Metal

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1 Bad Manners Make-a-Wish

It was a momentary bright spot for Sophie. Her on-again-off-again friend, Angela (who just happened to be on this week) scored them tickets to see her favorite metal band. But it wasn’t just tickets. Angela also managed a couple backstage passes. From there, they were invited to a private party hosted by the band—which turned out to be some five hundred people—where Sebastian, Mortimer, Gabriel, and Mandeep swam in the spoils of their fame, among other rich and interesting people, and girls two to one.

Sophie was half drunk and still reeling a bit from a joint she split with Angela. Despite the massive crowd, she was only interested in Gabriel. The famous drummer dominated a media room in the basement, where he behaved badly. He lounged in a soft couch, topped by a lengthy blonde—some Marilyn. The two were making out. Half the room followed suit, lips pressed together, hands groping. It’d turned into a regular necking parlor, complete with some hair-metal-love-ballad crying over the speakers.

Sophie was alone. Angela stomped out of the room after one of the drummer’s cohorts wouldn’t stop pawing at her. She tried to take Sophie with her—but the smaller girl refused to go. Instead, she sat on a couch, next to a tangled couple. She’d talked to them for a bit—before they started kissing and petting each other.

Across the room, Gabriel and the Marilyn were getting loose with their clothes. They’d been at it for a hot minute. Sophie cursed the man for being such a simpleton. Why couldn’t he be interested in more than flesh? Where was his love of music? Sophie could play bass and could make a ukulele absolutely sing—at least, she could two years ago—before the one she’d inherited got broke. Could the Marilyn play at all? Likely, she couldn’t even act.

Sophie sat across the room, dejected. Her dreams of chatting music with the phenom drummer were dashed. Used to disappointment, she stuck around and pretended that nothing could bother her, as she stewed in a vicious broth of envy and spite.

Gabriel locked lips with the Marilyn. The two slobbered all over each other. After a hot minute or two, he separated with a cocky grin. He mouthed a dirty proposition to the blonde, as Sophie read his lips.

The sultry beast nodded and shook her head all at once. “Not here,” she said in order to clarify the contradiction. She glanced about the others. “I’m for you alone, baby,” she snuggled up against him.

Gabriel frowned. “Well, that ain’t metal. All right, let’s go somewhere else. Then—while were at it—I’m gonna strangle you purple,” he whispered.

Shocked at the suggestion, Sophie covered her mouth. The Marilyn also flinched and locked Gabriel with a stare. “Eww!” she shrieked. “Why would you even say that?!”

Half the room turned. The Marilyn looked around. Abashed, she corrected her dress.

But Gabriel was not bothered by her outburst, or the attention of the others. Sophie figured it was because nobody else heard what he said. He shrugged, then answered the blonde, “that’s what I want to do,” he said loud enough for most the room to hear.

“You’re fucking gross!” The vixen snapped. She took a swipe at him—but Gabriel caught her wrist. “Let me go,” she ordered.

Gabriel did, then stared her down with dead eyes, before taking a glance at her low collar.

For several seconds the Marilyn wondered if Gabriel would apologize. He certainly wouldn’t be the first man she brought to tears simply by covering her cleavage—but the man was unrepentant. Gabriel snorted and shook his head. “You ain’t metal,” he accused, then dismissed her by pointing toward the door. In a huff, The Marilyn stomped out.

The room was suddenly aflutter. Gabriel glanced about, but few would meet his gaze. There was a timidity about them as the others pretended to be busy amongst themselves.

Sophie saw her opportunity. She stood, charged across the room, and sat herself on Gabriel’s lap—before he could pick some other lucky contestant. She licked the side of his face and whispered in his ear. “I don’t mind a little choking,” she began. “It’s nothin’ worse than I got at the ol’ foster home,” she grinned. “Still, I’d rather talk music.”

“You know what I want?” Gabriel leaned in close, a dirty smirk on his face. “I want to murder you and get away with it,” he winked.

Sophie snorted. She didn’t believe it. She knew a lot of jokers, all-bark no-bite, prodding at their limits. She knew the wrong type—truly vicious and reprehensible. Gabriel wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t really the wrong kind of guy. This strutting cock was just edgy. With a chuckle of her own, Sophie leaned in. “You know what I want,” she rubbed up against him. “I want a hundred thousand dollars and six months to spend it,” she smirked, satisfied with her jovial answer.

