Deadly Night

by Aiden James

  “Hey, Chris!” I said, giving him a warm hug with a solid pat on the back.

  He’s definitely been smoking some high-priced weed, man—affordable only on a single dude’s income. “Everybody else is here, I take it.”

  “Yeah…I wanted to be the one to bring you on in, before we show you the latest stuff we worked up this past week,” he advised, motioning to my axe in the backseat.

  I waved him off, politely, since other than my briefcase filled with CDs and lyric sheets, I wasn’t burdened carrying my fretless.

  “We’re still running with the same playlist for Saturday, right? Or, have there been any changes?”

  I tried to sound nonchalant, though I really hoped we didn’t scrap anything of major importance. Major important to me, anyway.

  “Just one change…one song chosen for its prowess over another,” he said, smiling with that same shit-eating grin I’d seen on so many faces lately…Tony, Angie, Justin…and now Chris.”

  Before I even nodded a tentative ‘okay’, he stepped through the main entrance, calling behind him for me to close the heavy steel door and make sure it was locked.

  No problem with that request, with a crazed serial killer on the loose.

  “Jimmy Boy!”

  Max? Mr. ‘I think you’re a frigging pussy-whipped wimp’ is actually glad to see me? It made me do a double take…. But hell, they were all acting like this…real strange. Ricky and Mongo were just as giddy. Some damned good weed around here some place. Just lead me to it, and we can all act like we just found Jesus.

  “Are we ready to play him the demo?”

  It’s Chris’s show still and Ricky’s wearing that same Cheshire Cat expression.

  “What demo?” I asked, while my heart sank a little. Apparently, the guys had created a new song without me, which is okay in a sense. But to record it meant somebody else handled the bass line. That totally sucks.

  “Chill, dude!” Ricky chided, moving over to where I stood and grabbing me by the shoulder. “Have a seat at the board, and we’ll let you hear it.”

  I suppose you don’t work closely with someone for nine years and not learn to read them. Either that or my pissed-off expression told him I needed comfort. Could a cookie and blanky be far behind?

  “So what’s the song called?“

  “Shhhh!!” Now Mongo admonished me, while Ricky queued the recording. “Just listen, Jimmy!”

  After Ricky’s standard count off, an acoustic guitar began to play a beautiful riff that caught Fiona’s ear when she first heard me do it long ago. I started to say something again, but Max motioned to me this time, sternly, to hold my questions until the song ended.

  To my complete surprise, a full arrangement of strings, heavy guitars, drums, and keyboards joined in just before the first verse, and then Chris’s powerful voice delivered the lyrics and melody I created so long ago with passion and graceful restraint I didn’t realize he possessed.

  My eyes misted, and I thought I might cry…maybe from everything going on, or maybe something more than that.

  Feel your warmth…softness as you lay beside me

  Flame of youth…your skin so smooth, your hands to guide me

  In your eyes…I see your love for me burns brightly

  Tender soul…free my heart and hold me tightly…

  “Whose idea was this anyway?”

  Deeply touched, I hadn’t expected anything like this. Not in a million years. Sort of like a surprise birthday party, only in this case a long-lost cherished tune was now resurrected. Actually my personal favorite…at least until Mike Dickenson, our reptilian-blooded manager, sent it to the shitter since it doesn’t have a ‘bridge’. Apparently, an instrumental turnabout won’t cut it in the commercial marketplace…unless, in reality, Mikey doesn’t have a clue about trend-bucking, potential hit songs.

  I snickered at the image of his annual subscriptions to Cash Box and Billboard magazines better served as toilet paper or a combustible crumpled wad suitable for a bonfire.

  Lady Jade…rescue now my heart from sorrow

  Lady Jade…for just one day I’d give tomorrow

  Lady Jade…my heart can only yearn for the girl who lives inside my head…

  “Chris and I were cleaning up the digital tracks on ‘Primetime’ and we found the original guitar track you laid two years ago, man,” Ricky advised. “Good thing we didn’t erase it, huh?”

