Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  "Great. I'll see you Saturday night. We'll go to the film festival as planned?"

  "Pick you up at six for dinner first, okay?"

  "Definitely okay." Niles follows me as I rise. "I should get going." We both stare at the ground, and then take turns peeking up at the other and wondering what to do next. Finally I open my arms and he does the same. My hug pours all kinds of love out to him, and I don't let myself think about what it lacks in return. More than ready to leave the incident behind us, I head off towards the gate.

  Niles's mom stands inside the kitchen window. When I shoot her a big smile and a little nod her hand touches her heart. She has touched mine, too. I take the universe's hint and head back to Niles. Peter's right. They have both worked their ways into my heart. "Remember when you asked what it was like to have a dad? It was probably just as amazing to have a mom. You know, even though I hardly remember her, I used to talk to Mom all the time. I'd tell her my problems as if she were really there. It somehow helped."

  "Why don't you talk to her anymore?" He looks disappointed but not as much as I am in myself. I've let down all of those I have loved and have lost.

  "I'm trying to. Something bad happened that changed me, and it's become too painful to think about death. Missing the people I love is like being without part of my soul. I'd give anything to be able to talk to them now. Anyway, I just thought I would share. I'll see you Saturday."

  Bugger! I should have been more on top of this. Now she's giving him hope. With that, he'll never agree to what I need. I've got to fix this.

  The Element: Fire (Mrs. O'Leary's Cow)

  April 10, 1968

  Everyone thinks they know this story, but it's never been properly told until now.

  Jane and I had been fighting like rabid animals for weeks. Although a check, large enough to cover all of our bills with a hefty little bonus, magically appeared a few days after the meeting of which we never spoke, the effects of our lives being threatened were far worse than those of our financial woes ever were.

  One night we decided to live it up with some friends. The show we put on was so good our smiles had turned genuine and we no longer felt covered in muck. The flicker of the restaurant's candles only added to Jane's radiance. Her hand touched mine, and my heart skipped all over the place, just as it did the day we met. When she snuggled into my shoulder comfort eased my soul. As much as I loved the moment, our troubles had left me sleepless for so long that I was just bloody exhausted.

  With studio obligations for the next day hanging over my head I kissed Jane goodnight and insisted she stay and enjoy the evening. After a cab ride home I downed a few sedatives and crawled into bed. I was already too tired to change out of my clothes. My lids turned heavy, and I drifted off in the heavenly peace of knowing that even if the rest of the world failed us Jane and I would make it.

  A noise came from the front door. I tried to force my lids open to greet Jane, but I started drifting off again. Her footsteps hardly registered as she entered the bedroom, but the expected dip of the bed didn't follow. My eyes were barely able to crack open to find a big guy, who reminded me of Stoddard's goons, standing before me. Adrenaline forced me awake enough to attempt to stop him from spraying the floor and curtains with whisky, but I was so disoriented it was hard to stand. He backhanded me, sending my head slamming face-first into the wall. Stars sparked my vision, and I collapsed.

  The goon laughed while I faded in and out. I was barely conscious enough to notice my skin tickling as a mist of hairspray rained down. If my face contorted, it would give away I was aware enough to know my only hope was to act down for the count.

  The crackle of his fag was a terrifying portent. The cigarette was placed in my hand and the cuff of my shirtsleeve lifted, thus moving my hand close to the curtain. The click of a lighter resounded, and my body went rigid as he set the curtains ablaze. Blood pulsed in my ears, and my heart pounded so fast I swear I could hear my heart valves fluxing. As soon as he was gone I would make a break for it by heading toward the window at the other end of the flat where I could wait until he had driven off. Jumping into the bushes would break my fall.

  Another strike of the lighter and my hair crackled as the flames burst to life. Knowing it was but a brief moment until the fire hit my scalp, my insides clenched. The pain seared as my skin peeled away from the heat, and I jerked. Panic, sleeping pills, and alcohol were fighting to cripple me. My clothes started going up, and I thrashed about in scorching pain. When the smell of my burning flesh crawled through my sinuses, a scream reverberated in my ears and all went black.