Gabriel snorted, then stared at her, puzzled. “And what would you do with a hundred thousand dollars?” he asked.

“I’d go to Hawaii,” Sophie confided.

Gabriel frowned. “You don’t need a hundred thousand dollars to go to Hawaii.”

“No, you don’t need a hundred thousand dollars to go to Hawaii,” she corrected.

“Why would you go there, anyway?”

“Maybe to get away from you,” she said, and crossed her arms. “Why would I tell the man that wants to murder me?”

“Fair enough,” Gabriel chuckled. “Give me your number,” he ordered and held out his phone.

Sophie stared at him. There was no way he was going to give her a hundred thousand dollars… was he really thinking about killing her?! She shook off the notion. He was just messing around, playing his morbid game. Liking the sound of a hundred thousand dollars, she decided to play along. She took the offered phone, typed her number into it, and handed it back. “You give me a call,” she began. “Maybe I’ll play for you,” she smiled.

“Play what?” Gabriel snorted as he looked her up and down.

Sophie leaned in close. She wanted to say her ukulele, but it was broke. “I’m pretty hot on the bass,” she told him instead, since she had one that worked—then decided she didn’t want to talk music anyway. What would she play for him besides a halfhearted version of Stairway to Heaven, or maybe Scapegoat Suicide? She decided to change the subject instead and licked his face again. “Got any coke?” She whispered. “I’ll trade ya blow for blow.”

Gabriel snorted. “I don’t shag junkies,” he told her and slapped her ass. “Go on, git,” he said.

Sophie thought to protest, but Gabriel just snapped his fingers and pointed her to the door. Sophie figured that was the end of it. She wondered that she should ruin their repartee with talk of drugs. What kind of a rock star was against drugs?! She realized it was likely that Gabriel just wasn’t interested in her or her music. Indeed, he must collect a hundred numbers a night. Dejected, Sophie went in search of Angela.

“THERE SHE IS!” Angela squealed—then introduced a couple of roadies to her good friend. They were hot, considering that they were at least a decade older, leathery from a hard lived life, and thoroughly tattooed.

“Hi guys,” Sophie smoldered. “Got any coke?” she asked as she rubbed their tattoos.

They did.

Sophie and Angela went back to the roadies’ motel, snorted a week’s worth of blow, and did whatever the two men asked. Though it was a long and exhausting night, everything seemed to pass so very fast. Indeed, it seemed too fast. Sophie didn’t even have to wait for the walk home before she began to regret it. “What the fuck am I doing?” She asked herself as she settled down on her couch, a scant couple hours before the sun came up.

2 Coffee and a Convo

The next afternoon, Sophie woke to find a text from a strange number. “This is Gabriel,” the note began. “Give me a call and we’ll get coffee.”

A jolt went through Sophie.

“Do it before 3,” the message continued. “I have a plane to catch.”

Sophie checked the time—then swore. It was 2:28. Frantic, she dialed Gabriel back, prayed that he’d answer, and wondered why he called in the first place. The night before was a jumbled mess in her head. She vaguely remembered putting her number in his phone—but never in a million years did she expect him to use it! Did they talk about music? Did he agree to hear her play?!

“Hey,” Gabriel answered. “Late night?”

“Yeah,” Sophie admitted. “You still up for coffee?”

Gabriel snorted. “I didn’t leave a voicemail just to jerk myself off,” he told her. “You know the Raven’s Nest?”

“Yeah, I know it,” Sophie replied. “I can be there in ten.”

“You’re sure cuttin’ it close,“ Gabriel noted.

“Right,” Sophie admitted. The line went dead. She swore, grabbed her keys, and rushed out the door. With a little speeding, she could make it in eight—or so she thought. It took her a good minute just to get out the front door because the lock got stuck. Twelve minutes later, Sophie walked into the Raven’s Nest. She stepped to the counter, glanced about, and spotted Gabriel. He waved and waited while she ordered.

“Coffee and a danish?“

She carried her breakfast to his table. Gabriel stood and smiled. “You made it just in time to walk me to my car,” he told her.

