by Amiee Louise
Is this the moment where I lose the plot completely? Where I start to see things that aren’t really there?
I pull out my earpiece and step away from the microphone towards Jax.
“I think I’ve just seen, Peyton.”
Jax pulls out his earpiece.
“Sam, mate, you’re just nervous that’s all. The first gig back after a year out...It’s just stress, trust me, please you have to stop fucking torturing yourself.”
He brushes my arm in reassurance. I run my hands through my hair and sprint across the stage, towards where Cole is standing.
“Cole, I think I’ve just seen Peyton, find her now,” I say sternly, and it isn’t a request. He looks at me as if I have lost my mind. Why won’t these people fucking believe me?
“I’m on it, Sam.”
He nods curtly, speaking into his earpiece. I stride back onto the stage, resuming my position at my microphone and replacing my earpiece.
“I apologise for the fuck up, we were experiencing a few technical issues. This next song is a new one for us, it’s going to be featured on our new album, and it’s the first time we have performed it live. It’s called My Private Hell, and I hope you all like it. Give me a beat Axeman.”
Lucas tosses his sticks into the air, catches them effortlessly, and pounds a relentless drum beat. The crowd goes wild, and my adrenaline starts pumping. This is what I have missed. Feeding off the audience’s raw energy is what drives me. I soak in their pure elation as I reach deep into their souls with each lyric I sing. We all perform each song as if it will be our last, and as the first half reaches a close, I feel as if we have never been away. As we make our way backstage, a passing stagehand hands me a towel and a bottle of cool water. I take a long pull from the bottle, and Brody rushes to catch up with me.
“What the fuck was that all about, dude?”
I look at him.
“It was her, Brody, I fucking know it.”
He places his hand on my arm in a gesture of support. He is about to speak when Cole strides towards us and stops in front of us.
“We can’t find her, Sam. We’ve scanned every inch of the venue, are you absolutely sure it was her?”
I scrub my hands down my face, and I start to doubt myself.
Get it the fuck together, Newbolt, you’re losing the plot.
“I was so fucking sure it was her,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
“Fuck me, dude, you need to get laid!”
Brody laughs, and I start to think that maybe he is right, because right now, I am in serious danger of being carted out of here in a fucking straight jacket. Brody takes his smartphone out of his pocket and swipes the screen with his finger.
“I’ll give Amber a call, this sassy little redhead I know. She told me to look her up if we were ever back in the area. She can hook us up with a few hotties.”
He winks and strides off down the corridor. Typical Brody. His heart’s in the right place, fucking shame his brain isn’t. As the second half of the show begins, we pull out all the stops. We share some cheeky banter with each other, interact with the audience and pull a few fans out of the crowd to join us on stage.
“Madison Square Garden, you’re looking fucking beautiful out there tonight.”
The crowd breaks out into frenzied screams, and I grin widely, revelling in their excitement. I step to the front of the stage and put my hand to my ear, they scream louder. Over the past ten years, I have perfected the art of commanding an audience, and it feels pretty fucking good to hold that power over them. As I scan over the sea of fans a girl holding up a banner catches my eye which reads ‘I love you Bolt, you inspire me’ I smile at the dedication of our fans.
“Wow, boys that girl back there says I inspire her!”
The rest of the boys chuckle.
“Sweetheart, there isn’t a day goes by that we aren’t thankful for all your support. Your dedication inspires us, and you’re our inspiration to keep coming back and making music for you all. Because if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be up on this stage in front of you now. You’ve stuck with us through everything, and we love you all.”
The girl with the banner is jumping up and down excitedly and tears are streaming down her cheeks. I blow her a kiss and give her a wink; she practically melts in a puddle at the gesture.
“Now, that’s enough of that soppy shit, let’s give these guys a show to remember,” I growl, and the crowd gets louder as Jax moves across the stage to stand back to back with Brody.
Jax strums a riff, and Brody matches him. Seeing the two of them play so effortlessly together brings a smile to my face. These boys are like my family, and I’m grateful for everything they have done for me over the past eleven years. We are like brothers, and we have seen each other through some of the greatest and worse times of our lives.
It is almost the end of the second half and the finale of our show. We have made every effort to impress and have put one million percent into every performance. We all come alive when we are on stage, and we complement each other musically. As a band, we have perfected our craft over the years, and we fit together like a musical jigsaw. We are all sweating abundantly from jumping around the stage, and I am actually starting to enjoy myself. I have missed being in the spotlight after our year away.
“Madison Square Garden, you’ve been fucking amazing this evening, you’re all beautiful. This is our last song of the night, and this is the song that put us where we are today, so we’re going to fucking rock the shit out of it!”