  As quickly as it arrived the blackness dissipated. I found myself hovering above my body and watching as it burned. My spirit continued screaming as if still suffering from the intense pain. I resisted floating away while sirens from heroes coming to my rescue wailed in the distance, but it was long too late.

  Beautiful Child

  Women are fascinating creatures who deserve respect for the beauty and desire for peace that they bring to the world; however, they would forget their brains if they weren't sealed inside their heads. They call men unorganized, yet they need to make fifty-thousand trips to the bathroom, or to the car, or kitchen, only to forget why they walked there in the first place. Thank God for it though because now I've the perfect opportunity to stir up trouble.

  Oh, to have a closet like Rosalyn's again. One that reveals that you own far more clothes than any sane person should. Rosalyn's wardrobe reminds me of Jane's old one—at least the one side that is so wild it looks like Peter Max had a splatter fest with his leftover paint does. The other side must be reserved for funeral clothing. How many dead people does Rosalyn know?

  While I need to give Niles the courtesy of knowing he isn't alone, why spoil the surprise with a gentle entrance? I make my sudden appearance on a box near his feet, located under a very enticing lingerie collection. "This really grabs ya by the old crotch, eh?"

  Peter's voice causes me to jump as if I am a little girl with a rodent running around her feet. Well, at least the rodent part of the description is accurate. Why can't I be one of the lucky ones who can't see this guy?

  "Rosalyn's downstairs in ridiculous shoes that look awesome but make taking stairs nearly impossible, so I'm up here trying to find her purple hat. Geez, which one? There are three."

  "Maybe it's the one above here." Peter insistently points to some mighty revealing corsets. His call for attention isn't necessary. It's impossible to miss that Rox has a collection of lingerie that is rather … stimulating.

  Eyes on the prize, Niles, not on the fantasy.

  "Kind of grabs you by the crotch and strokes you toward it like you've died and gone to a horny man's torture chamber."

  The man is gross.

  Damn, that black corset must look amaz—

  "Stop it, Peter. I'm here for a hat."

  Peter leans against the wall and eyes his nails. "Yes, but maybe if you do a little exploring, you'll learn what tickles her fancy. It'll buy you time while solving the rest."

  What an arrogant ass. I have emotional issues, thanks to him, yet he makes me sound impotent. "Peter, there is no solution. Don't try to convince me elsewise. I'm already on eggshells tonight with trying not to screw up."

  "Who's to say we can't find a workaround? However, if you lose her in the meantime …"

  Damn. The guy's got a point. Pleasing women has been the only way to get them to come back. What's the harm in taking a little peek in hopes of getting a few ideas?

  My hands dash to flip through the sheer delights. It's been awhile, and right now even the silky padding on the hangers gets my mind reeling. She's got something for just about every fantasy; a black satin nightgown, a skimpy maid costume, a little sleep set of a shorty gown and matching panties with bright swirls of color that make my head spin. Then there are the corsets; purple satin with black lace, black satin with silver studs, pink lace with sheer lining. Dear God in Heaven!

  Excellent. Knowing Jan
e she's given up on waiting and is about to tackle the stairs. Time to speed it up. "Dare I even begin to imagine what is in the box underneath the wet dream-worthy garments in this den of sin and beauty? Maybe she's got a toy arsenal that will reveal a secret fetish."

  "No, Peter. This has already gone too far. I won't invade her privacy anymore."

  Niles grabs the hats. Damn him! I need him in that box, now! "Are you sure? You may not have another chance."

  "Positive. She trusts me, and I've already violated that enough."

  Bollocks! "Well, I am sure when Rosalyn has a little more time to digest how you can never give her the enrapturing love she craves you'll wish for this opportunity back."

  "No way."

  Niles starts to leave. With every bit of anger I can raise, I will the box to slide in front of him and smack against the closet's wall, causing the top to pop up.

  Well, imagine that. I must be getting stronger.

  Peter is a pesky little menace. This crap about us being the same person can't be true. Just slam the lid back on and slide the box back.

