The Devil's Reprise (22 page)
Dawn
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave that here?” Max asked.
It had been a few weeks since we left Prague. Though the tour was obviously canceled (though Tricky insisted it was just postponed), it took some time for us to claim the body of Jacob from the hospital. They all wanted to speak to me, the girl who wouldn’t die, though through some of Max’s smooth talking via a translator, we were able to convince the hospital that it was actually their fault. People don’t just come back from the dead; it would have been their faulty physicians who claimed me dead when I wasn’t. After that, they pretty much let it go.
We weren’t sure where to take Jacob—Sage was the closest thing he had to a family. I guess being a Jacob was a pretty lonely life. But because he was from England and often talked about his home in the quiet district of Rotherhithe in London, we found the nicest cemetery and had him buried there. We weren’t the only ones at the funeral—this was The Cobb, and his mysterious death attracted music lovers from all over. But it didn’t matter because we were the ones who loved him the most. We were the ones who knew the real him.
In keeping with Jacob’s wishes—that I play him Hybrid one day—I brought out a portable record player. It was sunny out and fairly hot for late May. I placed it on his grave the day after he was buried, amid the flowers and wreaths we had bought him. We made sure they were in the gaudiest colors imaginable.
Sage leaned down and picked up the needle, placing it on “Wet Lips.” The three of us rocked out in that graveyard, me softly singing along, Sage playing air guitar, and Max nodding to the beat. We did that for the whole song. And the next song. And the next. We did it until we were told to leave for being too disruptive where people needed eternal peace.
“You want to wake the dead?” a groundskeeper asked.
The truth is, we kind of did. We hoped the music would reach him, wherever he was, and there was some hope that things weren’t as gloomy as we had believed. Max had been out and about the last few days around the burial. When we asked him where he’d gone, he’d always said “out exploring.” He meant us to think London, but both Sage and I knew he meant the Thin Veil. He was out there, trying to put things in place in order to get Jacob back. He said he’d tried to track down Angeline too, after the whole incident, thinking she might have some information, but she had vanished without a trace. Whatever Angeline had bartered for, it probably didn’t favor her in the end.
I packed up the record player after we’d been chastised and kissed the top of Jacob’s gravestone (“Here lies a rogue and a bloody great manager”). I noticed Max staring at us awkwardly, green eyes and a twisted grin.
“What’s hanging?” I asked him.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and popped back his knees. “I’m afraid this is good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” Sage asked.
He nodded. “I’m afraid that for this next part, I’m going to need to disappear. For a long time. For as long as it takes to get the job done. I don’t know when I’m coming back, and I don’t know if I’ll know you when I’m back. So this is where we part ways. Eh, little lamb?”
I smiled sadly. “Okay, red potato.” Though Max had been aggravating at times, he did produce some fantastic pictures that would accompany my
Creem
magazine article on Sage Knightly’s first solo tour in Europe. And beyond that, he’d been my protector, my confidant, and my friend. I hated to admit it, but I was going to miss him. Well, I wasn’t going to miss him stationing himself outside the bathroom when I was using it, but I’d miss him otherwise.
I went up to him and threw my arms around him, and he embraced me back in a big bear hug. When we broke apart, he went up to Sage and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, man.”
And Sage took his hand, pulling him in for a quick slap on the back. He grinned. “Thanks, man.”
Max chewed on his lip, sent us both a bashful “aw shucks” look, and then turned around. We watched as he left the graveyard and kept walking into the trees. Eventually he just faded from sight.
Sage put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “Think I should call you little lamb in his honor?”
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, smacking his chest.
“What about golden goddess?” he asked, his dimples showing.
I returned the smile. “Yes, that’s good enough, my golden god.”
I leaned into his chest, and we left the graveyard behind, stepping out into the sunny streets of London. I had “Wet Lips” stuck in my head.
1976
In the year 1976, Peter Frampton released an album called
Frampton Comes Alive
. Sage Knightly put out his second solo album,
Bloody Twat
, which was banned in some stores because of the title (despite how many times he said it was a tribute to the late Jacob Edwards, a man he’d never heard from again but felt deep inside was okay wherever he was). Despite the title, the album still went platinum and Sage became a worldwide hit.