  He smiled, impish, as if it’d really been a close call on Lady Jade’s fate.

  “Yeah, I guess it is,” I agreed, still amazed by the whole thing. “Who handled the piano arrangement?”

  “Mongo. He used to play keyboards back in college,” Ricky explained. “Chris handled the rest.”

  Where’d we be without our band whore and newest member? As long as Chris didn’t get too far ahead of himself and frigging take over the band, it’d be all right. For now, Mongo going Hank Williams on us is a bigger concern.

  Madness sings…your siren voice does sway me gently

  Whispered words…to seal the deal I must move quickly

  Steel to flesh…find the place where life’s most tender

  For your love…I give you all with sweet surrender…

  While lost in my revelry, I thought back to when I wrote the song. Working late one night in my apartment near Music Row, I’d just moved to Nashville from Denver a few months earlier. I was trying to figure out another song that Ricky and I really dug the hell out of, “Silent Lucidity” by Queensryche.

  Lady Jade…rescue now my heart from sorrow

  Lady Jade…for just one day I’d give tomorrow

  Lady Jade…my mind grows ever weary as my night sheet slowly turns to red…

  I couldn’t figure out all the chords back then…but I ended up coming up with a new song in the process. To be honest, I felt ambivalent about my creation at the time, thinking I’d finish it some other night if bored and looking for something to do. But then a vision suddenly overtook me in my living room…the strangest damned thing I’d ever experienced up until then in my twenty-three years on earth. The vision was wonderful, and yet at the same time, absolutely terrifying.

  Something akin to a movie appeared before my mind’s eye, along with the very same lyrics pouring forth now from Chris’s incredible vocal chords. A haunting story accompanied by graceful, poetic lines. The words damn near wrote themselves, as line after line appeared, and I could scarcely keep up.

  “Are you all right, man?” asked Max, perhaps noticing the blissful expression fade to a frown on my face.

  He nodded to Ricky, who shrugged his shoulders as if unsure this was an important development or not. Distracted, I could tell he preferred a prompt return to the musical paradise Max had pulled him from. Cutting a new tune is always like that for him.

  “Yeah…I’m fine,” I assured him.

  But I wasn’t…. The words hit me now, almost physical in their force. Thankfully the interlude arrived, with an amazing violin solo by Chris. Max’s tasteful guitar licks and Mongo’s soulful piano score were skillfully layered in the mix by Ricky. For a moment I forgot about everything going on in my life. Sensual harmonic heaven...too bad it had to end.

  Daylight casts…an eerie light upon my pillow

  Lifeless eyes…without the sense of joy or sorrow

  Far above…I watch this scene in silent wonder

  Can’t escape…the spell of love you put me under…

  “We want to close the show with this song,” said Chris, his Ganja-inspired smile widening, his ass-length hair framing his chiseled facial features. I imagine the chicks in his harem cream pretty readily for that particular look, and I hope he brings a ton of that magic on stage Saturday night. “It’s so good…too good not to be the send-off into the night for our audience. Our anthem.”

  That’s more heady stuff. I didn’t know how to respond, and decided to let the tune finish while I tried to think of something noble to say….

  Lady Jade…rescue now my heart f
rom sorrow

  Lady Jade…for just one day I’d give tomorrow

  Lady Jade…time can only answer if I’ll find her here amongst the dead….

  Most folks who have heard “Lady Jade” before now liken the theme to the tragic love tale, “Romeo and Juliet”. It was Max’s biggest beef with the song, since he hates anything trite. It wasn’t until Ricky told him the story was centered upon spirit obsession that Max took the song seriously. He always dug the music and melody, but sappy corny lyrics are intolerable for him. Hell, for all of us.

  Told in first person from the perspective of a European monk in the Middle Ages, “Lady Jade” details the treachery of a lovely girl’s ghost who tricks the desperate, lonely Franciscan into committing suicide to join her on the other side…. Only, when he gets to the other side following his death, the deceitful wraith is nowhere to be found. The monk is left to wander in a far worse lonely state for all eternity: Purgatory.

