Voice. Part 31

The Fan Club. Where were they partying tonight? Case had a strong suspicion she knew what kinds of party games they liked. She felt fear scamper up the back of her neck, and the urge to flee amped up again. She checked the digital clock next to the bed-she'd been here for four minutes.

"f.u.c.k this," she said aloud. Clean underwear and a backpack could go hang-she had the money, and she could replace the stuff anywhere.

What about Danny? Another pang of sadness and despair. She couldn't think about it clearly, but she knew she couldn't help him. She didn't know how.

Time to go.

She flung open the hotel room door- And Johnny was standing there. Grinning.

Case stopped, her mouth half open, her mind spinning mad wheels with no purchase.

Johnny. Here. Not one greased hair had fallen out of its place, and his hungry smile hadn't diminished in the slightest. Nor was he alone. Danny stood next to him, his own idiot grin fixed firmly in place, and crowded around them, spread up and down the hall and stinking like a swamp, was the entirety of the Fan Club.

They all stared at Case.

"We need to talk, Case," Johnny said.

"Talk." Her mouth tasted like chalk.

"I got the impression you might be flaking out on us before the last show," he said. His face grinned, but his voice was serious as a heart attack. "You don't want to do that. Think about what you'll be throwing away. You've worked so hard to get here."

"f.u.c.k you," Case said. Her voice trembled, but she didn't care. "I quit."

Johnny sighed. "It's not just your own career you'd be sabotaging," he said. "Think of us. Think of who you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g over. Erin, who spent countless hours setting this up. Me. Allen." He winked at her, so quickly it was gone before she could believe it happened. What had he done with Allen? "And Danny. Danny's given up a lot to be here. Are you ready to f.u.c.k him over, too?"

She acted without thinking. One moment she'd been standing there in horrified shock, and the next, her hand shot out in a vicious punch directed at Johnny's face.

He caught her by the wrist, effortlessly, stopping her hand inches from impact. She gasped in shock rather than pain. It didn't actually hurt much, but this was Johnny, for f.u.c.k's sake. He probably went one-thirty if he was wearing heavy shoes, and he was as skinny as a signpost. Yet he held her wrist without showing any sign of strain.

"You're not much of a team player, are you? I always knew you were going to f.u.c.k us over. If that's how it's going to be, I'll make a deal with you."

"f.u.c.k you."

He continued as if he hadn't heard. "You play this last show, and I won't make Danny hurt himself."

"f.u.c.k you," she said again. That's his brother! she thought, though some part of her wondered. Surely he wouldn't- "Danny?" Johnny said.

Danny reached up, almost casually, and curled his index finger in behind the bottom lid of his left eye. Then he pulled, hard. Case heard the tearing sound clearly above her own breathing.

"Jesus Christ!" she yelled, and she pushed away. Johnny let her go, and she fell back into the room.

b.l.o.o.d.y tears poured down the side of Danny's face while the Fan Club watched hungrily. His eyelid hung in a flap, and she could see his eye, white and wet, swiveling in its socket. "Don't leave us, Case," he said. "We'll miss you." There was a pause, and then his face changed, softened an instant before contorting into a mask of fear and pain.

"Oh G.o.d, it hurts!" he shouted.

"Danny!"

And then his face was still again. "Don't leave us," he repeated tonelessly. He wiped the blood off his face and licked it off the side of his hand.

Case jumped to her feet. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" she snarled at Johnny.

"Danny?" Johnny said again.

"No! Wait! I'm sorry!"

Danny paused. This time his index finger was stiff and straight, pointed at the same eye.

"Okay," Johnny said. "One more show."

Case looked down. Danny was still in there, somewhere. For that one awful second she had seen him.

"One more show," she said.

Chapter 31.

Danny was in there. Somewhere. Case reminded herself of that as the van barreled down the road, bound for Dallas and the last show of the tour. She hadn't seen him since, though. The thing that was driving his body disregarded her most of the time, except for the occasional musing glance that made her feel like one of the lobsters in a tank at a fancy restaurant. At least he was wearing sungla.s.ses now. She didn't know if he-it -had done anything to patch that gruesome flap of skin back in place, but at least she didn't have to look at it. It was hard enough for her to keep from replaying the moment where he'd reached in and torn his own eyelid open as casually and indifferently as opening a piece of junk mail.