The crowd roars.
“This is ‘Corrupted’, give me a beat, boys.”
My heart is pounding, and my adrenaline is coursing through my body. I lift the microphone to my lips, and we rock as we have never rocked before. As the song draws to a close, we all come together at the front of the stage.
“We’ve been Rancid Vengeance, hope you all enjoyed the show, goodnight and keep fucking rocking.”
We all salute and exit the stage. We all remove our earpieces and move down the corridor towards the dressing room. As we enter the dressing room, we are all totally pumped after the show. We all pop open some beers, and we all gather round to make a toast.
“Welcome back, boys!”
Brody shouts, and we all clink our bottles together.
“Let’s go out and fucking celebrate.”
I take a long pull on my beer.
“I don’t know about you fuckers, but I need a shower.”
Brody chuckles.
“Aww, I didn’t know you felt that way about us, dude!”
We all laugh, and I love the banter we have between us, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I consider myself lucky to have these boys in my life, and I’m grateful for their friendship.
The rest of our entourage entering the room followed by my family and Ruby interrupts us. They all congratulate us on an epic show, and as I observe their animated conversations, my phone vibrates, signalling a text message. I pick it up from the table and swipe my finger across the screen. The message is from an unknown number.
The person who kidnapped me is close to you
Meet me at West 110th Street
Near the Blockhouse at Central Park
Come alone
Peyton x
My eyes widen, as I read the message and my blood chills in my veins. What the fuck? Willing my legs not to buckle underneath me, I tuck my phone in my pocket, and I make eye contact with Jax, who is looking at me questioningly. I ignore him and stride purposefully out of the dressing room. The text message is really from Peyton, and it was really her in the crowd. She is alive, I know she is. A smile spreads across my face at the thought; I am going to get the opportunity to hold her in my arms once again. As I make my way down the corridor, I see Donovan pushing an equipment case, and I call out to him.
“Donovan.”
He spins around.
“Sam, how’s it hanging, mate?”
I nod.
“
Yeah, all good, thanks, look, dude, I need a favour?”
He smiles and nods enthusiastically.
“’Course, man, go for it.”
I clear my throat.
“I need a car.”
He nods.
“Here, take the keys to my bike; it’s parked in the underground garage.”
I am impressed. We should really make more effort to get to know the people who work for us.
“I didn’t know you were into bikes?”
Donovan grins at my interest.
“Yeah, man, I always hire a bike when we come on tour. I like to ride on my days off.”
I nod and smile as he hands me the keys to his motorbike. Jackpot.
“Cheers, man, I owe you one.”
I wink, and he grins.
“Anytime, dude.”
I walk through the corridor and down a flight of stairs into the private underground parking garage. I click the key fob and the lights flash, I use that to locate the bike which is parked in a lone bay. It is a shiny lime green and black Kawasaki Ninja 300. Nice. I make my way over to the bike, fasten on Donovan’s black skull helmet, put the keys in the ignition and start up the bike. A few moments later I’m roaring out of the underground garage and into the busy New York traffic. I have a loft apartment in Soho, Manhattan so I navigate the New York traffic like a pro and make it to my destination in ten minutes.
My heart is thundering in my chest at the prospect of seeing her again. I have so many questions I want to ask her, so much I want to tell her; most importantly, I just want to hold her in my arms. A part of me is angry that she let me and everyone else think she was dead, but another part of me is relieved and happy that she is really alive. I slow down as I approach my destination and come to a stop at the side of the road. I dismount the bike and kick the kickstand into place. I pull off my helmet, hooking it to the handlebar and I walk slowly down the street, scanning the area cautiously as I go. With every step, my heart beats that bit faster, and I tuck my hands in the pockets of my leather trousers. I make my way to the place where the text message said, and I look around. Every sense I possess is on high alert, and I can’t help but feel like something is off. The area is dark and dimly lit, I feel a sharp blow to the back of my head, and everything is plunged into darkness.
6
Peyton
1 Year Ago
“Please, please just stop.”
I sob, but I know it won’t do any good. That is all I can think. I have never wanted to die as much as I do right now. Please, just put me out of my misery, and fucking kill me now. I am in so much pain, I can’t see straight. My vision is blurred, my head is spinning, I can feel the warm trickle of blood running down various parts of my body, and my whole body feels like it is shutting down.
How the fuck did I even get here? How the fuck did we get here, boo? You are the only one who is keeping me going right now, you are the one keeping me sane, and keeping me fighting. I will not give up boo, I promise you. I am imagining your tiny fingers wrapped around mine, your sparkling green eyes like your daddy’s, and your sleepy dimpled smile, as you look up at me so helplessly, loving me unconditionally. You are my shining light, my reason not to give up, and my reason to keep breathing. In, out, in, out...that’s it. Come on, focus.
