Chapter Ten

Things were not going well in the world of The Wrenching, Lark mused as she sat in the back of Shane’s tour bus alone. Shane was out trying to score coke from the roadies, and Lark had declined accompanying him. The rest of the week’s shows had been cancelled due to the fact that Chris and Shane refused to play together. Everybody from Mandy to Kirk to Randy had come to Lark and asked her to try to talk some sense into Shane. Lark had tried, but she was pretty pissed at Chris too. He had a vendetta against her for no reason she could understand, and she didn’t think it was particularly fair. Shane said that if Chris apologized to both him and Lark and promised not to say or do anything else, then he’d play on stage with him again. Lark felt this was a fairly reasonable request. So when anyone came to her and appealed to her to talk to Shane, she said she’d try, but that she thought the person they needed to be talking to was Chris.

Both the tour and the Entourage had gotten on the road and traveled south. Though they were missing three shows, they were still booked to play in Kentucky the following Tuesday night and most people were hopeful they could clear up the misunderstandings between the two original members of The Wrenching before then. Lark hoped so too. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen to her if the tour got completely cancelled.

Between the last two Wrenching tours, she’d hung out in Baltimore, working as a waitress and crashing in a studio apartment with five or six other kids. She didn’t think she wanted to do that again. Dating Shane had changed something within her. She realized she’d been wandering through life numb since Jimmy’s death. Now, she was starting to wake up again, to feel again, to be human again. Things that used to be acceptable to her weren’t. So she wanted something better for herself. However, she didn’t know if she could respect herself if she stayed with Shane, which was what he clearly expected her to do. If she went back to Shane’s mansion in Tennessee and lived with him, she’d be doing something too close to what Chris had accused her of. She’d be taking advantage of his wealth.

She hadn’t told Shane that she didn’t know if she could go back with him. He kept saying things like, “When we get back to my house, we’ll...” And then he filled it in with a host of activities. But Lark didn’t know. She was tempted to take him up on his offer. Shane was good to her, and he was gorgeous. But in some ways, the way she lived with Shane wasn’t much different than the way she’d lived with Matt Dimsky and boys like him. Sure, she didn’t feel as though she was trading sex for someplace to stay or for protection or for drugs. Shane really cared about her. That was different, of course. But it looked the same.

The only thing that really was going right was her relationship with Shane. They were having regular sex now, and it was lovely. Shane had been sleeping without pills for the past several nights, due mostly to the fact that Lark talked him out of doing coke after about eight o’clock in the evening. Distracting him with sex was working for now, but she didn’t think it would forever.

The door to the tour bus opened and Shane came back inside.

“Hey,” she greeted him. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” said Shane. “Fucking roadies jacked up the price, though. I swear. You know, if I could just go out in public and try to get these drugs myself, I could get it for cheaper.”

“Well, you’re richer than God. I think you’ll survive,” said Lark.

Shane laughed. “Oh. Lark do you know some guy named Damien?”

Lark nodded. “Yeah, that’s Rainey’s boyfriend.”

“Why don’t you go talk to him? Security detained him because he was looking for you, and he won’t leave until he talks to you.”

Lark stood straight up, worried. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t bring him back to the bus, okay? Please?”

“I won’t!” Lark said, and she practically dove out of the bus and rushed to the security checkpoint. Damien was there all right. He was handcuffed.

“Can you take those cuffs off him?” Lark asked one of the guards. “He’s my friend.”

“And you are?” the guard asked.

“I’m Shane’s girlfriend,” she said.

“Whatever,” said the guard.

Lark glared at him, but she went to Damien. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s Rainey,” said Damien. “She’s disappeared.”

* * *

“Can’t we do something?” Lark asked Shane. “She’s my best friend.”

Shane was pacing in the tour bus, holding two of the rats. He hadn’t spoken at all when she related to him that Rainey was missing. He still wasn’t speaking.

“Shane, you’ve got to have some kind of clout here. I mean, you’re Shane Adams. Can’t you talk to the police or hold a press conference or something?”

Shane stopped abruptly. He put down the rats and he started laying out some lines of coke.

