The Devil's Metal (3 page)

I thought about approaching her and dragging
her away, but I knew better than to get between Mel and her man,
whichever man that was. Frankly, I was a little jealous, too. She
had no problems finding a guy to shag, where I was too hung up on
Ryan to even consider anybody in the venue. Sure, I liked the looks
I had gotten earlier but looks never went very far with me. If Ryan
and I were actually really, truly dunzo, I was going to have a hell
of a time trying to get over him.

I glanced at my watch. It was only nine and
probably still light outside. It was going to be a long walk
without the Gremlin but everyone was walking these days because of
the gas prices and I was more than used to it. I shot one more
glance at Mel, hoping she wasn’t occupied but she still hadn’t come
up for air. And with the way ghetto creep’s hand was manhandling
her boob, I didn’t think she’d be breathing anytime soon.

I decided to call her house and leave a
message with her mother when I got home, just so she wouldn’t worry
about me, then pushed my way through the remainder of the concert
goers and past the bouncers until I was outside. The sun had set
but the air was still bathed in a sticky golden glow. The
thunderstorm had passed though rumbles still emanated in the
distance.

I only made it one block before a tan VW
beetle puttered up to me. I was immediately met with chills, even
though the air was heavy with warmth.

“Excuse me,” a male voice called out from
the car. I stopped and gave it a wary look as it came to a stop and
the engine turned off. If he was wondering if he could give me a
ride, he was shit out of luck. Ever since a few girls had been
murdered and beaten on campus (including one from my English Lit
class) earlier in the spring, no one wanted to take chances with
strangers.

I straightened my shoulders and made sure my
arms were flexed slightly. A weakling I wasn’t and I wanted this
man to know I could take care of myself.

He got out of the car, dressed in a white
tennis outfit and thankfully stood on the other side of the
vehicle. He gave me a short wave. He wasn’t a bad looking guy at
all, tall and dark-haired, and he seemed harmless, especially when
I noticed his left arm was in a sling. But he gave me the
heebie-jeebies like nothing else. His eyes didn’t look…normal. They
looked predatory.

“My name’s Ted,” he said, giving me an open
smile.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t about to
tell him my name. Normally I would have asked if he needed help,
but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I stared back at him. I wanted to look away
but that would have been a sign of weakness and he looked like one
of those animals who’d pounce when your guard was down.

He frowned a bit, perhaps confused by my
stand-offishness, then put another smile on. It was about as fake
as Santa Claus. “I was wondering if you could help me, I think my
friend and I are lost.”

I looked back at the car. I could see the
outline of someone else in the backseat, a thin woman it looked
like, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

“Sorry, I have to go,” I told him feebly. I
turned to keep walking, though I was entertaining the idea of
turning around and heading back to the venue for safety.

“But you’re on the cusp of all your dreams,”
he called after me.

I stopped in mid-stride and shot him a
curious look. If this was his equivalent of offering me candy, it
was working.

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help it.

He smiled again and leaned a bit against the
car. He was looking less handsome now. His eyes were devious and
disturbing, his lips too small and twisted.

“Could you tell me how to get to the
University?” he asked.

I could. But I wanted to hear more about the
dreams.

“Turn around, head down Ruby and turn right
on East University Way,” I quickly told him. “What did you say
about my dreams?”

He stepped back and gestured at the VW.
“Come along for a ride and I’ll tell you all about the journey
you’re about to embark upon.”

Goosebumps prickled down my arms. “What
journey?”

Walking home?
That
journey?

He shook his head as if he heard my
thoughts. “Step inside. I’ll tell you about how it all ends. In
fire. With a man you’ll never be able to save.”

Okay, this was beyond creepy. This was run
away, now and fast.

“Or find out for yourself,” he added. He
started to get back in the car, much to my relief and bewilderment.
“It’s your choice.”

The door slammed and the car started up with
a roar. The ending notes of a Hybrid song, “Sky Valley” wafted out
from the windows. The VW quickly pulled out onto the road and did a
U-turn, puttering away in the direction of the university.

As it went past me again, Ted kept his eyes
on the road. But in the backseat I got a glimpse of the woman. She
was staring straight at me, a blur of pale skin and long white hair
obscured by the dirtiness of the rear windshield.