  A weird connection between the song’s deceitful message and the string of seven unsolved murders crept up on me as I thought about the monk’s tragic fate. Not an obvious thing, like Vito Travini pulling one on us and dying his hair red in order to continue the murder spree. Rather it was something else...something more subtle and readily ignored up until now. If I could just pull the idea closer to where I could see it clearly and spell it out....

  “Now’s the part where you participate, Jimmy,” Ricky advised, grabbing a chair and sliding up next to me, determined to erase the catatonic look on my face. “Are you cool with us performing the song or not?”

  “Yeah,” I finally replied, offering the closest thing I could to an emphatic nod. “I’m honored…deeply, you guys.”

  I found it so hard to concentrate, though my response was sincere. It was a great performance by my band mates, and I really did feel touched by it all. But my earlier musing continued to fight for my undivided attention. I felt compelled to further define Lady Jade’s mystery, as something felt increasingly not right…something out of sync.

  I ran the lyrics through my head again...focusing on the ghost depicted in the song. The nature of the wraith and how familiar she seemed to the monk…it was like he sensed the spirit’s presence long before he made an actual effort to communicate with her. Fiona’s grandmother used to talk about ‘familiars’, spirit forms ranging from elementals to highly intelligent demons that target humans—often star-crossed lovers—in order to ensure their destined union becomes reality in this world.

  And that’s when the fully defined answer I sought came to me.

  Familiar...as in someone I know. Could the killer—this mysterious red haired dude—be someone I’ve encountered before, and not simply in passing? That would officially eliminate Mr. Travini.

  Well, it felt right. But if it wasn’t our mobster from Jersey on the loose here in Nashville, then who could it possibly be? Worse yet, in my mind I still believed there was more than one killer involved. And if that’s truly the case, then Travini could still be involved. There are so many ways this could go now. Hell, the police might have to start all over in looking for the killer, or killers. Meanwhile, victim number eight’s last moment, the final breath we all fear, might be right around the corner for somebody close to me.

  And what’d suck the most about all of this? The psycho-killer turned out to be a good friend of mine.

  I narrowed my eyes and looked over at my bandmates, studying each one. Max would make a great serial killer…but his six-foot four inch frame eliminated him right away. He’s too damned tall. Mongo’s body type wouldn’t fit the killer’s ninja get up’s sleekness. So that’s two down.

  Ricky is sort of wiry in build and roughly the right height. But as long as we’ve been hanging out together, he could’ve chopped me up into little pieces long ago. Besides, the dude’s really into Zen Buddhism, and he won’t even let us spray for spiders behind the drum riser. That leaves Chris, who barely knows me…which makes him a viable suspect. Unless you consider the way he recently acted around the Asian swords and daggers in Ricky’s apartment. Like a little girl facing a pile of night crawlers. So, unless he faked it, Chris is definitely not our killer either.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you now?” demanded Max, his tone more like the guy I usually deal with. Really, if he didn’t respect my musical talents, I doubt he’d even acknowledge our shared existence on planet Earth.

  “Nothing…sorry, man,” I said, feeling my face grow warm. Must be blushing like a spring rose. The expressions on everyone else’s faces told me he wasn’t the only one thinking I’d just turned into a petulant ass. “Sorry to all of you….the song and the fact you’ve made it so frigging incredible has left me overwhelmed, to be honest.”

  Not a complete ruse, since the demo was awesome.

  Luckily, the guys wanted to get started on our run-through, which spared me a litany of jabs or questions about what’d happened since last week. Ricky had told everyone about the latest murders, so I decided to hold off on discussing our elusive predator still roaming the streets of Nashville. I seriously doubted our band would be a target, and I offered a silent prayer that my assumption proved correct. All that’s left for me to endure would be Max’s taunts about missing Mitch’s funeral. Thankfully, it never came up.

