Dark Muse (3 page)

He almost voiced his intentions when Otis and
Corey entered and sat in front of them. They knew her story, but
never asked. Still, they’d back up Muddy with anything he chose to
do.

Muddy read the email over the phone to the
other guys. None of them had thought Mr. Satriani would actually be
able to help them find Zack. Now, he sent them the equivalent of a
map for buried treasure—of a sort.

Muddy,

I can’t find your brother, nor do I know
where he really is, but if there IS an answer, I know who has it.
Go to the address below and be as open as your music. Don’t go at
night, please, but go soon.

Be careful. If this guy is real, if what I
hear is true that he can do, you could be in more danger than you
could ever dream of
—
but don’t go alone. There’s power in
your group.

I wish I had some to give you.

Satch

“Well what are we gonna do?” Muddy said.
“Just sit here?”

Otis never pulled punches when he spoke. One
of his handicaps that landed him in the special education classes
at school was that his eyelids never closed fully, even when he
slept. The kid always looked stoned and was a saline junkie. But
never shutting his mouth?

Muddy’s fist tightened on the mouse as he
tried to MapQuest the address his teacher had given them. According
to three different websites, Sixty-One Mustang Drive simply didn’t
exist.

“Maybe you’re spelling it wrong.”

Wrong thing to say to a dyslexic kid...

Muddy nearly broke the mouse, but held back.
This one and only clue had to be the answer.

“It’s gotta be there,” Poe said. “Satch
wouldn’t jerk us around. He actually cares.”

Muddy sighed, relaxing his grip. “I know.
He’s one of the few who does, at least for who we really are.”

Corey finally said what they'd all thought
but avoided, until now. “Do you know where Mustang Drive is?. I do,
kind of. It’s smack dead in the black heart of Iron. Talk about
scary.”

“It’s like Iraq, ghetto-style,” Otis
said.

“More like Harlem, Detroit, D.C. and East
L.A.—all rolled up into one—on acid,” Poe added.

“My old friends would kick my butt if they
saw me on those streets,” Corey said, arms shivering just a
bit.

“So,” Poe said, clasping her hands as she
stood. “When do we go?”

“Tonight.” Muddy had to show the strength his
brother would need.

“Whoa,” Corey said. “Love the hero mentality,
but don’t like the stupid part. We wait until morning.”

Muddy stared at each of them, anger seething
through his eyes at first, but then he relaxed.

Poe leaned in and touched his arm. “Seven too
early for you? P.M.?”

They all took a collective breath. It would
be early enough for sunlight, at least an hour and a half before
sundown, but still hitting the danger zone.

* * * *

How does one prepare to travel into the worst
part of town, somewhere that even the police tried to avoid?

Each house the band passed blinked at them,
eyes hidden by the dark, but curious about the strangers who tread
on their territory. The flickers of light in the windows scared the
teens more than anything, mostly because the house sat in eerie
silence.

Muddy hoped that no one cared about the
intrusion.

But of course, they did.

The band slunk down Terminal Avenue, walking
cautiously along the street. To stay on the broken concrete of the
sidewalks meant walking too close to the shadows that hid between
the shops, both open and shut down, the jagged hedges of clapboard
houses and crowded apartment buildings.

Up ahead, a group of gang bangers, maybe
eight or nine, suddenly came out of nowhere and blocked the
intersection. Forming a line under the shadowy glare of the
streetlights, they appeared larger and more menacing than Muddy had
ever faced down before.

“Oh, crap.” Otis practically hugged Corey.
“We’re dead.”

Muddy wondered how many packed weapons. He
never knew a dealer in town who didn’t carry at least a blade.

One of them strode toward the band, hands
deep in his pockets. When the light struck his face, Muddy’s mind
didn’t know what to register, fear or relief.

“Rivers, that you?” Vinnie closed the gap
between them.

“Geez,” Muddy thought, “this could be really
bad or really good.”

He tried to look into Vinnie's eyes, but the
broken beams of light from above split the boy’s face into many
weird prisms—some smiling, some touched with evil, some
indistinguishable.

“What are
you
doing out here, little
man? You have a death wish?” His posse laughed, mostly at the
band.

