Warlord Metal (31 page)

The night was a blur of alcohol and music and flirting and drugs. Floating on downers, drinking shots of whiskey, dirty dancing at several different bars. Soft and rough, dark corners of heavy breathing and inadequate climaxes. Trying to forget. Trying to remove vivid flashes of pale blue eyes full of love. Trying to deny.

Other flashes, scenes of violence and rape. Grey eyes pleading for relief from the pain, retreating into themselves. Unable to block them out. Unable to drive them away. Violation, desecration, penetration, complication. Angel bleeding from the tainted touch of her caress. Soul bleeding.

More booze. More pills. More sex. Nothing works.

And everything finally, mercifully darkens.

Sep 28, 2002

Day Five:

Jordan's still in intensive care. They plan on removing her from life support tomorrow morning. I hope her body can take it... I hope she wants to live. I'm pretty sure she was so messed up that night, she just wasn't paying attention. Didn't realize exactly how much she'd been drinking when she took the pills.

God, I hope she makes it! I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't.

Lando's with her now. I'm here to relieve him. He said he was gonna play her guitar and sing for her while he was here this morning. She needs music in her life, even now. It was a hell of a fight letting visitors in, let alone round the clock surveillance. But Tamara really came through for us. She had nurses and doctors running every which way Tuesday morning!

And White Horse still hasn't recovered. The band might lose their contract or be sued over it, but everybody's stuck together and told the label to shove it. No Jordan, no Warlord, no albums. I'm so proud of these guys! I told Jordan years ago that Warlord sticks together. Wait'll she finds out just how tight-knit we really are!

I finally finished reading all the paperwork that Tamara gave me. She and I both realize that it's an ethical no-no to give me the files, but after that scene at White Horse, she thought I really needed to read it. I feel so drained and exhausted now. I've spent quite a bit of time crying for my brave woman - I know she's never allowed herself to.

She's lied about some things to me, to us. Like, she's only a few months older than me. All this time she'd been making it appear that she was oh-so-much-older... only to find it's been by five months and nothing more! She had a fake ID when she joined the band. (Now I know how she knew where to get mine!)

And her name's not legally Smith. Her step-father legally adopted her when she was three. Her last name had been his - Chizu. When everything went down in Boston, that was the name they had her under. When she ran away from her foster home, she took Smith.

I remember that night she found me walking home from that fiasco of a date. She told me then that her step-dad had molested her, took her virginity. She neglected to mention that it wasn't just him... It was his friends, some members of his family, even complete strangers! Oh, I wish I had the opportunity to throttle the bastard! He did so much more to her than she lets on... He was heavy into sadism and trained her from the time she was little...

And the case was just one big convoluted mess - people pointing fingers, name calling. There was a lot of press over it in Boston. Chizu spent a lot of time and effort trying to get Jordan to take the rap. And she let him, refusing to testify against him. God, she was so messed up! It's a wonder she's survived this long with all that pain.

It's no wonder she doesn't want my love. She really doesn't think she deserves it. And it's on such a deep level, I don't think she realizes. I don't think it's so much that she doesn't want it, but that she doesn't' want to need. That's what scares her silly, drove her to try a last ditch effort to get rid of me, get rid of the band. Get rid of everything she loved.

She loves me. I know it now.

And that woman she was reported to be with that night! I'd like to get my hands on her, too! Giving downers to her when she'd already been drinking. Grrrrr.... At least she had the presence of mind to call 911 before bailing from the hotel room.... Otherwise, Jordan would be dead now....

And she still may be. If her body can't take over when they remove her from life support... No. I can't think like that. She'll know I've given up when I talk to her if I go in like that.

All this information and confusion in my head... I went to the mental health wing, to find someone to talk to. I can't say that I really understand exactly what's been going on within Jordan. But I've got to try. The lifestyle she was raised in... I can't even fathom! I've spoken with a counselor twice this week and I have another appointment day after tomorrow. And I've begun reading up on the BDSM lifestyle on the web and at the library. Some of it's not pretty. But I need to understand! To know how she could have been involved with Sylvia Mueller's destruction, to know why Sylvia responded the way she did.

I've been reading her a trashy romance novel I picked up at Borders. A lesbian one! Ha ha ha! If that doesn't get her out of it to demand an action adventure, nothing will!

Well, I've gotta go. I'm up next and Lisa relieves me in a few hours. Except for a few hours at night, we've been sitting with her in shifts, keeping up conversation and stuff. Tom even smuggled Tinker in yesterday.... He'd heard that people in comas came out of it faster with tactile stimulation. (Tinker wasn't too pleased! Giggle!) We're hoping we can keep her mind alive - to bring her out. It's worked for some, it'll work for her. She's too damned ornery to die.

I know it.

Suicidal Dream

Silverchair

I dream about how it's gonna end,

Approaching me quickly.

Living a life of fear,

I only want my mind to be clear.

Chorus

My suicidal dream.

Voices telling me what to do.

My suicidal dream.

I'm sure you will get yours too. Help me, comfort me,

Stop me from feeling what I'm feeling now.

The rope is here. Now I'll find a use.

I'll kill myself, I'll put my head in the noose.

Chorus

Dreaming about my death.

Dream.

Chapter 9

Awakenings

Eyes of a Stranger

Queensryche

All alone now

Except for the memories

Of what we had and what we knew.

Everytime I try to leave it behind me

I see something that reminds me of you.

I lie awake and sweat, afraid to fall asleep

I see your face looking back at me.

Chorus:

And I raise my head and stare

Into the eyes of a stranger.

