Good Home Cookin': A Novel of Horror (2 page)

Behind the scenes, trouble was brewing
amongst the members. Dylan was an asshole to his other band mates.
There was no denying it. At the end of the previous show, Dylan had
needed help walking off the stage. His drinking was becoming more
than excessive and sometimes he couldn’t even make it through an
entire show. The other band members were beginning to worry that
the next recording session would have to be put on hiatus or worse.
Dylan didn’t realize the view the other members had of him was so
low, or maybe he would have tried to correct his current descent
into oblivion. On the other hand, ever since gaining something of a
following, his care and passion seemed to be only for where he
could get his next fix or buzz.

As the song came to its end, Dylan
motioned for the bartender to bring him another bottle. Six songs
into the night and he was preparing to delve into his second bottle
of the house whiskey. Stumbling slightly before righting himself,
he raised his fist in the air as he ambled to the side of the stage
to finish off the first bottle in one long gulp.

Jerry glanced over to Rob, the
drummer, and shook his head. It would be a miracle if they could
finish all fourteen songs before Dylan reached the point of no
return. Rob nodded his head in understanding and glared towards
their front man as he dropped the empty bottle and trod his way
back to the microphone.

* * *

His eyes burst open as a powerful urge
to vomit overwhelmed his senses and brought him out of his drunken
coma. Falling out of the bed, he scrambled to the bathroom in a
mess of sheets, barely making it before decorating the toilet with
partially digested alcohol. Spasms racked his abdomen as he tumbled
to the side on the tile floor and saw that his room was empty of
any other occupants. Where the hell was he? His thoughts were a
jumbled mess of incoherent images and snatches of conversations
from the night before. A more vivid one reared its ugly head and he
moaned.

Halfway through the tenth
song,
Weight of the
World
, he’d taken an unplanned walk off
the front of the stage, ten feet to the lacquered wood floor. No
one in the audience was prepared, nor were the bouncers, so his
body and face got intimate with the floor. Pulling himself up on
the side of the bathroom sink, he was almost afraid to see the face
that stared back at him from the mirror.

Not too bad, all things considered. A
light bruise on his right cheek, slight swelling of his lip, and
his sides hurt. That last one could be from evacuating the contents
of his stomach five times in the past few hours. He was grateful
that none of his teeth wiggled when he tested them with his tongue
but he did taste blood. He spat a bright red glob into the sink,
wiped his mouth on the towel and slowly went back into the room to
sit on the edge of the bed.

Still out of it, he made a line on the
edge of the table next to the bed and snorted. He needed to get his
head straight.

Head in his hands, he begged for
everything to stop spinning and inhaled deeply as the drug made its
way into his system. A slip of paper next to his bed caught his
attention.

‘
Band meeting downstairs,
2:00 pm. If you’re not there, we’re leaving without
you.’

The clock on the bedside table read
1:40.

“
Shit!” he muttered, as he
struggled to pull his jeans on and a random, wrinkled shirt from
the floor.

Chapter 3

“
We deal with this same
bullshit every day and I’m sick of it.”

Rob stabbed at the mess of food that
covered his plate. A mix of macaroni and cheese, steak, mashed
potatoes, rolls, and green beans. A cold beer completed his meal.
Drinking was one thing; getting so hammered that you couldn’t
function was another.

“
I know Rob, we all are.
That’s why we have to be honest and tell him straight up how it
is,” Jerry said, moving the food around on his plate, having yet to
take a bite of it.

Gary walked over with a plate of
biscuits and gravy, next to chicken fried steak. The hotel they
stayed in had a decent restaurant next to the lobby and they were
taking advantage of it. As he sat down, Dylan bolted around the
corner, nearly knocking over an older lady who yelped at the sight
of him.

Hair disheveled, wrinkled clothes,
bruise on his cheek… he was quite the sight.

“
Over here,” Rob put up
his hand and motioned him over.

Apologizing to the lady, he quickly
walked over and sat down next to Gary, whose eyes widened within a
few seconds.

“
Damn bro, you gotta take
a fucking shower. You reek,” he complained, spraying the table with
crumbs.

Dylan gave him the bird, accompanied
with a weak smile.

“
How much do you remember
of last night?” Rob’s tone and face were serious.

In the back of his mind, part of Dylan
knew this conversation was bound to come up again and he shrugged
his shoulders.

“
Enough to know that I
fucked up royally. I’m sorry guys, really,” he looked at each one
in turn. “I swear on my life, no more drinking during shows. I’ll
get my act together!”

The other three exchanged glances that
spoke volumes of their doubt. This was probably the fifth, maybe
sixth, time that they had heard this same promise presented with
the sad, pleading eyes. The problem was it was an empty promise
that carried no weight.

“
Look, Dylan, we’ve known
each other for going on six years. I love you like a brother but
your promises just don’t mean shit anymore. The last four shows we
weren’t even able to finish out the set. That leads to
disappointed, angry fans which then turns into low record sales
because we can’t live up to their expectations. I’m not okay with
that man. Our fans deserve a decent show.”

As Rob was talking, Dylan’s eyes roved
back and forth among them, seeking but not finding any sympathy.
The smell of the food on the table brought up conflicting pangs of
hunger coupled with a wave of nausea.

“
This third album has the
potential to raise us to new heights and really put us on the map.
Don’t you want to play sold out shows with thousands of screaming
fans chanting our names?”

Dylan nodded slowly but words wouldn’t
come. His tongue was thick and dry. Swallowing painfully, he
croaked, “You know I do.”

