Metal Urge (43 page)

Two sound men spoke softly into their elaborate head gear, and the studio lights faded out.  A huge movie screen unfurled as Wild Bill Dennison walked up to the mic and folded his hands.

“Ladies, gentleman, and metal maniacs,” he said into the mic as devil horns pumped the air and shrill whistles and shouts echoed throughout the studio audience.  “We would like to share a piece of metal history which captures and celebrates the talent of a man taken from us in the prime of his music career.”

Deanna held her breath, unsure of how she would react when Nigel appeared on screen.  Penny clutched her hand and she was grateful for her support although the tender gesture brought tears to her eyes.

“Without further ado,” Wild Bill said, stepping aside and sweeping his hand in front of the screen, “Metal Urge is proud to present the brilliant Nigel Guilford performing ‘Beyond the Darkness’ at Glaston Hall Studios, September 1976.”

The intro began with the camera focused tightly on Alistair’s fingers caressing the strings of an acoustic guitar then cut to the lone figure standing in front of a mike, his head bowed.

Nigel’s body moved rhythmically with the haunting melody until he raised his head and looked directly into the camera.  “This song is for a sweet, little Yank who helped me find the light beyond the darkness,” he said softly.

He grasped the mike and began to sing as Deanna felt the world tilt and sway when she tried to focus on his cherished, beautiful face through a blur of bittersweet tears.

In this cold and endless night

A lurking fear compels me

To search the darkness for your light

As I sink beneath a chilling sea

I cry out for you but it’s all in vain

I hear the taunting darkness

Howl its triumph once again.

Pulling back from the microphone, Nigel took a deep breath to help sustain each powerful, soaring note he sang with absolute heartfelt conviction:

Beyond the darkness

I hear you calling, calling me

Beyond the darkness

Only love can set me, set me free.

Throwing his head back, Nigel’s voice sounded like a gut wrenching sob as he sang the last verse of the chorus, and Deanna felt her heart clench with a pain so intense she cried out in shock.  No one in the booth noticed her; they were all focused on the man and his mesmerizing vocals as the cadence of his voice spirited them to another place:

I crawl along a desolate shore

I no longer hear your voice

Calling out to me anymore

Darkness whispers there’s no choice

It laughs and steals my soul away

You are gone and I can’t follow

Why does it have to end this way?

Beyond the darkness

I hear you calling, calling me

Beyond the darkness

Only love can set me, set me free.

The last few guitar chords faded away, and Nigel smiled at the camera before covering the lens with his hand, laughing and insisting that he’d had enough of being filmed.  Deanna abruptly left the sound booth, unable to bear the terrible anguish that threatened to steal her sanity.  She ran to the stairwell that led to the right wing of the small stage, and hugged herself tightly, trying to stop the fathomless grief from drowning her in its black, agonizing depths.  How could losing Nigel still hurt so much after eleven years?  She was happy.  She had a wonderful life; a loving, devoted husband, and three beautiful children.

Quinn…she hadn’t realized how much he looked like his father until tonight.

“I’m so sorry, Nigel,” she sobbed.  “It isn’t fair that you never got to hold your son, or watch him take his first steps, or hear him call you daddy.  How I wish you were here with us now,” she wept, sinking down onto a cold, concrete stair step, too overcome with sorrow to stand.  Guitars thrummed and shrieked while Jayson crashed and clanged his way into the frenzied intro of “Killerz,” the band’s newest single.  The raw power and ear-splitting volume of the song snapped Deanna back to reality.  Ali was playing his heart out, and she wasn’t even watching him, showing her support for his, and the band’s first BBC appearance.

She found a restroom and splashed her face with water, tidied her hair, and put on some lip gloss, ashamed that she had allowed old emotions and memories to get the best of her.

****

“You alright?” Alistair stroked Deanna’s moist cheek with his fingertips as she rested her head on his chest.

She kissed his warm, sweaty skin and murmured, “Better than alright.”  Scooting up to lay her head beside his on the oversized pillow, she kissed the hollow of his neck and sighed.  “You really out did yourself tonight, studly.”

Alistair laughed and hugged her close.  “Those blonde streaks gave me some sort of supernatural power.  A bit like Samson’s long hair, yeah?”  He grinned down at Deanna, “They must have done because I haven’t performed like that since I was in my twenties.”

“I’m glad I was your Delilah,” she teased.  “Wow!”

They kissed and cuddled for a few more minutes and then Alistair reached for the phone.

“What are you doing?” Deanna murmured against his shoulder.

“I’m calling room service.”

She grabbed for the phone, but he held it out of her reach.  “It’s almost three in the morning!” she laughed.

“I don’t give a toss.  Great sex always gears up my appetite, and I’m feeling ravenous.”

Pushing back the covers, Deanna positioned her slender body in a provocative pose and flashed her husband a wicked grin.  “Why don’t you feast on this?” she said, running her hands over her breasts and belly slowly.

“Hmmm,” he said, gently pinching a nipple and then the skin around her belly button.  “Cheers, but I think I’ll give the kitchen a ring instead.”

“You little shit!” she cried, grabbing the handset and tossing it aside.

They wrestled around on the bed until Alistair had Deanna pinned firmly underneath him.  He kissed her hard, growling and grunting as she struggled to push him away.