  I managed to hide my unease and soon it was business as usual. Or, at least business lately, headlined by our virtuoso front man on the violin. Sort of like having John Elway at quarterback…it automatically makes the team better.

  Incredible energy filled the room, which made me completely forget all the bullshit going on in my life. An amazing experience as we moved toward the end of our planned format for the show. I began to fantasize what might await us this weekend.

  Then the phone rang…my cell phone. I hadn’t paid any attention to it, being completely immersed in our music. It shocked me to see nearly a dozen missed calls, all from Fiona.

  “Guys give me a moment…it must be important,” I told them. Mongo petitioned the others for a cigarette break, and Chris seconded the notion.

  Good. It gave me the chance to find out what she wanted. She called me from her cell number, instead of Nan’s line. It had to be something bad. Otherwise, whatever it is could’ve waited until I returned to Stella’s place.

  “Hey, babe, what’s up?”

  “Jimmy??”

  “Yeah—“

  “He struck again!!”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Who?” I asked her

  It came out really weak, my voice cracking.

  “A-an-gie!” she blurted out between sobs.

  “Angie?!”

  “Yes!!”

  It suddenly hit me what she meant….the killer struck again.

  “No! Oh, my God!!” I whispered in disbelief. “She’s dead??”

  “No, she’s alive,” she said, her voice suddenly more calm, but shaking still. “She’s beat up…and he cut her!”

  She started crying again.

  “Where are you?” I asked gently, though my voice trembled.

  “Summit,” she said. “We’re all here…. Can you get away and meet us at the hospital?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right there, babe. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Jimmy. Please hurry!”

  I must’ve stared at the phone for nearly a minute after she hung up. Yes, the killer did strike again. But this time, he’d grossly miscalculated the strength and feistiness of his prey. Now there was a living witness. One who could identify him.

  I told my band mates what’d happened, and hurriedly packed up my gear. Under the circumstances, they completely understood. After confirming the gig start time for this Saturday, I said goodbye and ran out to my car. I didn’t even bother to check whether anyone watched me, or followed me out of the parking area. All I cared about was getting my ass to Summit Hospital as quickly as possible, to comfort my wife and our friends while we waited on the latest news regarding Angie.

  Chapter Twent
y-three

  I arrived at Summit Hospital just after eleven o’clock. Fiona told me to meet her and everyone else in the waiting room outside the ICU wing.

  “I got here just as fast as I could!” I told her, as she stood to greet me, running over and throwing her arms around my neck. My cue to hold on tight, she collapsed in my arms as she sobbed. A host of worried faces nearby made me wonder if Angie’s injuries were worse than my wife let on. Maybe she succumbed to them during the time it took me to get here from Madison.

  “She’s going to be all right,” said Jackie, rising from her chair to join us where we stood. She chuckled sadly, perhaps in response to the perplexed look on my face. “Angie. Angie’s going to be okay. You just missed the doctor who gave us the latest update. They’re planning to move her upstairs to observe her overnight, and he said she’d likely get to go home tomorrow.”

  “But she’s lucky she didn’t get hurt worse!” Fiona added, looking up into my face, her eyes darting back and forth as she sought reassurance that everything would work out…that we’d all be okay.

  “True. She’s very lucky he didn’t kill her,” added Jackie. She looked like she might start crying as well. Ditto for her life partner, Michelle, sitting next to Justin.

  I nodded to him and Tony and Tom, but then froze.

  Mr. Ed?

  It’d just figure that Dick Tracy would be there, too, tonight. Perhaps that ain’t all bad…as long as he’s making some serious progress in finding this sadistic killer. Hopefully, he’s got a bunch of new leads after what happened to Angie.

  “I understand that Angie remembers enough from her attack where she might be able to I.D. the guy,” I said. Just testing the knowledge water. It didn’t matter if the answer came from a ghost hunter or an official homicide detective like Ed Silver. Justin replied first.

  “Most of us haven’t seen her yet, but she told Jackie that the dude who attacked her definitely has red hair,” he said, and then looked over at Ed, as if waiting for some confirmation from him.