Page 72 of Dead Rockstar

“Nate?” I whispered in surprise. “As in Nathan ‘Ollie’ Green?”

He nodded. “Fuck,” he said, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I held in my shriek, the fangirl trying to pop out of me unbidden.

“Phil? That you?” The voice wasn't very familiar, but I could almost recognize it, mined from years-worth of memories of YouTube interviews and concert footage. He didn't sound at all alarmed. “You gonna come in here or keep hiding in the kitchen like a scared puppy?”

“Fuck,” Phillip said again, then squared his shoulders and stalked into the living room. I didn't know what else to do, so I followed, holding my hands to my face, trying to quell the broad grin that was busting out on my cheeks. The band’s all here, I thought to myself giddily. Well, what was left of it.

Jason was sitting on the couch, a bottle of ginger ale on the coffee table in front of him. Beside him was a slightly-older version of the man who completed the Bloomer Demons outfit – second-string guitarist and sometime keyboard player Nathan Green, affectionately known to fans as “Ollie” due to his love of skateboarding. I stared at him for a moment. He had changed a lot in twenty years, but he was still handsome as the devil. He didn't appear to have aged, his dark skin and deep brown eyes as youthful and smooth as ever, but gone were the long, butt-length dreads he'd had all through the band's career, as well as the piercings that had once studded his nose, ears and lip. A blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms covered up most of his tattoos, and his hair was in a full, natural afro. The only thing that reminded me of the old Nathan was the shoes – black-on-black high-top Vans, providing a sharp contrast to the light colored thin-legged slacks he wore.

As I entered the room, he greeted me first. “Hey,” he said with a nod. “I'm Nate.”

“Stormy,” I croaked out, full on star struck and feeling like I might faint. “Oh wow, Ollie, I'm a huge fan-”

“Don't let her get going, she won't stop,” Jason said with a laugh, but he winked at me. He looked at Phillip. “Bro, it's okay. Nate's known since the day I saw you out back, digging up the ground like a body snatcher. I called him as soon as you left. He's cool. He's not going to say anything.”

“Sure,” Phillip said, his voice brittle and wavering, his hand trembling in mine. “Until he tells...who? Barb? Our old manager? Some fan? A member of my family?” he sputtered. “I can't let this get out. Don't you understand there's no way I can function if people know-”

“Shut up, fuckface,” Jason said, unruffled. “You chose to walk your dead ass back here to this house, and if you think for one second I’m going to house you and keep you safe and not tell our other best friend, you’re a fucking idiot. You know damn well you can trust Nate.”

“Phil.” Nathan stood up and walked over to us. He held out his arms and pulled Phillip into an embrace. “I'm so fucking glad to see you, man. So fucking glad. Never in this life did I think-” His voice caught, and he pulled back and looked at Phillip, his eyes glistening. “Phil, I swear on my life – and yours, however many you got, dude – that I won't tell a soul. Don't you remember? When you started writing out that stupid spell you made all three of us cut our palms and make a blood vow that we would never breathe a word.”

“More lives than mine are at risk if anybody-”

“Phil.” Nathan clapped him on the back and led him by the shoulder over to the couch where they both sat down, Phillip's face like stone. “I swore and I fuckin' meant it. So did Jason. Forget about it, man. Losing you and Kim was the fucking worst. I'm just glad to have one of you back. We want to help you, and your girlfriend, too.”

“Jason isn't in any position to help anyone,” Phillip thundered.

“Cut me some fucking slack already,” Jason said, acid in his tone. “Unless you want to take it outside and I'll teach you some fucking respect. I haven't used in days-”

“If you think for one second you could take me, you fucking little twerp-”

“Kim isn't here to break it up this time, man. I should have shown you what was up years ago-”

“Sitting here in my house like king shit, like you're gonna show me-”

“My house, you mean. I paid for it. Big ogres like you, Lurch, fall down quick. You're slow and dim-witted. I've kicked your fucking ass before, and I can do it again-”

“Fuck you if you want to fuckin' try.” Phil started to get back up from the couch. “We'll be sending your teeth back home in an envelope to your mother-”

I was getting ready to intervene with the water hose I’d seen on the back porch when suddenly, the yelling stopped, and all three remaining members of the Bloomer Demons were embracing and crying in a jumble of tattoos, piercings and black-clad arms and legs. Phillip's arms were around them both, holding them to his chest like little brothers, his face wet with tears. What should have been a foursome was only three, but I had no doubt all of them were thinking of Kim.