“Shane, you can’t ignore me,” said Lark. “Talk to me, please. For all I know, my best friend is dead, and you’re not saying anything!”

Shane did a line. He rubbed his nose and looked at her. “The police can’t help your friend,” he said. “And the press won’t listen to me. You know what happened with that article.”

“What was that article about anyway?”

“It was about me telling everybody to go home!” Shane said. “To stop this shit from happening!”

“Look, we’ve had this conversation before. You can’t blame yourself for the fact that something is happening to people. It’s not your fault. And everybody doesn’t need to go home. Somebody just needs to catch whoever’s doing this.”

“I know who’s doing this,” said Shane.

Lark paused for a minute. “You do?” she finally asked. What the fuck did that mean, anyway? When she’d met Shane, he was dressed up like a crazy bible-thumping guy. Maybe he had split personalities or something. Maybe he was doing this. Maybe he was...what? Killing people? No. She couldn’t believe that. “So, who’s doing it?”

“I don’t think he has a name,” said Shane. “He’s just...smeared, smoky, ashy air. He eats pain.”

What?! Shane was starting to sound crazy again. Lark was at a loss for a response. What was she supposed to say to something like that?

Shane did another line.

“Shane, maybe drugs are not really the best thing for you to be doing right now.”

“Fuck you,” he said darkly. “You don’t understand. No one understands.”

Lark was stung. Shane had never told her to fuck herself before. “I could try to understand. If you explain it to me.”

Shane got up. He went into the bedroom and reemerged with a children’s picture book. He threw it at Lark. She tried to catch it, but she missed, and it landed next to her on the couch. She picked it up. Looked at it. “The Pied Piper of Hamelin?” she read. “Like the song? ‘Get the Fuck Out of Hamelin?’“

Shane shrugged.

“So your song is about the Pied Piper?”

“I am the Pied Piper,” said Shane. “I play and the children follow.”

Lark chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, I guess so. Sort of. But you’re not making sense, Shane. I’m still confused.”

“Do you know the story?”

“Well, sure. Some guy played a pipe and a bunch of kids followed him into a land where there was a bunch of ice cream lakes or something.” She was having trouble remembering the cartoon version she’d seen once when she was a kid.

“It’s in the book,” said Shane.

“You want me to read the picture book?” Lark said incredulously.

“Fine,” said Shane. “I’ll just tell you. The city of Hamelin had a rat problem. They tried everything, but they couldn’t get rid of the rats. They were everywhere. Anyway, a man came by one day and he said, ‘I’ll take care of your rat problem.’ The leaders of the city were skeptical. They asked him how he’d do it, and he said he’d play his pipe. They laughed at him. So, he said that he’d do it anyway, and that they wouldn’t have to pay him unless he got rid of all the rats. They thought that was a pretty good deal, so they agreed.

“The next day, the piper came into the city and began to play his pipe. All the rats came out of hiding and followed him wherever he led, which was right into the lake, where they drowned.

“The leaders of the city couldn’t believe it, but they were happy to have the rats gone. However, when the piper came back and asked for his payment, they refused to give it to him. The piper was angry and vowed revenge. He came back later and played his pipe again. This time, instead of the rats, all the children followed him. He led them out of town, and they were never seen again.”

Lark wrinkled her nose. “That story seemed a lot happier in the cartoon. It’s kind of creepy.”

Shane nodded.

“So that’s why you have pet rats, because you think you’re the Pied Piper?”

Shane shook his head. “No, the rats... the rats happened later. Maybe it was his idea of a joke. Sort of reverse the legend. I don’t know.”

“I still don’t understand, Shane.”

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “You already think I’m nuts. You’ll never believe me.”

“I told you about Jimmy,” said Lark. “You have to trust me too.”

“I want to, Lark. I want to. But if you think I’m crazy, I’m afraid you’ll leave me. And I don’t know if I could manage it anymore. Without you.”

That statement both exhilarated and terrified Lark. On the one hand, it was so wonderful to be needed. On the other hand, it was terrifying to have that much responsibility over another human being. “I don’t think I’ll leave you,” she said.

“Do you promise?”

“Tell me, Shane.”