Jerry leaned forward intensely, “Then
prove it!”

Digging into his biscuits smothered in
gravy, Gary said, “You’re one talented son of a bitch, but you’ve
got to slow down and take it easy on the partying and drinking
side. We’re all for having a kick ass time, but know your
limits.”

Dylan put his hands on the table in
front of him and took a breath. Previously, he would nod his head
and just agree before sweeping it under the rug and forgetting
about it. Their faces and tones of voice didn’t allow for that this
time. They were seriously considering letting him go if he didn’t
shape up. He motioned at the cup of ice water on the table and Rob
nodded. Taking a drink, he gathered his thoughts before
speaking.

“
Give me one last chance.
Please! We’ve got another show tonight in Miami. I’m sober now and
will not have a drop of alcohol at the show, I swear to God. If I
mess this up in any way, I’ll leave the band. You have my word,”
Dylan said, putting his hand out towards the center of the
table.

After a few painful seconds of waiting
on Dylan’s part, Rob placed his on top, and the other three soon
followed. This would be turning over a new leaf for Dylan. The show
in Tampa had ended in disappointment and shame… Miami was going to
be blown away by their performance. He just knew it in his
gut.

Chapter 4

The engine purred to life as Dylan
prepared to leave the hotel and start the next leg of their tour.
Following a hot shower and shave, he felt remarkably clear. He
considered himself more than lucky that the guys hadn’t pulled the
plug on everything back in the restaurant. Dylan racked his brain,
trying to remember when he’d last performed a show completely
sober… nothing came to him. Maybe he did have a problem.

Shaking his head brought on a twinge
of pain in his head. Leaning his head back against the head rest, a
conversation poked its head out of the fog he once called his
memory. From his pocket came a joint he’d stashed away last
night.

“
I know how you are Dylan.
I’m so happy for you and the band, but be careful.”

Natalie, Dylan’s sister,
was four years older and knew him better than anyone else could
claim. Since he was fifteen, he’d been sneaking liquor and beer
from their father’s stash. She was concerned about what being on
the open road, the freedom to do whatever, and alcohol being handed
to him on a daily basis, free of charge, would do to
him.

“
Come on Natalie. I’m not
that bad, and I know my limits. Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be
great. You’ll see when we get back.”

The look on Natalie’s face
betrayed the words that she desperately wanted to say but she shut
the door on them. It wouldn’t do any good, and would probably piss
him off.

“
Just be safe okay. Have
fun, but be safe.”

Blinking his eyes rapidly as tears
began to appear, he sat up and punched it, trying to escape the
last conversation he’d had with his sister and image of her face
that was forever seared into his mind. It didn’t work. It was like
a switch had been flipped in his head, allowing thoughts he’d try
to keep buried to burst free and run rampant through him. He took a
long drag before tossing the joint out the window.

On their sixth stop, in Jacksonville,
he’d received news from his mother that his sister had been killed
in an armed robbery at a gas station, four miles from her
apartment. Wrong place at the wrong time. She had been getting gas,
and some snacks for the road; she was preparing to come and see him
at his next show. As she was preparing to pay, the man had
approached unnoticed from behind. Gun digging into her back, he’d
made her empty her purse. The cash and credit cards she carried
went into the pocket of his coat. Without explanation or reason, he
proceeded to shoot her twice in the back before killing the cashier
and emptying the till.

The speedometer approached eighty five
miles an hour as he sped along the highway, weaving his way around
the drivers obeying the speed limit.

The police had no leads due to the man
hiding his face behind a black mask, wearing heavy dark clothing
and gloves to keep his identity secret. That night had been the
first of the shows he didn’t finish. He didn’t have the strength to
tell the other band members, and told himself that he could handle
this on his own. How wrong that had turned out to be.

The drugs and alcohol were the only
ways that helped to keep his anger and sadness sedated. He opened
his glove box and withdrew the bottle of Johnnie Walker he’d put
there sometime the previous day. Battling with himself, he put the
bottle in the seat next to him. The lead singer the band needed and
deserved was long gone and had died that day in Jacksonville. He’d
gotten stellar at putting on a mask and pretending to be someone he
just wasn’t anymore.

“
Fuck it,” he muttered,
and took hold of the bottle.

* * *

They walked past Dylan’s black Mustang
and Jerry kicked one of the tires. Ambling over to their van, which
had Forbidden Fruit on the side in crooked letters, they piled in
and headed off to Miami. He’d purchased the car right before the
tour and insisted on driving it. This trip had driven a solid wedge
between Dylan and the other members of the band. It wasn’t worth
the argument or time so they didn’t voice their
opinions.

With the instruments and equipment in
the van, it limited them in terms of the speed they would travel.
The drive to Miami was about four hours, depending on traffic, but
depending on how long Dylan took, they could end up getting there a
hell of a lot sooner.

“
Do you think he means
what he says this time?” Gary inquired from behind the wheel,
breaking the tense silence.

Jerry just shook his head, not willing
to give an answer.

“
Who really knows? If he
doesn’t, then we look at our options and move forward. I hope for
his sake that he does. It’ll be a step in the right direction if we
get set up and he’s not sitting at the bar nursing a
drink.”

Chapter 5

Leaning against the side of the truck,
he stared aimlessly at the stars above him. His mind was constantly
wandering among random things that caught his attention. The smile
that began to appear on his face quickly transformed into a grimace
of pain. Rubbing his jaw, he brought his full focus back to the
task at hand. The pain in his jaw had lessened but still served as
a reminder to keep him attentive. He didn’t relish another “lesson”
from his father.