DIES IREA

 

     The show the next night at the club was uneventful. We churned through an uninspired set of notes and motions. I was emotionally exhausted and felt that Mr. D was already slipping away again. I always was profoundly affected by my moods when I was on stage. I couldn’t fake it. I was worried and tired, and what I did on stage was uninspired. Megan gave her usual strong performance, but she was the only constellation on the stage. Michelle seemed to feel the tension between her friends. She had wanted to move on with the audition process, and even hoped it might be over after the discussion in the Mother-Ship, but  no progress had been made. I guess we were all disappointed.

     After the show we all met the stragglers in the crowd at the front of the stage. Most of them were students, as usual. Christine was not among them. Several kids came up to tell me they loved the show. I was always fascinated when I felt like the show had been lackluster, but others were impressed. It left me feeling hollow, like I didn’t deserve their affectionate attention. I wondered how they could find value in a performance that I had not enjoyed. Did they not see the tension? Was their enthusiasm genuine? I often wondered if we had even been in the same room. If I was in a particularly bad space, I would speculate that some the fans would find any show spectacular, because it was self deceit. They had a vested interest in seeing the band at its best, and wouldn’t admit that they were part of a failure. The show was not a failure, but it was also not transcendental, it was average.

     As the crowd dwindled, Michelle closed down the kitchen. I walked up to the counter and asked her if she had seen Christine during the afternoon.

     She said, “I was in the kitchen prepping the salad bar, making sandwiches and cleaning up all day. I thought she would come back... what a disappointment.”

     “Yeah, no shit. I guess you always hope someone with that much talent will help you, but they are often the coldest.” Michelle turned her attention back to cleaning. “I guess I have to learn that lesson over and over.” I had seen many bands dragged down by the shining star, the precious possession, the towering talent, the One. The performers I had met with the most to die for talent were always fractured inside. It seemed that the same thing that made them polish and perfect their craft, their self absorption, or maybe their withdrawal, made them careless of others. I watched the last of the crowd milling about. Sonic Eddie was putting away mics. Kaos was working the gate. Kaos would stay at the gate until everyone who came to the show was out the door. The Invisible Man was nowhere to be seen.

     I walked over to one of the tables and sat down with Mr. D. I had to say something to cut the ice. “Man, Megan sure saved the show tonight.”

     Mr. D shrugged “She has an inner light. Her sight never leaves the horizon.” She was talking to several kids and walking with them to the door. “If we could learn her craft that would be the sound of sadness breaking.” Mr. D was very proud of his sister. He beamed as he watched her, I have to admit that almost everyone did.

    Mr. D held onto Sir. Charles as we spoke. In addition to the dancers, musicians, dreamers and misfit toys that lived at Dwnwrdspyrl, there were several animals. Sir. Charles was as white as a snow flake. He contrasted with the mouser at the Funny Farm whom we called Midnight for all the right reasons. There was only one other companion creature on site that night, the guard dog Sgt. Pepper. She could only come inside the club when the kitchen was closed down. I mention our four legged brothers and sisters only because they were about to play a part in the drama that is unfolding.

     I went to the back of the club to let Sgt. Pepper in after the last of the braves left the club. She was the pet that I had brought into the club. We took turns having pets. Food was so scarce that we couldn’t justify feeding a lot of pets. We couldn’t all have pets, so we shared. Pepper was a beautifully dark shepherd/husky mix. She had been the only bitch in a litter of males. I say bitch, but I also meant it. She was very protective and aggressive. I love her, but anyone whom she didn’t like was going to know it. The mail man, the militia man and the stranger were all her enemy. She was great with everyone else. She was particularly a bad ass around Megan.

     I walked through the club with Pepper heading to the back stage area. The club was cavernous and cold now. The stage was empty. The back stage would be warm and cozy. I always worked up a dripping sweat when playing, so my first stop would be the showers. I was thinking about the day ahead when I got to the dressing room. Everyone was relaxing and trying to wind down when I came into the room. Even after a dull show the adrenaline from playing meant that it would be hours before anyone was ready to go up to the apartments. Mr, D still held Sir. Charles and was sitting in the comfy chair when Pepper and I walked in.

     Pepper was very affectionate when she was let back into the club. Although she would be a bad ass to strangers, she was at ease around her tribe. Mr. D handed Sir. Charles to Megan when he saw us come in. because he was closest to the door and Pepper would, in her bitchy way, insist on attention from the nearest person she could find. Sir. Charles would have to find another lap to sit in. This was the point at which the machine was exposed.

     When Mr. D handed the cat to Megan Sir. Charles hissed. It was not a Noise we had heard before. It was something of a mixture of fear and dread and pain. It was a Horrible Noise. He clung to Mr, D’s hand and Megan tried to pull him away. As we stood in astonishment Sir. Charles climbed across Mr. D and made a bee line for the door, but not before he bit Megan to make her let go. Mr. D stood up and said, “Fucking cat.”

     The next few moments were a blur. Sgt. Pepper was the next piece to move on the chess board. She knew, in the way that instincts relate, that Megan was the threat in the room. Megan, in the cool logic of a machine, knew that Pepper was the primary threat in the room. When Pepper lunged Megan used an evasive move and took out Mr. D in the process. Then there were three. Pepper, before she could recover and redirect her attack was taken out. Then there were two. I didn’t know what to do. I also lunged at Josie’s murderer. Then there was one. I could only see out of one eye as Michelle was sent to hell.

     In case there is any doubt as to what happened to Megan, she had died the night Josie disappeared. She was the first to fall to IT. Josie had seen the machine as it entered the club from above the mantelpiece to take Megan’s place. It came through the Looking Glass. Josie came out of the kitchen, but it was too late. IT got her.