“Wake the fuck up, bitch.” His sharp slap to my face jolts me back to the here and now. His wide beady eyes come into focus, he is enjoying this. He is enjoying watching me suffer. “Are you ready for some more, bitch?”
His maniacal laugh echoes throughout the room, and I try in vain to struggle against my restraints. I think my wrist is broken, and the cable ties are biting into my skin.
“Stop struggling, whore,” he says venomously, as I feel the back of his hand connect with my face. “I’m not done with you, not by a fucking long shot. I want to watch you suffer, I want him to see you take your last breath.”
I shake my head, and my stomach roils as I think of Sam. Was anything he ever said to me true, or was it all just a horrible lie?
“No, no, no, please don’t do this,” I plead. I always plead, but it doesn’t seem to get through to him. He is so hell-bent on breaking me, on watching me suffer, all because he is so blinded by jealousy.
“He’ll be upset for a while, but he’ll get over you, he’ll be back to his usual self in no time at all. A leopard never changes its spots, sweetheart, he’ll be back to a different girl every night, or he might even end up in my bed. Although he kept you around longer than the others, he never really wanted you, not really. You were just a distraction, something pretty to fill the time,” he spits, and I can see him trembling with pure blind rage, on the cusp of losing it completely. This is it; he is going to kill me.
“JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW,” I scream hysterically, and he laughs bitterly.
“Kill you? Oh, sweetheart, you’re deluded. Killing you would just be too easy. I planned on having a little fun first. We’re going to make a little film, you and me.”
He strokes my face, and I shudder as his fingers make contact with my skin. I feel physically ill, and he makes my skin crawl.
Grow some balls; do not under any circumstances show weakness, your mum, and dad bought you up better than that.
“I’m not fucking scared of you.” I choke out defiantly, and he is so close to me now, I can feel his warm stale breath on my cheek.
“Oh, I think you’re way beyond scared, darlin’, you’re fucking terrified, just the way I want you,” he whispers.
He moves his hand, and I can see the glistening of the blade. Oh God no. He runs the back of the blade down my cheek, and I am trembling with such fear now. I can’t take it anymore.
“I can smell your fear now, and it’s fucking exquisite,” he says in an eerie, melodic voice.
I struggle against my restraints again, and I sob hard,
“Please, please, please don’t do this.”
“God, I love it when you beg, when you plead with me, please, please don’t do this,” he mocks. He moves over to the camera set up on a tripod in the corner of the room, and a red light appears, as he presses record.
“Showtime, sweetheart.” He laughs, with a sadistic glint in his eyes.
I am not going to survive this, not this time. I love you boo. I am so sorry...
7
Sam
Present
I look up, and my whole world comes back into focus. My eyes widen in complete and utter shock, as I recognise the figure in front of me.
“You? What the fucking fuck?”
My head is still fuzzy from the bash on the head, but I would recognise that face anywhere. J fucking D.
“Surprise!” he says, in a singsong voice and laughs maniacally.
My head is throbbing, and I am tied to a wooden chair, with cable ties. I struggle to get my arms and legs free, but there is no give at all. He circles and stops in front of me, with his hands behind his back. His wide beady eyes regard me with rapt interest. His hair is dishevelled, and he is wearing an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dirty jeans, and scuffed trainers. He is so close, I can feel his warm, alcohol breath on my cheek. I try to focus on my surroundings and realise I am in some sort of derelict warehouse. There is a wooden table to his right, and the only light in the room comes from the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“What the fuck is going on?” I say in a confused tone, my fuzzy brain still struggling to comprehend the situation I currently find myself in.
He removes his hands from behind his back, revealing a sharp, serrated combat blade, which is at least six inches long, and moves towards the table. Suddenly, he slams the knife violently into the table top. After all the times I watched that DVD repeatedly, as the hooded figure plunged a large menacing combat blade into Peyton’s chest, I would recognise that knife anywhere.
“You! This was all you! You sick fuck!”
I am totally and completely stunned. Fuck me, this is not happening.
“It
was me, all of it was me! Don’t you see, Sammy? It was me all along!”
He laughs, and suddenly my whole world starts spinning. I am in freefall, and I feel like I need to vacate my guts all over the floor. Breathe, Newbolt, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
“It was meant to end this way!”
What the fucking fuck is he talking about?
He dances around me, laughing maniacally, and I think he has finally lost the plot. He taps my cheek, and I flinch away from his touch.