“Call room service, please!” she squealed as he nibbled on her neck and ears.

“Yeah, you’re a bit tough and salty for my taste,” he said rolling off of her.

“Bastard!” she hissed playfully and handed him the phone.

“Do you fancy anything?” he asked as he dialed room service.

“A hug
e,
juicy cheeseburger with loads of extra pickles and chees
e,
and a jumbo order of fries.”

“You mean chips,” Alistair grinned.

“Chips, fries, tomato, to
mah
to.  You're such a hopeless Limey,” she sighed dramatically.

He nodded in agreement, kissed the tip of her nose and waited for the kitchen to answer before rattling off an order that was fit for a king.  This was the Savoy Hotel---they catered to their guests every whim so why not take advantage of their world renowned hospitality at three a.m.?

Less than an hour later their room was filled with mouth-watering dishes which they dug into with passionate abandon.  Groaning and rubbing her stomach, Deanna crawled back into bed and watched Alistair finish up the last few crumbs of a kiwi tart.  Wiping his mouth with a fine linen napkin, he got up and went to the window to stare out at the glittering lights along the Thames River.  She couldn’t resist joining him. Grabbing her robe she shrugged into it as she hurried to the window to nestle against Alistair’s side and gaze out at the beautiful river.  Although she had enjoyed being in London again she was anxious to return to their wonderful old farmhouse in the West Country.  London and its tragic memories of Nigel’s loss were wearing thin.  She longed to get back to the safe, consistent routine of family life.

“I miss him too,” Alistair said suddenly, as if sensing her thoughts.

Embracing her husband tightly, she felt tears clogging her throat, and though she didn’t want to cry for Nigel or what might have been, the tears began to fall.

They stood silently for a while, watching the river roll gently on its way to the North Sea.

“Life’s a funny old thing, yeah?” Alistair said, hugging his wife against him.

“Yeah, and so are you,” she sniffed, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her robe.  She kissed his cheek and pulled away.  Making her way to the plush bed she forced the agonizing memories of the past down into the deepest recesses of her mind.  There they would languish in the darkness, their power to wound and torment extinguished---hopefully forever.

Alistair turned out the lights a few minutes later and joined his lovely wife in bed.  Through some mysterious set of circumstances or fate, his life had become intertwined with Nigel’s legacy forever.  He looked at Deanna breathing softly beside him, kissed her forehead, and snuggled against her warm, inviting body.

Feeling her steady heartbeat against his chest he whispered, “Life really is a funny old thing,” and closed his eyes.

The End

About the Author

E.D. Wilbourn lives in the hot, sultry clime of the splendid Sonoran desert where perpetual triple digit temperatures have been known to cause delirious flights of fancy and riotously brazen hallucinations.

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I’m including a Chapter 1 of my new book,
Metal Heart: Redemption which is slated for publication on September 20, 2013. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

1994

             
The pain was back. A sharp, stabbing jolt of flaming agony sliding deep into his left eye: its deadly aim as precise as a razor-edged stiletto.

             
Thom McCordy leaned forward to brace his elbows against the edge of the recording console, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his throbbing eyelids. He could almost feel the mounting pressure pushing against his palms defiantly. He groaned and sat up, digging in his pants pockets for a bottle of Paracetamol, wrenching the bottle free in anticipation of relief. The sound of one pill rattling around inside the plastic container made his teeth clench against the unrelenting pain. A chirping noise wormed its way into his throbbing head and he realized that Ronson hadn’t turned on the answering machine. “For fuck’s sake, Ronson, I told you to turn on that bloody machine,” he muttered angrily. Struggling to his feet, he lurched to the studio door and flung it open.               “Chelsea! Answer the phone!” He leaned his throbbing head against the padded door and waited for the phone to go silent. It kept on ringing. “Chelsea...please...,” he called out, his voice sounding like a sob.

             
The sound of footsteps on the thick carpeting grew louder as Chelsea bounded down the stairs towards her father’s recording studio. The weakness in his voice had frightened her. She rushed to his side wrapping her arms around his waist as he sagged against the studio door.               “Are you getting one of your migraines?” she asked as she helped him to his chair. He nodded weakly so she ran to a small filing cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, and quickly fished out a bottle of prescription pills. Shaking two of the horse-sized pills into her palm she handed them to her father along with a cup of tepid tea so he could wash them down. “I’ll get a cold bottle of water. Be back in a jif.”

             
Thom leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with a ragged sigh. He swallowed hard, tasting the coppery tang of blood. This was going to be a bad one. Penance paid for his past transgressions no doubt. He let the unsettling thought slip away as the pills started to ease the agony behind his eyes. He felt Chelsea slip a bottle of water into his hand and squeeze his fingers reassuringly. She slid behind the chair and rubbed his shoulders, her touch soothing and gentle.             

             
“The call was from Glenna’s mum. She’s on her way to pick me up.” Chelsea leaned down and pressed her cheek against his hair. “D’you want me to cancel my London holiday with Glenna? I don’t mind, Daddy. Really I don’t.”

             
Thom smiled at his daughter’s use of what she considered the childishly silly term of “daddy.” She only slipped up and used that endearment when she was sad or afraid. How many fifteen year old girls would willingly give up four days of shopping and grand nights out on the town to keep watch over their old dad? It made his heart swell until it almost burst with love and pride for his baby girl.