“Is your deadbeat brother out here, too?” His
gray eyes scoped the ragtag look of the band. “As much as I like
the guy, he still owes me cash.”

“We’re looking for Zack and don’t need any
crap tonight.” Otis never held back.

No one could tell which rang louder, the
catcalls from Vinnie’s posse, or the band’s hearts beating through
their ribs.

The dealer’s eyes grew big. “Oh, really,” he
said, crossing his arms instead of whipping out a knife. “And you
think you’ll find Zack here?” Hopefully, he had a shred of
compassion in his drug-addled veins and wouldn’t snap Otis like a
dried wishbone. “‘Cause if he was here, I’d know about it.”

Muddy took the break in the tension for a
shot. “So, you don’t know where he is?”

“Nope again, little Rivers. Wish I did,
seeing as we have some business to discuss, but he’s also a cool
guy. I look out for him when I can, but he’s changed—a lot. I’d go
back home if I were you. Things get nasty around here then it gets
dark.”

Poe looked at him, then at Corey and Otis.
“We need to find someone here, first.” Her hand shook, holding the
printed email containing the address Mr. Satriani had indicated
they needed to find.

Vinnie's skinny, calloused hand jutted out.
“Lemme see that,” he said, snatching it from her open hand. His
beady eyes widened, then went a shade of white.

He straightened up, returning to his tall,
tough image. “Your funeral.” He turned to walk away, a business
deal likely in the vicinity.

“But, Rivers,” he said, a little softer,
“watch your step. Death walks around here and even scares away the
shadows.”

Corey spoke up for the first time. “Guys? You
still up for this?” They knew he was petrified.

“I can’t see a problem,” Poe quipped.

Otis and Muddy snickered softly, nerves
jangling. The most vulnerable member of the band resorted to joking
when they were walking through fire, possibly heading straight to
the dragon. But, how could they turn away now?

* * * *

Mustang Drive did exist. Never mind that it
was in an area where no one in their right mind would
live—willingly. Only a few of the buildings on the street remained
intact. The rest had withered away into bad memories and dust. None
could be called homes. How could
anyone
live there and call
it home?. Sixty-one must be at the end.

A ramshackle red house stood, maybe leaned,
at the far end of the street. Actually, it sort of looked like it
was held up by wood and stones that had lost all its will to
possess strength a couple of centuries ago. Two windows gazed out
like bloodshot eyes, filthy and draped in shadow. Around the mouth,
a decrepit porch yawned in a wood-warped smile that suggested it
knew something they shouldn’t. On the right side of the black door,
a rusted number “61” hung limp. A light within flickered, like a
candle in a rotted jack-o-lantern.

“Ready, guys?”

Poe held Muddy’s hand in a vise-like grip.
She knew she would need some help to walk through the landmine of
junk littering the front yard, hidden beneath foot-tall weeds.
Nobody would accuse her of flirting with him, not in this
situation. No matter how much he wished it to be true.

“Sure, let’s kick it.”

“I’m in,” Corey said, his voice wavering more
than the red house’s light.

Muddy turned to Otis, who suddenly lost his
jokes.

“What?” Otis said, his voice a little higher
than usual. “I’m thinking. Okay, I’m in, too. No way am I gonna
wait outside this place while you guys play detective.”

The foursome proceeded to walk up to the
stairs, testing them one at a time. One by one, the planks groaned
and growled. They likely hadn’t been stepped on for years. Muddy
silently prayed that none of them would crash through and wind up
captive in a dungeon filled with torture devices.

The wood held firmly. At the top, Poe reached
forward to knock on the door before any of them could stop her. The
moment her knuckles scraped the black paint, something inside the
house exploded in a frenzy of barks and howls. She yanked her hand
back and screamed. By the looks on the faces of the others, they'd
nearly wet their pants.

“Hello?” a voice bellowed from within,
overpowering the animal. Bassy and old, it seemed to surround
them.

The barking, from whatever beast lurked
inside, added to the question.

“Holy crap!” Otis yelled. “Who’s in there,
Cujo?”

