Metal Urge (41 page)

He was damned for all eternity so what difference did it make if he offed himself?

He'd been tempted to swallow Trevor's bottle of sedatives after falsely accusing him of tampering with the Jaguar.  Why had he done such a bloody heinous thing?  It did nothing to assuage his own guilt for mucking up the Jag's brakes nor did it throw the coppers off his trail.  The fuzz didn't give a shit.  One more useless, drunken, long-haired yob was dead.  So what?  They weren’t going to pay the least bit of attention to a dead druggie’s letter of confession.  There would never be an investigation into Nigel's death.  He died from massive injuries sustained in a car crash: nothing more, nothing less.  Thom clutched the sides of the porcelain sink and swallowed hard.  The sight of Trevor's eyes rolling back in his head as he gasped and gurgled his last breath; Nigel's hand grasping his arm, tears of disbelief and terror on his battered face.  Those memories would haunt him forever, and he'd bloody well deserve it; every day of his fucked up life.

Monster.

Choking back a sob, he shoved the bottle of pills into his pocket and steadied himself against the sink.  Catching a glimpse of his face in the medicine cabinet mirror, he turned away quickly and left the bathroom, unwilling to look too closely at the disturbing darkness in his eyes.

****

“Penny?”  Deanna said groggily, struggling to sit up and rubbing her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Penny said, turning from the window.  She rushed over to hug Deanna’s slight form.  “How are you feeling this morning lovey?”

“Alright I guess.”  Deanna licked her dry lips and tried to swallow.  “Could you get me a glass of water?  Those pills make my mouth so dry.”

Penny squeezed her once more before hurrying out of the room.  Deanna looked around at the familiar surroundings realizing it wasn’t a dream---she was back in Thom’s Chelsea flat.  Pushing herself off of the bed she tried to stand but a wave of dizziness forced her to sit down again.  Penny came in with a large glass of ice water, and Deanna was grateful her friend remembered how much she liked ice in her drinks.  She sipped the cold water, anxious for the sour dryness to be washed away.  Noticing the look in Penny’s huge blue eyes, Deanna wanted to crawl under the safety of the heavy bedclothes to hide from her probing gaze.  Her friend would want to know how she was holding up and how she felt about being in this flat with Thom again.  There were no clear cut answers---she was numb and had no idea how she felt or how she would feel as the days endlessly dragged by.  Her mind was fuzzy and unfocused, and she wished she could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep for the rest of eternity, safe from prying eyes and sympathetic lips.

Thankfully Penny must have sensed her anxiety because she remained by the bed, silently holding her friend's cold, trembling hand.

Nigel was kissing her awake as she turned over and stretched her arms out as far as they would go.  Grinning widely, she opened her eyes and saw Penny sitting next to the bed with an open book in her lap.

“You were dreaming,” Penny smiled.  “Good dreams, yeah?”

Tears quickly filled Deanna’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.  “I want Nigel,” she murmured.  “Oh Penny, tell me he’s coming back.  Please.”

“I wish I could tell you that he was, sweetie,” Penny said.  She set the book aside and lay down next to Deanna, embracing her.  “I’m so sorry.  I really am.”

“Thanks for not judging me...for what I did to Thom and to our marriage.  I know it’s wrong,” she sniffed, looking at Penny’s sweet, little pixie face with sorrow and regret.

“I’d never judge you, Deanna.  There’s no denying true love, yeah?”

They lay together for a long while, Penny stroking Deanna’s hair, assuring her that she would always be there if she needed her.  Deanna wiped away the last of her tears and sat up, thanking her friend for her kindness and concern.  Penny asked if she could get her anything and she nodded, asking for some crackers and tea to calm her stomach.

“Where’s Thom?” she asked Penny who was slipping on her shoes.

“He went with Jayson to a meeting with Andy Trent.”

“Are they going to audition singers?”

“I reckon they will someday, but I don't think they'll be looking for a new singer so soon after…um…after Nigel's passing.”