  But if he's right about …

  No. Put the box back!

  As the lid is about to go into place a birth announcement for Joseph Charles Lighten, son of Rosalyn Chambers and Joseph Lighten Sr., dated just under two years ago, conquers my quest to respect privacy. It sits on top of some blue and white infant-sized onesies along with a blue, crocheted blanket. All of it has maybe been washed once.

  Rox has a kid? Will she let me meet him? Kids are so cool. I want a do-over on my childhood. Now I know how not to do things that get you ostracized by kids, but adults are just jerks.

  Suddenly Rox appears before me. "What the hell are you doing?" She sounds like her scream is trying to choke her and is almost succeeding. Is the horror in her eyes brought on by what I found or the fact that I found it? Damn it, Peter!

  When you are caught, tell the truth. People see through lies when there is no sincerity to help you cover.

  No, better yet, you show you care. "It was an accident and… Rox, what are you doing with all of these baby clothes? Is this what troubles you sometimes?" Was that right? I was never conditioned for this scenario.

  Tremors quake through my body, starting with a rumble at the pit of my stomach and radiating to the point where my hands are trembling. Before me lies a never-ending nightmare whose pain constantly resurfaces despite how hard I try to smother it back down. If I burst out with a lie, maybe this will go away. "My cousin left them in my car, and I haven't had the time to drive to San Diego. It's kind of crazy, huh? I mean, what's she going to do with them unless she has more kids, which she'll probably never do."

  Dear God, why can't this horror disappear? I know I screwed up, but how many ways do I need to pay for my sin? Seeing the often innocent boy-like Niles sitting among the blue onesies deepens the poignancy of the moment and sends my heart tearing.

  Niles lowers his eyes and raises a birth announcement. "I found this too," he softly confesses, thus calling me out on not only being a horrible mother but also a terrible liar. "I'm sorry. Please believe I was just searching for a way to get closer to you."

  I can't divert my eyes or swallow back the thickening in my throat fast enough. I need to get out of here and fly off to some faraway land and live in a cave of shame. But I'll never be able to leave the agony of my stupidity behind. Somewhere there has to be a drop of relief. Someone has to be able to help me find some semblance of good among the disaster.

  I look back at Niles as I prepare myself to tell him it's a story for another time and that we are going to be late for our movie, but his eyes seem to beg me to show him the trust I need to find in someone. If I want to build a relationship with him, I have to trust him like he did with me when he revealed his secret.

  I bring myself to kneel in front of the box, and the clusters of blue clothes surround me in an ocean of tiny reminders that the hope I once held begs to drown me.

  God, I'm going to face this. Please let me find peace and absolve me of my sins.

  "Joe and I had been dating for about a year when I got pregnant. I wasn't even sure that he was the one. Part of me really wished he would propose while the fact that there was no ring on my finger was comforting. I know that doesn't make any sense at all. I was a big ball of confusion when it came to him. Frankly, I still am."

  The water in my eyes turns the clothes on the ground into a nauseating haze. I try to calm my stomach by focusing on one thing, so my eyes go to a blue, crocheted blanket made by Jacqueline's mom. It's the only thing she's ever crocheted, and I let her down.

  "The entire time I was pregnant, Joe was the dutiful non-husband, no matter how tired he was. When Joseph was born, Joe insisted that we had waited long enough. Though I feared the prospect of saying I do, a part of me really agreed. Again, I know that doesn't make any sense. I loved him but …

  "I was still recovering from the birth when I walked into Joseph's room and—" My breath hitches at the horrible memory that will haunt all of my nights. My sweet angel, lying in his crib—a lifeless, ashen doll ascending to Heaven. The inescapable terror of the moment hits my stomach. "I tried everything to revive him; I opened the windows to get cold air, gently shook him while screaming in his ear, and threw cold water on him. Nothing worked. Joe rushed in to find me on my knees, hysterical and holding a soaked, lifeless infant." My stomach lurches, and I swallow hard and fast.

  Peter sits next to me, hanging on my every word while looking as if he'd do anything to lend the tiniest of comfort. I swear tears are welling in his eyes.