He looked away. “It started a long time ago. Before I was famous. I was tripping on mushrooms and I had this hallucination. A big ball of orange light. It sucked me inside...”

* * *

Ten years ago...

Shane thought he must have passed out from terror. When he woke up, he was in a long stone corridor, lit only by scattered candelabras on the wall. They were held in place by crude metal fixtures, rusted with age. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and all the corners. The air was filled with smoke. It made it hard for Shane to breathe. He looked around, trying to take it all in. This was a freaky hallucination. It was so detailed. He’d never seen anything like this before on mushrooms. Unless he’d really been taken someplace. Was this a joke? Had the guys dropped him in some...what was this place? A castle?

He picked himself up from the floor, swatting at his clothing, because the place just felt dirty. It was too dark for him to really see if his clothes had been dirtied or not, however. That was when he saw him.

He was sitting at the end of the corridor on a throne of sorts, but Shane couldn’t tell what the throne was made of. It looked almost like smoke or ash or something inky and smeary and black. He was shaped like a man, but he was also comprised of this strange smoky, ashy matter. Wisps of him rose from his hands when he moved them. Something kept him together, but barely. He was insubstantial, pieces of him kept floating into the air, making the air smokier. Shane coughed.

The way the ash man looked was unsettling enough. But once Shane took him in, gazed at him full on, he began to feel anxious and frightened. Something in Shane’s entrails felt as if it came untied. His heart raced. He started sweating. His mouth went dry. Shane wanted to run. He looked behind him, but the corridor disappeared into the darkness, seeming to go on forever.

“Come closer,” said the ash man on the throne, and his voice was deep. Gravelly. Compelling, but gentle.

Shane took a step forward. The awful feeling in his intestines intensified. He took another step forward and immediately felt sick to his stomach. Mushrooms did that sometimes, he rationalized. This was all just part of the trip. Maybe he was starting to have a bad trip or something. He’d heard of them, but he’d never experienced one. Whatever was going on, he didn’t think this experience qualified as much fun. He made it a few more steps before he had to stop and throw up the contents of his stomach. His vomit splattered against the cold stone floor. Shane stared at it for a moment.

“Closer,” said the ash man again, seemingly unaffected by Shane’s being sick, and Shane kept walking.

Shane couldn’t walk quickly. Every step he took made him more and more uncomfortable. By the time he was standing in front of the ash man, he was lightheaded and dizzy. Sweat was pouring out of him, soaking through his shirt, but he felt cold all the way down to his bones. His stomach was queasy, and his eyes and throat stung from the smoke in the air.

He looked up at the ash man, who was huge this close, maybe eight feet tall. His eyes were glowing orange embers and, when he opened his mouth, smoke billowed out of it. Shane tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

“Hello, Shane,” said the ash man.

Shane reasoned that it would make sense that his hallucination knew his name. After all, this thing was a figment of his mind. Who knew his imagination was so powerful when coupled with hallucinogenic drugs? This was downright creepy. Shane wondered idly how much longer it would be before the mushrooms wore off. It couldn’t be much longer, and he hoped it was soon. He wanted this to be over. Now. He was not having any fun at all.

The ash man leaned forward. Shane retched, but there was nothing left for him to throw up. He glared at the ash man. “I wish to hell I wasn’t hallucinating you,” he said, hoping that vocalizing something like that might make this whole bad trip go poof, deflate like a balloon or shrivel up and crawl away.

“I am not a hallucination,” purred the ash man.

Shane hated his voice. He half-laughed. “Oh, right,” he said. “So what are you then?”

“I am the devil,” said the ash man.

Shane laughed again. This hallucination was really getting weird.

“Actually, that is not what I am, but it is close enough. I am intrigued by your mythologies and fables. The devil is much like me. But what I am is not important, Shane.”

“So if you’re the devil, are you going to offer me fame and fortune if I sell you my soul or something?” Shane asked and then he coughed several times. The smoke was really getting to him. He felt as though his lungs were covered in thousands of tiny pinpricks, each bleeding furiously.

“I have no use for souls,” said the ash man. “I need bodies.”

“Oh,” said Shane. “Great. Souls aren’t cutting it these days, huh? You gonna steal my body then? It’s going to be difficult to make me famous without a body. What’s really in the deal for me?”