Deanna quietly asked Penny to leave her alone for a little while; she would come down for tea later.  After Penny closed the door behind her, Deanna got out of bed, holding the edge to steady herself.  She wasn’t sure if Thom had picked up her belongings from the hotel, but she was desperate to find the envelope Neville had given her the day his parents took Nigel's motorbike away.  She wobbled to the closet and flung open the door, relieved to see her suitcases stacked neatly on the closet floor.  She dragged them out and tried to open the clasps, but they were locked. Frantic to find the key, she looked around the room for her purse but didn’t see it anywhere.  Cursing under her breath, she started towards the door when she spotted her purse on the floor wedged between a large bureau and a vanity table.  Grabbing it, she dumped the contents on the bed, sorting through the useless junk until she found a small ring of keys.  Her stomach twisted and cramped at the thought of holding Nigel’s card in her hands, but she had to read what it said.  It was his final gift to her.

It took several tries with shaking hands to get the tiny key into the even tinier lock, but at last the first suitcase was open.  She tossed the neatly folded clothes aside and checked the deep satin pockets, but the envelope wasn’t there.  Pushing the empty case away, she unlocked the second suitcase, tearing through the contents frantically until she spotted a corner of the torn envelope at the very bottom of the case under a pair of shoes.  She pulled the envelope out and stared at Nigel’s handwriting.  The letters blurred as hot tears stung her eyes before dripping onto the envelope.  Pressing the paper against her lips, she imagined his long, slender fingers opening the flap to tuck the card inside before carefully writing her name.  She could picture him sitting at the kitchen table, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the side of his mouth in earnest concentration as he formed each letter just like a child learning to write the alphabet.  She smiled wistfully at the memory of his gruff indignation when she playfully pointed out his “adorable” habit while he was writing the lyrics to a tune he had been humming most of the day.  He hadn't found it adorable or amusing---not one bit.  It took hours of sincere kisses and apologies to soothe his wounded macho pride.

Wiping a couple of tears away, she opened the envelope and pulled out a beautifully crafted Christmas card, moaning softly when several Polaroid pictures slipped out, landing on her lap.  She picked them up, her breath catching in her throat as Nigel’s splendid smiling face looked out at her, his eyes filled with love.  He was leaning against a gorgeous black Jaguar XKE Coupe with “Merry Christmas, Deanna” neatly printed across the door.  Her breath hitching with sobs, Deanna looked at the remaining photographs, her heart bashing painfully against her ribcage at the sight of Nigel proudly showing off the Jaguar.  In the second photo, Nigel was sprawled across the hood of the car in a parody of a pin-up pose, laughing hysterically.  In the last photo, he was blowing a kiss from the front seat of the magnificent Jag with “I love you!” written across the top of the picture.

Clutching the Polaroid’s to her chest, she wept with the agonizing realization that these chemically produced images might be all that she had left of Nigel.  Flat, unfeeling, photographs which would warp and fade and peel as time passed until she couldn’t see his beloved face anymore.  Would her memories of his face, his voice, and his body fade with time as well?  Laying the pictures beside her, she read the message he had written inside the card:

You once told me that a Jaguar XKE Coupe was your dream car, and I want to be the one who makes all of your dreams come true. I promise you baby, this is only the beginning.  We are going to have such a beautiful life together.

Merry Christmas, my gorgeous little Yank.

I love you so much.  Now and always.

Nigel

Swallowing hard, Deanna forced herself to face the fact that Davina Guilford was right---it
was
her fault that he was dead.  If only he hadn’t bought that wretched Jaguar for her. 
Oh, Nigel, why?
  Grabbing a tissue, she wiped her eyes and read his sweet words again.  The front door slammed, and she heard Thom and Jayson enter the flat.  She quickly climbed back into bed, slipping the card and photos under her pillow, needing them close to her.  Closing her eyes, she imagined the warm Arizona sun, and the faces of her parents---faces she hadn’t seen in almost two years.  There was no question of her going back to school now; she didn’t have the strength or the heart for it.