I sat back and watched, fighting the perverse urge to grab my phone and snap a picture. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry, so I just shook my head, and thought, men. What a spectacle, and yet they always said we were the emotional ones. The scene in front of me was bittersweet and made me ache, but not only because I'd grown up loving them, not only because their dear friend Kim wasn't part of it. I watched them, soaking in the brotherly love, the beauty of their reunion, the purity and the ludicrousness of it, and then stepped backward out of the room, their show of friendly love reminding me that I hadn’t talked to Sloan in days.

Seventeen

I started to get the shakes as we pulled up to Lydia's house later that afternoon. The memory of Phillip, frozen in the truck, his hands clutching the keys, and my own immobile limbs just before I'd felt a heavy, blunt object smack me in the head, then my world going black...I did not want to be back here. But Phillip had questions he needed answering, and neither of us were eager to leave the other after all that had happened. I exited the truck and slipped my arm through his, grateful for the warm pulse I felt, strong and steady.

I was already keyed up. Earlier, when Phillip was reuniting with Nate and Jason, I had gone upstairs to text Sloan. I'd sent her a brief message. “Hey, haven't heard from you in a while. I've sent a couple of messages. You ok?” After ten minutes passed with no response, I'd sent her a snapchat, a silly clip of me wearing one of Phillip's old bandannas that I'd found on his dresser. Then I'd PM'd her on Facebook, and finally given way to the thing I never did, and actually called her. The phone rang once before it went to voicemail. That meant she'd seen it and silenced me. I was angry. How dare she do that to me after all the times she'd complained about the same thing? If she’d been out of town, and I hadn’t spoken to her in days, I would have rushed to answer the phone. I called her again, then one more time. Every time - voicemail. I was beginning to worry. What was going on? Was she mad at me?

I had the sense, just a niggling thought in the back of my mind, that something was going to go wrong today. The dream I’d had about the beach, how dark and terror-filled it had been. The sense of danger had been so real, so palpable. Somehow, some way, I felt that it involved not only me and Phillip, but maybe Sloan, too. Her silence really worried me. As nosy and meddling as she was, it wasn’t like her to not check in, especially when she knew I was on a dangerous road trip.

As we walked to the porch slowly, like two inmates heading to their doom, I paused, whipped out my phone and tried to dial Sloan one more time, but the phone’s screen froze. I rebooted it, giving Phillip a cursory, sly glance as if to say this is your fault, and dialed again, clutching the phone to my ear with tight, anxious fingers. I was stalling, trying to avoid walking up onto Lydia’s porch and into what I felt must be an abyss of black magic and danger. I hoped she’d answer so I could go back to the truck and have a conversation and avoid the whole thing. It was really beginning to rankle me that I couldn’t reach her – she was taking care of Blinken, after all. He was probably fine, but an update would be nice. But the phone didn’t even ring one full time before going to her voicemail. “This is Sloan. Leave a message, bitch,” her tinny, pre-recorded voice said in my ear. Then, instead of the usual beep, I heard, “Mailbox is full.” I took a deep, shaky breath and slid the phone into my pocket, biting my lip and tasting blood.

Well, no sense in putting off the inevitable. I needed to focus. The last time I'd been near this woman's house I'd been kidnapped. What did she have in store for me this time? I couldn’t be distracted, worrying about people and things back home when I needed to be on guard. I reached into my jacket pocket and fingered the tiny switchblade knife that Phillip had pressed into my hand earlier. It wouldn’t do much, but it made me feel safer.

“Don't worry,” Phillip said under his breath as we walked up onto the stoop. “I won't let her lay a finger on you. If she so much as looks as you sideways, I'll-”

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