I've always known that the mirror never lies.

People always turn away

From the eyes of a stranger,

Afraid to know what

Lies behind the stare. Is this all that's left

Of my life before me?

Straight jacket memories, sedative highs.

No happy ending like they've always promised.

There's got to be something left for me. Chorus How many times must I live this tragedy?

How many more lies will they tell me?

All I want is the same as everyone.

Why am I here, and for how long?

Chorus

She didn't know how long it had been. At some point in time, the blackness surrounding her had just faded away, like a fog burning off in the noon day sun. Leaving her... here. Wherever here is.

As time passed, further sensations and awareness of her surroundings increased. First it was simply that she was, existing. Nothing more. And then the feeling of coolness, a not-uncomfortable breeze that occasionally brushed her skin. Next came the feeling of rough-hewn wood and she discovered she was seated, her elbows and forearms resting on a table.

This realization seemed to cause the blackness to ebb a bit more and she was able to see the table, its surface hand worked and scarred. She saw the cup in her hand before her fingers felt the smooth wood. A vague curiosity overcame her and she tensed an arm, watching the muscles play beneath her skin. Another experiment and the cup was raised to her lips.

The smell of apples arose from the cup and she peered in, seeing amber liquid. She took a taste, her eyes widening at the riot of flavor on her tongue. Apple cider never tasted like this! And then she drained the contents with the air of a woman dying of thirst - using her fingertips to catch the overflow at the corners of her mouth. The cool liquid coursed through her, strengthening her, serving to bring her further into the present.

She set the cup back down and released it, splaying her hands across the wooden table. Looking down at herself, she saw the familiar shorts, her belly bare below the sports bra. The floor beneath her combat boots was wood, as well, and covered with sawdust. A wood shop? Odors reached her nostrils and she decided she was wrong. No wood shop smells like beer and chicken! Her stomach grumbled loudly and her mouth began watering from the aroma of freshly roasted meat.

As if on cue, a form materialized out of the darkness. An older woman stepped towards her, long dark hair going grey, laughing blue eyes holding hints of past pain. She was wearing a long blue dress, the color bringing out her eyes. An apron, off white from years of apparent use, was around her waist and she was using it to wipe her hands on. With a warm smile, she asked, "Are you ready for something to eat, sweetling?"

She stared blankly at the woman for long moments. Something about the eyes was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. The woman reached towards her in a natural gesture to brush hair away from her face and she flinched aside, blocking the touch with her forearm.

The woman's eyes became sad rather than angry and she pulled back. "I've got some nice chicken and vegetables for your supper. You just sit here and I'll go get it."

As the woman turned away, she felt a vague sense of panic. She opened her mouth to speak, a croak coming from her once again dry throat.

The woman turned back around. A concerned smile crossed her face. "Don't worry, sweetling. I'll get you some more cider, too." The woman leaned closer and peered into her eyes. "You're not alone."

And she knew that it was true, her unease fading away under that pale blue gaze. They look like Sonny's eyes. There was a wink and the woman moved away again, towards the darkness. She concentrated on the woman, watching her move away. The darkness faded further as the woman walked, appearing to shepherd it before her. Other sights and sounds and smells caught her attention and she realized she really wasn't alone.

She was in a large room, a wooden construction of some sort. There was a fireplace crackling to one side, an iron hook holding a bubbling pot of some wonderful smelling stew hanging over the flames. Several other people were in the room, dressed in strange clothing and eating or drinking or talking to one another. The woman in question disappeared through a door by a bar.

She studied the other people, finding some of them familiar. Over in one corner, she could see Atkins with her guitar. He appeared to be singing to himself. She could just barely make out the tune and realized his voice was hoarse. He musta been singing for a long time.

At the same table was Middlestead. He held the cat in his arms, petting her while he listened to his band mate play. Tinker's yellow glare caused a flicker of amusement within her and she could feel her mouth quirk into a smile. Nearby, Foley and Hampton were sharing a cup of something. As she regarded them, they both turned and waved at her before going back into their discussion. Their voices tickled the edges of her mind, not quite able to catch what was being said. Wonder where Sonny is.

And then a plate with a wonderful aroma was placed in front of her. She looked up into the laughing blue eyes.

"Here you go, sweetling. There's nut bread for desert if you want it." The woman poured more cider from a pitcher into her cup. Finished, she stood for a second, expectantly.

She cleared her throat. "Um.... Thank you," she finally responded.

The woman smiled. "You're welcome, sweetling." And then she moved away, stopping to refill the cups of her other patrons.

Her stomach growled again, aching with need. She dug into the repast with relish, almost groaning in ecstasy at the flavors assailing her senses. She worked her way through steamed vegetables and tangy chicken, her hunger abating, leaving behind a feeling of fullness. I've gotta be in heaven.

Her brow furrowed. Now, why the hell would I think that? I'm not dead.... Emerald eyes narrowed and flashes of whiskey and sex and drugs flickered through her mind. "Am I?" she asked aloud.

"Not yet," a low voice responded.

She looked up. And saw... "You're... me?"

The redhead before her grinned. "Yep. Who else would you listen to?" She settled down on the bench across from her, a cup of cider in her own hand.

Jordan studied the woman across from her with no little suspicion. A closer inspection proved that it indeed was herself sitting there. The eyes were the same, as was the face, the hair. But there were subtle differences. Her face wasn't as hard, the eyes not quite as wary. While she was dressed the same, there was no tattoo on her arm and her body had the rosy shine of good health.

The other Jordan allowed the inspection, her mouth quirked to one side. She drank from her cup in silence.