I held my breath, my heart racing strangely
as they drove down the street. I waited until they were out of
sight before I booked it home. Running in boots was noisy and hard
on my ankles, but I went for a run several times a week to keep the
weight off and I had enough stamina to push through it for
forty-five sweaty minutes.

By the time I arrived home, it was
completely dark out and I was soaked in sweat. I had never been so
happy to see the farmhouse before. Even in its scrawny, faded
condition it felt like a safety net after the night I just had.
Just what the hell had happened with that Ted guy? Was he just
someone sinister or had I just smoked too much pot? I made a mental
note to take it easier next time, especially as my lungs were extra
wheezy.

I opened the screen door slowly, knowing it
squeaked extra loud at night, and listened for signs of life. It
was quiet and almost dark except for a faint light coming from the
living room. I crept toward it and spied my father passed out on
the couch, two empty cans of cheap beer beside him. I sighed,
though I should have been happy he had just been drinking beer and
none of the hard stuff. I took the blanket off of the armchair and
put it over him.

I loved my dad to pieces, except when he was
drunk, which was often. It was a strained relationship at best,
especially since I had been such a daddy’s girl growing up. I was
really everything he had until Eric came along six years later. But
then Mom died and shit just went downhill. Still, I didn’t blame my
dad. Well, I tried not to. It was something I worked on every day.
He still managed to keep his job at the repair shop, I just wished
he’d pull himself together for Eric’s sake. He needed extra care,
more than the average sixteen-year-old, and I was tired of taking
care of both of them. I knew that was selfish of me, but...

I tucked the quilt underneath his heavy arms
and brushed the hair off of his forehead. It was dirty and graying
and made me sad. I sighed again, my heart still thumping from the
run, and went into the kitchen for a glass of water before bed. I
remembered I had to phone Mel’s mom and leave a message for her. It
was getting late but she was used to the two of us calling each
other all hours of the night.

I went for the phone and saw there was
something addressed to me on the message pad. It was my dad’s
writing. For a second I hoped that Ryan had called while I was out
and the skin prickled deliciously at the back of my neck.

Dawn! Call Maureen at Cream Magazine.
313-587-2837.

Huh. I brought the pad up to my face, as if
that would help me understand it better. What area code was 313?
And what was Cream? Did he mean
Creem
Magazine?

My heart pounded loudly.

I looked over at my dad who was now snoring
loudly. I didn’t want to wake him up, knowing he’d probably be
drunk and disorderly if I did. I’d have to catch him in the
morning.

Unless Eric knew something. I quickly filled
up a glass with water and downed it before I scuttled up the stairs
to our bedrooms. Eric’s door was closed and I leaned against it,
listening. When I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, I opened
it quietly and peeked in. He was sprawled under his sheets,
twitching slightly, the moonlight shining in through the dusty
window. God damn it, why was everyone asleep in this house?

I carefully shut the door behind me and once
inside my room, I flicked on my lights and collapsed on the bed. I
rolled over on my back and looked up at my heaven—the ceiling. My
bedroom was my prized sanctuary, always had been. Through my mom’s
depression, my father’s collapse, Eric’s affliction, this was the
one place I felt…home. Even when a quick ride on Moonglow didn’t
wash away the blues, my room did, so as long as I put a record on
my beloved orange player and slipped on a pair of earphones. I had
a massive record collection that took up one wall of my room,
competing for space with riding ribbons and trophies. I kept the
walls more or less bare to showcase the concert photos I had taken
and deemed good enough to frame. The ceiling was where my posters
were, held to it with sticky blue gum. Lying on my back, it was
easy to get lost in Pink Floyd’s rainbow or Elton John’s yellow
brick road. Jimmy Page stared down at me with a sleepy look in his
eyes, while Ozzy made goofy faces. Jeff Beck, The Guess Who, Dust,
Wings, The Doors, and Wishbone Ash, jockeyed for position with Jimi
Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Alice Cooper, The Beatles, Ziggy
Stardust, Queen, The Stooges, and The Allman Brothers Band.

Before I had time to wonder what Ryan was
doing, if Todd was going to get his interview, who the hell that
Ted guy was, and what Cream was all about, I swept away to sleep by
the music in my head.