“Would you like to make a deal?” asked the ash man.

Could he really be hallucinating this feeling in his lungs? What kind of trip was this anyway? What kind of mushrooms had those been? Something very uncool was happening. When Shane got his hands on the guy who’d sold them these shrooms—

“Well?”

He might as well play along. “What kind of deal?”

“You bring me bodies. I give you fame.”

“How am I supposed to bring you bodies?”

“I will take them myself. From those who listen to your music. I will make your music irresistible to anyone who listens to it. They will follow you, worship you. And from those who do, I will take a small few. Not all of them. Just a few.”

“And what are you going to do with their bodies?” Shane asked, wondering why in the fuck this kind of shit was even in his head. He’d listened to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” too many times or something. He wondered if soon he’d be playing in a contest to see who was the best guitarist.

“They will work for me. If you desire, I will let you keep the souls. I do not need the souls, just the bodies.”

Shane laughed again, even though it was painful. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll keep the souls.”

“You agree then?”

“Yeah,” said Shane. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. We have a deal.” He laughed and laughed and laughed.

* * *

Shane stopped talking. It had felt good to get that out. To tell someone. Anyone. While he’d been talking, relief had flooded his body. But now that he was done, he looked at Lark and anxiety seized him. He looked at her face, trying to read what she was thinking, but she looked blank. And she wasn’t saying anything. He wanted to prompt her. He wanted to know if she thought he was crazy. But he couldn’t. So he just waited, watching her face, feeling tension mount within him.

“Shane,” she said finally, “I don’t think your weird hallucination proves anything.”

“You don’t think it’s too weird to be a coincidence?” asked Shane. “I got famous after that. I did. And then people started disappearing.”

“I think it’s just that,” she said. “A coincidence. That’s all. And I don’t think you’re crazy, but I think you’re trying to blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault, and I don’t know why you’d want to do that.”

Shane sighed. “I don’t think it was a hallucination. I think it really happened.”

“You think you made a deal with the devil?” Lark smiled as she said this.

“Yes. I do. I think I did.”

“Well, then, he’s not keeping up his end of the bargain, is he? He said you could keep the souls. There aren’t any souls here.”

Shane looked away. This was the part where she’d really think he was nuts. If he told her, there’d really be no going back. He was going to do it, though. He had to get it all out. “What do you think the rats are?” he asked.

“What?” Lark demanded.

“The rats. I never bought them, you know. They started showing up after the first person disappeared. They followed me around. I decided to keep them. Sometimes, when I look in their eyes, I think I can see something in there. Something trapped.”

“Okay, that’s ridiculous.”

Oh. She was angry. Great. Pretty soon she was going to stalk out and tell him what a jerk he was and never speak to him again. And damn it, he really liked this girl. Liked her a hell of a lot. Didn’t know if he wanted to face being alive without her.

“Sorry,” said Shane.

“Besides, you’re wrong. You don’t have a new rat, and Rainey just disappeared.”

“Actually,” said Shane, picking up one of the rats he’d been holding before, “this one just showed up today.”

“So you’re telling me that inside that rat is the trapped soul of my best friend?!” Lark said. “I don’t believe that! I refuse to believe that. No fucking way.”

Shane didn’t say anything.

Lark took the rat from Shane. Held it up. Stared into its eyes. “I don’t see anything except rat,” she said, handing the rat back.

“I know it’s true, Lark,” he said. “I know that this is all my fault, and I need to stop playing. Maybe if I stop playing, it will stop. It will all stop.”

“No,” said Lark. “You need to play. People need you to play. I need you to play. Your music says things that I can’t say myself.”

That was a nice thought. Something he’d always hoped he could do. He wasn’t sure if it mattered anymore, though. “Are you leaving?”

She glared at him. “Where would I go?”

She had a point.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said. And she went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Shane looked into the eyes of the rat again. Maybe Lark was right. Maybe all that was there was just...a rat.

