Page 36 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

“But just think what all this could mean,” I say. “With the way they’ve been gaining more and more traction lately? This time next year they could be one of the biggest metal bands out there.”

Becks takes a sip of her drink and nods again. “Yes, you’re right. Just . . . one day at a time, right? For now, I should just be enjoying tonight.”

She takes a deep breath, and I seize the opportunity to distract her as the bar continues to fill up. “So, have you decided what fashion decade you’re going to do for your term paper?”

After chattingto Becks for a solid half hour about our classes, we head toward the open-air and the stage. Lights of all colors dance, glinting off the metal of the double bass drum kit.Dave’sdrums. I swallow. Seeing him play again is not good for my sanity. Maybe I should go. I made my appearance. But something glues me to my spot, and I remember I have a job to do. A purpose for being here outside of my strange little friendship with this metal band. I’m a journalist.

I reach into my bag and pull on my camera, dislodging pens and my notebook to free it. As the music from the speakers starts to fade, the lights that dazzle across the stage go steady on what I now realize is a large rectangular hole in the floor. Slowly, lit with red lights and smoke curling into the air, a platform lifts and the band appears. It’s as if they’re rising from the depths of hell itself. The noise from the crowd is deafening. I look through the camera lens as the four men materialize, their long hair, denim, and chains on display for all to see. Dave is in a cut-off shirt that shows off his arms in a way that has me clenching my thighs.

Keep it together.

My camera clicks as they take their positions, pulling guitars over their shoulders. Key steps up to the microphone and holds a copy of the album over his head to a raging crowd.

“Today marks a day that none of us on this stage ever thought would really happen. Our self-titled EP album is officially released!”

The audience explodes. The sound shakes the walls, and dust particles fall in the stage lights like fairy dust.

“This album is for all the freaks out there. The weirdos and the misunderstood people that don’t feel like they fit in. Know that here, you fit in with us.”

Like a woman possessed, I grab the notebook out of my bag and furiously write down the beautiful words that Key said as the crowd throbs around me. The next article I’m going to write starts to take shape in my head, and watching the four of them start their set, I can’t help but feel like I’m included in that group. How all of them have been so kind to me, and even though there’s this weird tension between Dave and me, I’m really glad I’m here to help document this moment for them.

The show is incredible,and while it’s true that metal isn’t exactly my favorite genre, no one can deny their presence on stage. Besides, it’s kind of growing on me. Their passion and aggression is palpable. I think I finally understand what Dave meant when he told me underneath everything, they’re all angry. That they all wrangle with a darkness. I see it now. How that anger comes out through their music, their performance. How what Key said must ring so true to them. Maybe they always felt like outsiders, and finally having each other helped them cope.

It’s amazing.

Becks, of course, is over the moon, dancing in her own little hypnotic way, and James seems to play just for her. God, to be that in love. After the show, the guys disappear back below the stage, and Becks and I head for the bar.

“Whiskey sour, please,” I shout, putting my almost full notebook on the bar next to me. To my right there’s a massivelineup of people waiting to buy a copy of the album. I wonder vaguely if the guys plan to come out and sign them. Surely people would also line up for their autographs based on the reaction of the crowd tonight. I smile to myself, thrilled at their success. It almost feels like my success as well, which sounds crazy, but the energy in the air is electric just like their music.

I scan the crowd across the island bar, and as if I’ve jumped off the wharf into the freezing bay water below us, my blood runs cold. There, waiting for a drink at the bar across from me, is Simon. Quickly, I turn away, hiding my face.

“What’s wrong?” Becks asks.

I raise my hand, using my other arm to shield my body. “What the hell ishedoing here?”

“Who?”

“See the guy across the bar with the blond crew cut and the bad mustache?”

She glances over my shoulder. “The guy in the sports jacket? Does he even know where he is?”

I groan. “He works with me at the school paper and he’s an absolute buffoon.”

“Whatishe doing here?”

“I don’t know, but he’s probably up to no good. He’s been insinuating for weeks that I haven’t been writing the articles myself or worse, that I’m some”—the word gets caught in my mouth—“groupie.”

Becks whips her head my way. “What? How awful!”

Simon turns his face toward me, and I duck on instinct below the bar.

“Isabella?” she calls, peering down at me.

I put my finger to my lips. “I’m just going to go, okay? Is he walking toward or away from the front door?”

She looks up, her green eyes scanning the crowd, then frowns. “He’s right between here and the door. But maybe if you keep to the edge, he won’t see you.”

I nod. “Right. Thanks, Becks. Tell the guys they were amazing for me.”

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