I dreamed of fire.

CHAPTER TWO

I was slowly woken up by sunshine streaming
in through my window and the phone ringing from downstairs. Before
I had time to fathom that I had fallen asleep in my disgusting
clothes on top of the covers, my brother was yelling at me through
the house.

“Dawn! Phone’s for you!” I heard him at the
bottom of the stairs, a small hoot and bark following the
sentence.

I sat up and groaned, feeling it was far too
early for anything, then remembered the message from the night
before. I sprang to my feet and scampered down the stairs, my boots
clunking loudly.

My brother was standing in the kitchen in
his pajamas and eating from a bowl of cereal. He gave me a
disgusted look as I came near, his head twitching.

“Ew, did you sleep in those?” he asked,
placing the phone in my hand. His left shoulder shrugged up in a
tic.

“I had a weird night,” I told him. I quickly
placed my hand over the mouth piece and whispered to him. “Who is
it?”

“Who do you think?”

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello, Dawn
speaking.”

“Bitch!” Mel hissed from the other line.

Ah, crap I had totally forgotten about
calling her mom.

“Hey, sorry about last night,” I said,
rubbing my forehead, trying to get the sleep out.

“Sorry?! You know I spent half my night
looking for you? Tiny and I nearly turned the place upside down
when I couldn’t find you!”

Tiny was ghetto creep’s real name.
Figured.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there and I
didn’t want to interrupt you and ghet—er Tiny. You looked
busy.”

“I
was
busy, but damn girl you know
you come first.”

“Sorry again,” I said. Eric was watching me,
amused yet melancholic, cornflakes being shoved in his mouth. The
milk spilled a bit from his shoulder tic.

“Well, what happened?” she prodded, sounding
calmer.

I told her about Todd and Terry’s supposed
interview and how I had a minor panic attack of sorts. I didn’t
want to add in the part about Ted though, that would have only made
her madder.

“Did I ruin your night?” I asked.

“No, you didn’t,” she said with a sigh. “I
assumed you left, and I asked the doorman and he said you did and
that you looked fine. I know you can take care of yourself. Still,
Dawn, you have to be careful, you dig? You know, 1974 is starting
to be a scary year with all them chicks going missing and
stuff.”

A shiver ran down my spine. I thought back
to Ted’s strange, otherworldly eyes and the way the girl in the
backseat stared at me like she knew me somehow. I could barely see
her but I had
felt
it.

“I know,” I told her, wiping the image out
of my head. “I was being paranoid, don’t worry.”

“
Make a joke and I will sigh and you will
laugh and I will cry
.” She sang Ozzy on the spot.

“Don’t insult my Sabbath love,” I warned
her. “Anyway, I’m home. I passed out in my clothes though so I’ve
got to take a shower. I think Eric is about to lose his breakfast
here.”

I winked at him, and after promising to hang
out with Mel tomorrow, I hung up the phone in its cradle.

I turned to Eric and ruffled the top of his
head, something he hated but I would never stop doing. I got the
tall genes in the family, along with the red hair and tanned,
freckly skin. Eric was small, short, skinny and pale with a shock
of dark hair. Our eyes were the same though, brown as coffee, and
we shared our mother’s slim nose and high cheekbones.

“What were you doing after school? You
didn’t come home,” I asked him, pulling out a chair at the dining
table. There was one brown banana in the fruit bowl and I decided
to make it my breakfast. I wasn’t a picky eater. I couldn’t afford
to be.

“I…I asked out Sheena Warner,” he said,
clearing his throat in another one of his tics. I could tell he was
trying to suppress them around me when he shouldn’t. See, my
brother has Tourette’s Syndrome. It’s nothing like the stereotype.
I mean, I guess there are a lot of similarities but my brother
doesn’t go around making obscene comments or swearing at people. I
think the doctor told us that was in a different category. Even so,
my brother makes these little hoots and barks, sometimes randomly,
sometimes during a sentence. He has three tics that appear all the
time: his left shoulder shrug, his facial twitch, and his
throat-clearing. The shoulder one can be really violent at times
and the more he tries to suppress it, the more stress he causes on
his body. Emotions make the tics wilder, too.