Suddenly London seemed the dark, dangerous place her parents so fervently warned her about.  It was easy to imagine that hidden beneath the verdant beauty of Mother England beat a heart of darkness demanding a sacrifice from the brazen American who dared to tread on her ancient soil.  That evil darkness had taken almost everyone she loved: her baby, her friend, and her soul mate.  It had fed off of her emotions, sucked her completely dry, and now it commanded that she leave.

Pulling the covers tightly around her, Deanna tried to get the ridiculous fantasy out of her head, but as she drifted off to sleep, she could hear the corrupt beat of its black heart all around her.

****

Running her hands over her face and hair, Deanna kicked off the heavy bedspread, mulling over her conversation with the nurse at Dr. Sahani's office.  The nurse hadn’t told her anything that she hadn’t already suspected, but it was still a bit of a shock, and vaguely unreal.  Rolling out of bed, she slipped on her robe, realizing that she had actually slept through the night without a sedative.  She removed Nigel’s Christmas card and photos from beneath her pillow and read his loving sentiments several times.  After drinking in the images of him with the cursed Jaguar, she kissed each of his pictures and pressed them to her heart.  “We're going to have a baby,” she whispered.  “What do you think of that, Daddy?”

Placing the photos inside the card, she tucked them into the bottom of her suitcase and left the bedroom mentally preparing to break the news to Thom as she made her way downstairs.  Once again she would break his heart.  She paused on the last step, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and asked God's forgiveness for the thousandth time since that fateful night on the bridge with Nigel.

Thom looked up and smiled at her over a pan of sizzling bacon.  “I hope you’re hungry.”

She shook her head and took out a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.  “A slice of toast is all I can handle right now.  I'm sorry you went to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble...not a’ tall.  I can eat this lot with no problem.”  He slipped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and nodded at two glasses on the counter.  “Pour us a glass of juice, love.”

Deanna filled both glasses to the brim, placed the pitcher back in the fridge, and took a sip of the tangy juice.

“This is really good, but you always did make the best fresh juice.”

“Cheers, babe,” he smiled, placing the crispy bacon on a plate.  The toaster dinged, and he slathered each slice of toast with creamy butter.  “Would you mind getting the jam?”

“Sure,” Deanna said, and carried his favorite marmalade and a jar of strawberry jam to the dining room table, pointedly ignoring the “babe” comment.

He winced at the look on her face when he called her “babe.”  Didn't she realize that his jolly behavior was just a pathetic act?  Why bother faking it?  She was going to leave him.  He saw it in her eyes and the way she kept her face turned away from his frantic gaze.  The useless pity, the misguided remorse, the lingering dread at having to tell him she was leaving for good this time; all evident in the way she avoided his eyes.  Although he knew exactly how their story would end, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from groveling and weeping, shamelessly begging her to stay even though he didn't deserve her love.  Not anymore.

Thom joined Deanna at the table, placing two egg cups alongside the plate of steaming bacon, and set about cracking the eggshells so he could dip a sliver of toast into the runny yolk.  It crossed her mind that Metal Urge wouldn’t rest on their laurels for long, and she wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing another vocalist take Nigel’s place as front man.  She quickly excused herself and went into the living room, turned on the telly, and tried to shake off the creeping horror that seemed bent on relentlessly tormenting her.

She had to leave England immediately or she was going to crack.

Thom came in a few minutes later, his expression fraught with worry.  Neither of them spoke until Deanna gathered her courage and broke the uneasy silence.

“I want to go home…to Arizona.”

Thom nodded.  “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

“I’m going to leave as soon as I can book a flight.”

“Let me go with you,” Thom said, leaning over to take her hands.  He knew it was useless, but he was determined to give it one last shot.

“Why?”  Despite her resolve to remain cool and collected, Deanna began to cry.

He squeezed her hands and said gently, “If you go alone your parents will ask questions…loads of questions.  I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet.”