* * *

Shane fidgeted in his seat and watched as Chris sauntered into the meeting ten minutes late. He, the rest of the members of the band, their manager, Mandy, and their publicist were all gathered in a conference room at the venue in Kentucky. The concert for the evening was technically still on, but Chris hadn’t apologized, and until he did, Shane wasn’t playing. He wasn’t sure if he was playing ever again, in fact. It made him feel so guilty, especially now that one of the people who’d disappeared was Lark’s close friend. He felt utterly responsible. He felt miserable.

“You’re late, Chris,” said Mandy, as Chris settled into his seat.

Chris took a noisy slurp of the coffee he was drinking and said, “Sorry.”

In Shane’s opinion, Chris didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“Well,” said Mandy. “It looks like we’re all here, so I guess we’ll get started.”

Shane sat up in his seat and tried to focus on Mandy. His inclination was to slide back into a long thought process about what was going on with him and Lark, but he needed to fight that and pay attention to what was going on in this meeting. The Wrenching almost never had band meetings. The fact they were doing this meant that things weren’t going well at all.

“I’ll start,” said Randy. “I’m sick of Shane throwing fits and fucking up our shows.”

Great. So, it was going to be like that, was it? Maybe he should just tune out the meeting.

“I don’t think that’s exactly a very productive way to go about conducting this meeting,” said Mandy. “Let’s try to keep from insulting each other, shall we?”

“Fine,” said Randy, “but this is all about Shane. As always.”

Shane didn’t feel like taking this. “Well, I did start the band, Randy. And those songs you’re so keen on playing at shows? I wrote them.”

“Yeah, you know what?” said Randy. “Kirk and I are sick of feeling like second-class members of this band, just because we didn’t grow up in whatever white-trash town you two grew up in and play with you when you were twelve or whatever.”

Kirk put his hands up, palms forward, a back-off gesture. “Hey,” he said. “Leave me out of this, Randy. I, for one, don’t mind getting the night off as long as I’m getting paid.”

Chris leaned forward. “Randy, you and Kirk didn’t even play on the first album,” he said. “Now, I’m not saying that makes you second-class, but it does make you, well, secondary.” He looked at Mandy. “Is this really why we’re here? Because, we’ve been having issues getting Shane on stage for over a year now, and no one’s ever felt the need to call a meeting.”

Mandy sighed. “We’re here, because we simply can’t cancel this show tonight. You guys have to go on, and we’re here to make that happen. So, if you guys would just stop squabbling with each other, and let me—”

“Not gonna happen,” said Shane. “I’m not playing with Chris until he apologizes to me.”

Everyone in the room looked at Chris.

“What?” Chris said. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just trying to look out for my best friend.”

“You two are going to have to find a way to look beyond this personal fight you’re having and focus on the music,” said Mandy.

“Are you kidding?” asked Shane. “We are the music. It’s always been me and Chris. If it’s not me and Chris, there is no music.”

Chris looked at Shane appraisingly. “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said.

“See?” said Mandy. “You two are agreeing about something. You’re best friends. I know you must have had arguments in the past. You got past them. You need to get past this one.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Chris.

“Could be,” said Shane. “If you apologized, it could definitely be that easy.”

“I know I’m right about that chick. So I don’t see why I’d say I was wrong or sorry. Because I’m not,” said Chris.

“Um...” said Kirk. “I don’t want to interrupt or anything, but Chris, just because you don’t like Lark doesn’t mean you can’t apologize for causing Shane pain or whatever. And it doesn’t mean you can’t decide to respect his decision. He is a grown man, here.”

“I don’t respect his decision, though,” said Chris.

“You’re being a dick,” said Shane. “You’re jealous, and you’re acting like a kid.”

“I am not jealous,” said Chris. “There’s something off about your girlfriend.” He looked at the rest of the people in the room. “You guys see it, right?”

They shook their heads.

“There’s nothing wrong with Lark,” said Mandy. “That girl is a godsend. She is good for Shane. I’m sorry, Chris, but I have to disagree with you on this.”

“Fine,” said Chris. “So, you guys think I’m nuts. I figure it comes with the rock star territory. Deal with it.”

The band’s publicist tapped Mandy on the shoulder.

Mandy turned to her. “Liesl, let’s just hold off on that part for a few minutes.”