Behind them trailed a caravan of more than a dozen vehicles. The f.u.c.king Fan Club. There were over fifty of them now, each with the same hungry look as Danny. Four of them had stayed in the room with her last night, just to keep an eye on her, Johnny had said. She hadn't been able to sleep under their watch, and she'd sat on the chair and glared at them most of the night.

They had spent most of that time talking among themselves about how hungry they were and grinning at Case. She had wondered if their self-control would hold out and resolved to throw herself from the window if they came for her. That decision had come naturally, a solution so obvious it needed no deliberation.

In the morning, she'd been hustled into the van with Allen, who managed a weak smile through the dazed, sh.e.l.l-shocked expression on his face. A cut as long as her hand zigzagged its way across his forehead.

"Rough night?" she had asked.

"You could say that."

And then they were off.

The girl with the blue mohawk rode shotgun next to Danny, and Case, Allen, and Johnny spread out in the back seats.

"Don't look so glum," Johnny said. "One more show, and then it's on to bigger and better things."

"One more show, and that's it," Case reminded him.

He shrugged. "One more show and then obscurity, if you're into that. I don't understand you, Case. Fame, fortune, and a wild rock-and-roll lifestyle are all going to be yours. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

She didn't bother answering him. If it weren't for Danny, she would have jumped for the door, never mind that they were going seventy miles an hour.

If it wasn't for Danny, I wouldn't be in this f.u.c.king van.

What was she going to do about Danny? She had no idea. As the van devoured the miles and the time before the show ticked away, her spirits sank further. She clenched her hands into impotent fists. She'd like nothing better than to knock Johnny's face in, but she didn't think her chances were good. He was faster than her, somehow, and stronger too. And it would take only a word from him and the thing inside Danny would put out Danny's eye or tear off his face or Christ knew what. How could she fight that?

She watched and waited, and the clock wound down. Her thoughts s.h.i.+fted from Danny to the show. Something bad was going to happen tonight. Something colossally bad. She didn't know what, exactly, but the Fan Club gave her some ideas. Johnny would make more of them-or, no. He'd call them forth. That felt right. He had called them forth last night. Danny had been normal before the show and something horrible had come to live inside him by the end. More of that would happen tonight, she was sure.

Maybe a lot more. Hadn't there been only twenty or thirty Fan Club members at the start of the show last night? She thought so. Now there were enough to fill a dozen or so cars. Fifty? Sixty? And the show last night had been like nothing else she'd seen before, filled with a terrible, unearthly power.

She had a feeling tonight's would be more powerful still. They were headlining, which meant a long set, and the venue packed a couple thousand people. Erin would fill it, somehow. That's what she did.

And then what?

Dread gnawed at her insides for the whole ride.

The green room. Just like all the other green rooms. Case had no sense of being back home, no sense of triumph at the sheer size of the show they were about to put on. She heard the pounding ba.s.s of the thrash bands that went on before them, big local names that Erin had booked for support. The place would be packed.

Erin herself came back to visit, but her stay was brief. She was clearly unsettled by the creepy grin Johnny wore, and she wrinkled her nose at the terrible smell that filled the room. The Fan Club was back here, too, and she didn't like that at all. She moved through the clot of people, trying to avoid touching any of them. Case saw the man with the spiral notebook in his ear wink at her.

She hugged Case. "Good luck," she said in a shaky voice.

"Get out of here," Case whispered. "Just get away."

Erin looked at her with wide eyes and left in a hurry.

Case checked the wall clock. Two minutes to midnight. Just like the Iron Maiden song.

Two minutes to showtime.

His people were hungry. Johnny-he liked that name, thought he'd keep it for a while-was hungry, too. So hungry.

Soon. Soon we will feed. All of us.

Tonight he would bring his people through. All of them. There were so few of them left in that dead world on the flipside of reality, and he was now in full command of his power. He would pull them through into this new world, pull them through into a place teeming with meat, alive and squirming on the bone, and his people would feast.