Corey stepped up to the front of the pack.
His fingers found a cracked doorbell hiding in a mass of spider
webs and splintered, flaking red wood. “Don’t be a wuss, little
man. You don’t have a backbone here, you’re dead.”

Corey, a lanky tough kid who had spent most
of his childhood ducking bullets in the projects knew more about
backbones than all of them combined. They'd all had their
challenges, but their enemies came from within, from genetic
demons. Muddy was dyslexic and motherless. Poe, well Poe was
legally blind and her father—Muddy clenched his hands so hard
thinking about it his nails cut into his palms. And Otis, he was
the worst of them with his brittle bones, tiny body, frizzy,
colorless hair and a life expectancy that had expired five years
ago. No wonder he was always so mad at the world.

Corey was physically healthy and smart, no
disabilities at all. But he came from the worst section of town and
the wrong crowd, along with his brother. Eventually, he'd skipped
enough school to fall a year behind. It took only one gunshot to
bring him back to his senses. Muddy lost a mother, but at least
he’d had a chance to say goodbye.

Put all those things together and “The
Accidentals” were quite a bunch. But they had friendship and music
and that made most things feel okay. It was special in a good way
when it came to their talent. When they played, no one made fun of
them.

The doorbell rang. The beast inside the house
barked louder and threw itself toward the door.

“What is that?” Poe whispered, her hand
shaking in Muddy’s. “What kinda dog is…”

BANG.

Whatever it was, it threw all of its weight
against the brittle door again, this time sending a blizzard of
paint chips and dust into everyone’s hair and eyes. Muddy swore the
wood buckled at least a couple of inches during the attack.

“My eyes!” Otis shrieked. His voice rose an
octave. The rest of the band rubbed the flakes out with hands and
tears, but tears were a luxury Otis didn’t have. He shook his head
and his white afro threw more dust into his face. There was no way
they could get him home or to the ER if he started to bleed.

“Where’s your saline?” Muddy asked, checking
his pockets.

He shivered. “I…don’t know.” His hand danced
around his face, not wanting to make anything worse, but writhing
in agony.

Before Muddy realized what had happened,
Corey had knocked him aside and leaned into Otis. In his hand, a
small bottle shone in the red light. “Relax, lean back a little bit
and
shut up
!”

Corey, the gentle giant.

As the drummer complied, Corey squirted a
stream of solution into both of his eyes, washing away the debris.
Several blinks later, all was calm again. Except for the strangled
dog cry, sounding like it was gnawing on a human femur.

“You okay, little guy?” Corey asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“I hate being ignored,” Poe said as she
pounded on the door. “Anyone alive in there? We need to talk to
you! Mr. Satriani sent us,” she yelled over the animal’s braying.
“Can we talk, or what?” Her fist drummed against the wood. “Our
friend went missing—at the crossroads.”

“Shut the hell up you ugly beast!” came the
reply. They thought the angry man was insulting Poe but then
realized he was referring to his dog. It was a good thing, because
Poe could be a real viper when she got mad.

They all feared her temper. Sweet as honey on
the outside, but cross her, and even a rattlesnake would curl up
and roll away. Muddy couldn’t blame her though, not with the life
she had.

“Excuse
him
?” she said.

Otis, fully recovered now, half-smiled. “I do
think he means his dog.”

A tense silence hung in the air for a few
seconds, then stumbling noises sounded within the house.

“What the heck do you want? If you
gang-banging-little turds spray-paint my house, I’ll shoot a hole
in your crack so big you’ll never have to sit down to move your
bowels again!”

“Sounds convenient to him,” Otis quipped.

Poe smacked the back of his head. “If you
don’t shut your mouth, I’ll let that dog use you like a chew toy.
Got it?”

From the look on his face, Otis got it. The
rest sure did. None of them wanted to laugh.

Poe leaned toward the door. “Satriani told us
to come here and we’re not leaving until you talk to us.”

From inside, the voice bellowed, “I don’t
know any Satch. Sounds like a half-wit, retread, no-talent hack to
me. And I don’t help anyone. Leave before I let Sally have at
you.”

“Sally?” Otis said. “That monster dog’s name
is Sally?”

“HEY,” the voice from inside boomed. “What’s
going on out there? I’m getting my gun now.”