In 1976, the TV show
Laverne and Shirley
premiered. It became the show that Sage, Dawn, Eric, and their father would sit down to on Friday nights, now that Sage and Dawn were living in a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Ellensburg. Dawn’s family were all doing well, despite the bargains she’d made, and she made a vow to always keep them in her life, no matter what she had going on. Sage continued to make music, of course, but kept the sunny relaxed town of Ellensburg as his home base.
In 1976, a peanut farmer became the thirty-ninth president of the United States. That same summer, Dawn and Sage got married on her father’s farm. Ex-Hybrid singer Robbie Oliver and bassist Noelle were there – Sage had gotten in touch with both of them and made amends, reigniting their friendship. Dawn wore her cowboy boots under her dress and went down the aisle on her horse, Moonglow. Instead of reciting his vows, Sage picked up a guitar and sang them for her. It was the song he’d written for her; he’d just taken a long time to finally play it.
Tricky and Mel got drunk at the reception and slept together in Dawn’s barn. They’re still together to this day.
When I wrote The Devil’s Metal, I had been working as a rock music journalist and was able to draw on fresh experiences in the industry. There was nothing as frightening as what Dawn had gone through, thank god, but man were there a lot of parallels. I knew what it was like to be backstage drinking with your idol or side stage drooling over the power of a live show. I knew what it was like to interview a rock god and be reduced to a jittering mess or have to write up a concert review and edit photos when you’re still drunk and the deadline is the next morning. I knew what it was like to have band managers give you the stink eye because they thought you were the bad influence on their star (Tim Moss, I’m looking at you). However, with this book,
The Devil’s Reprise
, it had been a year since I last covered a concert (Tomahawk, Metallica, Jack White and a whole bunch of awesome down at New Orleans’ Voodoo Fest 2012). Because of the length of time between my old job and this book, it was actually kind of a treat to revisit the passion and the love I have had for music, especially live music and especially rock music. This book made me relive all the highs and lows all over again, right there in the moment with Dawn. It was, as Mel would say, totally slammin’ and groovy to the max.
So, without further ado, I’d like to thank all the bands and musicians who not only made music such an important part of my life but have shaped the books in the series and given me such a beautiful gift and experience that I can revisit time and time again – or anytime I press play: Faith No More, Queens of the Stone Age, Tomahawk, Fantomas, Deftones, Nine Inch Nails, Dire Straits, Black Sabbath, Massive Attack, Mr. Bungle, Bad Company, Tom Waits, Slayer, Soundgarden, Chris Cornell, Them Crooked Vultures, Mike Patton, Josh Homme, Rob Zombie, White Zombie, Royal Thunder, Baroness, The Kills, The Dead Weather, Jack White, Paul Simon, Nick Cave, Led Zeppelin, Kyuss, Guano Padano, Calexico, Foo Fighters, The Doors, Elton John, Metallica, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Depeche Mode, Alice in Chains, Bohren & Der Club of Gore, Johnny Cash, The Allman Brothers Band, Rob Dougan…and Scott MacKenzie. This book’s for you.
The Devils Series
#2 – The Devil’s Reprise
The Artists Trilogy
#0.5 – On Every Street
#1 – Sins & Needles
#2 – Shooting Scars
#3 – Bold Tricks
The Experiment in Terror Series
#1 – Darkhouse
#2 – Red Fox
#2.5 – The Benson
#3 – Dead Sky Morning
#4 – Lying Season
#5 – On Demon Wings
#5.5 – Old Blood
#5.6 – The Dex-Files
#6 – Into the Hollow
#6.5 – And With Madness Comes the Light
#7 – Come Alive
#8 – Ashes to Ashes
#9 – Dust to Dust
The Dirty Angels Trilogy (2014)
#1 – Dirty Angels
#2 – Dirty Deeds
#3 – Dirty Promises
Donners of the Dead (2014)
Love in English (2014)
The Ada Palomino Series (201
4)
#1 – Veiled
Maximus (2014)
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