  My fingers push into the bridge of my nose, trying to press the horror away from my mind's eye. My mad river of tears won't stop as emotions bring forth words that sound as if I am pleading to God for understanding and forgiveness, because I am. "I still don't understand. He was happy and healthy when I put him to bed. Two beautiful weeks of life was all he had. Every moment I gave him the absolute best I could. I loved him so much it would sometimes hurt to look at him, but not looking at him was worse. Every night the three of us would lie on the bed and cuddle. Joseph would be sound asleep the entire time, but it was still wonderful to be next to him. Suddenly he was gone—stolen in a moment of my inadequacy without even the opportunity to whisper a prayer of a goodbye."

  Damn it, Niles, do something! Please! Please don't let me live this alone again. I need someone to tell me it wasn't my fault. To tell me I didn't kill him like I know I did. Say something to show me a ray of hope somehow shines through my window in Hell.

  Peter's gentle touch tingles on my knee. "It's all right, darling. We're here for you. Tell us what happened." I try to curl up to him, but much like Joe he's not really there. It makes the pain all the worse.

  "Babies wake every few hours. Instinctively you shouldn't sleep through a quiet baby. A good mother gets her ass out of bed and checks on her child. She doesn't discover him dead after selfishly sleeping. Being exhausted from waking night after night due to a healthy, crying baby is absolutely no excuse. I should have known. I should have been there for him! I should never be allowed to sleep again!"

  Peter does his best to wrap an arm around me. His eyes beg to help with such compassion I feel like even more horrible of a person for needing something tangible.

  "He left. Joe abandoned us! People who love each other stick together through anything, right? How can anyone turn his back on his child the night before his funeral?"

  My head collapses into my lap. My face is a burning mess from unstoppable tears.

  God, what do I do? When people cry you comfort them with love and words of encouragement. Holding someone is an offer to let the pain roll into you so you can replace it with love. I may have nothing to replace the pain with, but Peter does.

  Shoving the box out of the way, I crawl to Rosalyn and basically sit on top of Peter who starts to leave. "No. We need you." Now is not the time for my pride to get in the way. Peter gives me a knowing nod and shadows my actions as I w
ipe away her tears. What do you tell people who are hurting? "I'm sorry you went through that. It wasn't your fault."

  "Thank you," she says through a breath of relief. It's working. Can it always work? If I can persuade Rosalyn and Peter to live this way, it will be the three of us forever, and I'll never look back.

  Great. Now encourage her by relating your own experiences. Your dog died when you were a kid. You were lonely until Mom bought another one. Work with that.

  "Someday it will be better. Why don't you just have another child? It would solve everything."

  "Niles!" Peter's shout is like a cold snap.

  My emotions freeze, yet my insides wildly quiver. My God, how could anyone say that? "Solve everything?" I barely choke out. "How would that solve anything at all?"

  "Niles, don't you dare say another word!" Peter warns.

  "You wouldn't be so sad anymore," Niles continues earnestly. "I can help you. It doesn't have to happen the old-fashioned way. If you need a donor—"

  Peter jumps up and yells down at Niles. "Shut up! You are even more useless in this world than I am."

  Finally I get enough of a grip to jump up and scream. The line Niles has crossed is so damn big that all my compassion has raced out of my soul. "You insensitive bastard! How can you possibly think for even a second I could replace the incredible gift that I carried inside me and loved with all that I had from the very moment I learned of his existence?"

  Tears rain down my face, pouring onto a stack of Joseph's clothes and unforgivably soiling them with sorrow brought on by an outsider's ignorance. Oh God, how much worse can it get? Am I to suffer until all Joseph left behind is tainted?

  Solemnly I turn to Niles. My face burns with the pain of wishing I could crawl into my baby boy's grave, curl him in my arms, and die. "The very moment that pink line showed on that pregnancy test I looked down at my stomach and marveled that someone sheltered inside was counting on me to do everything absolutely right. Now you've tarnished the last of the beauty he left behind." My voice turns threatening. "Get out! Get out of my life you sick, unfeeling ass!"