In the back of his mind, something that had once ruled this body screamed and wept.

"Let's go," Johnny said. Danny grinned. Case and Allen shared a terrified look.

The four of them headed for the stage.

Chapter 32.

Somewhere deep, John sees it all, and it is as it was in those long-ago dreams. His body moves up the stairs at the back of the stage, behind the curtain, and he hears the sound of the crowd, rumbling and restless. A single voice, high and clear-a woman's voice-starts to chant: "Johnny! Johnny! Johnny!" It's only seconds before the chant is picked up by dozens more, then hundreds, then the whole room. The stamping of their feet vibrates up through the stage, up through the soles of his feet, into his belly, his heart.

His body walks out onto the darkened stage, and a roar goes up from the crowd. He stands in front of the mic, and he can feel his face twist in a sneer-the Elvis sneer from his dreams-though he never told it to move. He is powerless now, a spectator at his own moment of glory.

Case is to his right, as always, like in the dreams-and, also like in the dreams, her goldtop Les Paul has been replaced by a guitar the color of blood, the one that Kerry Buchanan gave her. The mystery ba.s.s player to his left is no mystery anymore. It's Allen, of course. Quentin is dead.

Two spotlights come on, blasting Danny and Allen with white light. As the crowd goes into a frenzy, Danny clicks his sticks together four times, and he and Allen start the song.

"Ashes and Bone."

Stop this, John thinks. Please, G.o.d, stop this. His only answer is laughter that echoes around his head, las.h.i.+ng him like a whip of barbed wire.

His head turns to the right, and his arm points. Another spotlight flicks on, pointed at Case. She is giving him an appraising, studying look, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a grim line. She comes in at the right time, though, following the frenetic ba.s.s part for a few bars before changing to the ugly harmony she devised for this song. The whole time, she never looks away from him, never changes her expression. The crowd claps and stomps along with the beat.

The song drops into the slow part with a sickening plunge, and John's body s.h.i.+vers. The guitar and ba.s.s travel in crus.h.i.+ng unison, and then the guitar drops out, leaving the ba.s.s and drums to carry the song into the verse.

John's head swivels back to the mic. He knows something bad, something terrible is coming, and he pushes forward, hammering against the mind of his captor, the thing that has taken his body.

He catches the thing by surprise, takes control for just one second. Then he feels its heavy claws on him, pus.h.i.+ng him back, and a crus.h.i.+ng sense of doom collapses on him.

"Oh, G.o.d, please no," he says.

Case played through the beginning of the song, watching Johnny carefully. There was music going on somewhere, loud music, but her fingers were moving automatically and her mind was focused on Johnny. She thought about the beer bottle that had come whirling out of the crowd at one of the shows, right past Johnny's head, and how he'd never even flinched. She had one idea, a bad one, and probably just one chance to act on it.

Don't f.u.c.k this up.

It probably wouldn't matter-she was most likely fooling herself-but she had to do something. Even if it was wrong.

Her hand tripped easily down the fretboard, guiding the song into the slow part. She had never felt less moved by music in her life. Johnny looked at her, his face inscrutable. Her heart knocked in her chest.

Johnny turned to the mic.

Case dropped out of the song, just like she was supposed to. One hand went to the strap b.u.t.ton at the bottom of the guitar.

A small voice came through the monitors-John's voice, quiet and terrified. "Oh, G.o.d, please no."

John, she thought. He's in there, too. Like Danny.

She pushed her thumb into the locking b.u.t.ton, and it clicked. The strap came loose.

Then Johnny started singing, and the world exploded. The sound was crus.h.i.+ng, a vast, thunderously deep voice tearing a rent in the cosmos, tearing a rent in the very concept of sanity itself, spewing a stream of syllables so vile that blood started to trickle from Case's ears. The crowd screamed, and this time there was terror in the screams.

The lights in the whole room dimmed to nearly nothing, except for the blazing white spotlight on Johnny. Darkness swirled and twisted, pouring up through the floor and the back walls like columns of smoke.