“What part?” Randy wanted to know.

“We’re not anywhere near a resolution on this issue,” said Mandy. “Let’s not complicate it by adding other issues to the mix.”

“There are other issues?” Shane asked.

Mandy sighed. “Fine. Liesl, tell them.”

Liesl smiled at the guys. She was generally all business, and Shane was a little embarrassed that she was witnessing their fighting. “Shane did an interview with Whitney Eros several months back, but she couldn’t publish it. So, she and some other guy are wandering around the Entourage passing the damned article out to everyone.”

“Why’s that such a bad thing?” asked Chris.

“Shane tells all of the members of the Entourage to go home in the article,” said Liesl.

“What?” said Randy.

“What?” said Chris.

The two both turned angrily to Shane. Shane was secretly elated that Whitney was actually getting the article out. But now he was the bad guy in the meeting again. He didn’t want to feel ganged up on, but he figured it was par for the course.

“That’s not all,” said Liesl, “the article implies that there’s someone or something dangerous preying on your fans. Shane, do you believe this?”

“I do. And I don’t understand why everybody’s so keen on covering it up.”

“Oh right,” said Liesl, “the article’s very conspiracy theory on that front too, saying that news about the disappearances of fans keeps, well, disappearing, and detailing how impossible it was to publish this article.”

“Which is weird, right?” said Shane. “Because an article that makes me look so crazy should have been lapped up by the press. Look what they did with my fight with Chris.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason it’s not getting published, Shane,” said Liesl. “I think most magazines are just spotting the fact it’s shoddy journalism.”

Shane crossed his arms over his chest.

 “The article is a problem, because if those kids out there read it and believe it, they’re going to actually go home,” said Mandy.

“Well good,” said Shane. “They’ll be safe.”

“You’re nuts, dude,” said Chris. “Don’t realize that those kids are paying our salaries?”

“These cancelled shows are hurting us all financially,” said Mandy. “They can’t continue. A diminished fan base is just another nail in the coffin.”

“Coffin?” said Randy. “Aren’t we overreacting a little bit? Are you saying that the band is in danger?”

“I’ve worked as a publicist for a long time,” said Liesl. “When a band’s riding high, they feel as though they rule the world. But never forget this, guys. This is a very fickle business. One minute you’re popular, the next no one has ever heard of you. The more difficult you get, the more likely it is that people will just move on to someone that sounds like you, but is more reliable and doesn’t constantly cancel shows.”

“Shane’s the one canceling shows,” said Chris. “And Lark—”

“Was getting him on stage until you pulled this crap,” Mandy interrupted him. “I’ve had it with the both of you. Now this is what’s going to happen. Chris and Shane are going to kiss and make up. You are going on tonight. You will play a show. And Shane, onstage tonight, you will deny everything you’re quoted as saying in that article.”

“No, I won’t,” said Shane. Who did these people think they were anyway? They couldn’t order him around like this. They didn’t own him.

“And I’m not kissing and making up,” said Chris.

Mandy threw her hands in the air. “What do you want me to do? You want me to put the entire tour on hold because you two can’t get along?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t care what you do.”

Shane laughed. “This job is a headache for you, isn’t it Mandy?”

“Right now,” she said, “it most definitely fucking is.”

“Well, then,” said Shane, “I guess you’ll be happy to know that you don’t have it anymore.”

“Are you trying to fire me, Shane Adams, because let me tell you—”

“Nope,” said Shane. “I’m not firing you. Or maybe I am. I’m firing all of you. I’m dissolving the band. I quit. The Wrenching is breaking up.”

“You can’t do that, man,” said Randy. “You can’t do that.”

“Shane,” said Chris. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re all my songs,” said Shane. “All my songs. So if you guys want to keep going, you’ll need to write other songs, because there’s no way I’ll give you permission to play mine. But I’m done with this shit. I’m done.”

“Shane,” Chris said again, “this is all you ever wanted to do.”

Shane shrugged. “Yeah. Great. Look where it’s gotten me.” He stood up. “Cancel the rest of the tour, Mandy. Cancel any time you might have booked in the studio. And everyone, please, just leave me the fuck alone.”