lake Shasta in an attempt to kill Dawn and finish me off before my twenty-eighth birthday.
Now she was here in Rome at my solo show.
Now she’d come to collect on Dawn.
I nearly fucked up the last chorus of the song, my eyes trained on the demon in horror. But when the spotlight moved off of her, she was gone, and I managed to soldier through the very end to the applause.
I wasn’t imagining shit, though, not this time. I was shown just enough to put the fear back into my soul.
When the house lights went back on, signaling the end of the show, I headed straight to Dawn at the side stage, my Gibson 335 still around my neck.
“Are you okay?
” I asked her, wiping the sweat from my brow.
She was smiling though looking concerned now. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sage…that was amazing.”
I was buzzing too much from Alva now to be buzzing about the show. I reached over and kissed her hard with salty lips, my guitar pressed between us.
When I pulled away, she was breathless, and I noticed Max staring at me intently. I could tell he knew something was up, but I didn’t want to worry Dawn and neither did he.
“Sage,” Jacob boomed, striding over with a glass of red wine in his hand.
I eyed it. “That for me?”
“No,” he said dryly, taking a sip. “A manager has to have his perks, too.” He jerked his head toward the backstage. “Come on, the Italian press wants to get a hold of you, and I believe they’re even, er, grabbier than the French.” He looked to Dawn. “You can come, too, love, now that your relationship is the talk of the town.”
I squeezed her hand and peered down at her, not wanting her out of my sight. “You’re staying by my side whether you want to or not.”
“I think I can handle myself,” she said with a sly grin, and together we walked off into the zoo backstage. And when I say zoo, I mean zoo. Jacob was right. The Italian journalists were pushy, loud, and passionate. The translators had to work fast to make sure the correct questions came through, though I had to say they were at least a smiling bunch of hacks, which made the whole thing a lot more bearable.
When that was over and done with, Dawn handling herself quite well as the subject instead of the journalist this time, we headed back to the hotel, with Tricky and Garth dragging us out to a bar around the corner. It seems in the short time we’d been Rome, Tricky had fallen in love with waitress who worked there. He was also giving me a hard time about how serious we’d all gotten over the last couple of days.
“Seriously, dude,” he said to me after we slammed back a shot of Sambuca, “you should be grinning like you’ve eaten shit here.” He looked to Dawn, who was sitting beside me at the bar. Smoke sat in a haze above our heads, ‘50s jazz music played over the speakers, and Garth was in the toilets, apparently sick from drinking too much earlier. “And you, too. What’s with all the glum faces lately?”