“Day traffic,” Sophie snorted.

“Is that the same outfit you wore last night?” he asked.

“And why would I change?” she countered. “The party hasn’t stopped.”

Gabriel smiled. “How serious are you?” he asked as they began down the street.

“Serious as cancer,” she answered. “What are we talking about?”

He stopped and stared at her. “We’re talking about six months to live and a hundred thousand dollars.”

“What?” It took a second for Sophie to remember their lurid exchange from the night before. At first she was annoyed at the ridiculousness of his request—then she returned to the hundred thousand dollars. It’d take her three years to make that kind of money. Now, Sophie wasn’t suicidal, mind you, but she also didn’t think Gabriel meant it. Likely as not, he was all talk, just having a lark. He was just bored, just amusing himself. Still, she did like the idea of so much money.

“I’m serious as cancer,” Gabriel repeated her line—then proceeded to elaborate. “You know, these days there isn’t much I can’t have. Not much is withheld from me. Indeed, most the time, people just roll over and give me whatever I want, all too happy to do it,” he told her. “It’s all so safe and stale. It’s kind of sad,” he pouted. “When we first started, we’d start a set at ten, not even knowing where we were going to spend the night. Things were so uncertain. Things were downright dangerous at times. It was a struggle—but it was a righteous struggle!”

“And now…” he shook his head. “Life used to be metal. Now we walk around in a mob of management and security, like the stale old suits we used to mock,” Gabriel huffed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my band mates—but I hate our lifestyle,” he finished.

“Oh! Poor little rock god feels neglected when people hand him everything,” Sophie rubbed her eyes and pretended to cry. “Sounds like an odd reason to want to strangle a stranger,” she noted. “Besides, what’s to keep me from taking your hundred thousand dollars and throwing this coffee in your face?”

“The fact that I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars on me,” Gabriel noted.

“Bingo!” Sophie sang.

“But if I should bring the hundred thousand dollars, I have one request. Don’t tell anyone about our arrangement,” Gabriel bargained.

“Oh, making stipulations, are we?” Sophie inquired. “Well, I have a condition of my own: no guns!” she scolded. She hated guns. She hated them with a ferocity equal to any. Just the thought of him pulling a gun made her want to beat him bloody—then she thought maybe she should let him have one after all.

“Well, that’s not how a normal murder proceeds,” Gabriel complained.

“This isn’t just another normal murder!” Sophie scolded. “We’re off in weird-ville with all this!”

“Just another normal murder…” Gabriel snorted. “Now there’s a song title for ya,” he chuckled and held up a hand. “No, this isn’t a normal murder. This is a murder that’s financing a rather expensive trip to Hawaii. So, we agreed? No talk, no guns?”

Sophie frowned. “I ain’t agreeing to anything without the money.”

“Metal,” Gabriel smiled. “I wonder how much it will power me up when I cut your heart out and eat it.”

“Well over nine thousand,” Sophie shot back and shook her head. “You know, you have the weirdest way of flirting.”

“Give me your address,” Gabriel offered his phone once more. “So I can bring you the hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, show up without it and I’ll shiv you,” Sophie replied. She took his phone, put her address in it, then handed it back. Why not? There was a one in ten—no—one in a hundred chance he’d actually show with the money. Maybe he was half that likely to stop by anyway—then she could play for him—now there was an idea!

“In six months, after I strangle you purple, I’m really going to miss you,” Gabriel nodded.

“And why should I believe you mean to kill me when you like me so much?” Sophie blinked.

Gabriel shrugged. “Where it is written that I can’t like you and snuff you out at the same time? It might make a mess of me emotionally, but I’m fine with feeling conflicted.”

Sophie shook her head. “You ain’t giving me a hundred thousand dollars,” she said.

Gabriel stopped next to a brand new Cadillac SUV and opened the door. “You’re a bit of a dumb cooze, aren’t you?” he began. “Last year, I made eight million dollars,” he said as he climbed into the fancy rental. “Take a shower,” he suggested as he turned over the engine. “You got the reek of a rough night about you.” He shook his head as the car rumbled underneath him. He leaned at the window with a heavy scowl. “What if I decide to keep your hide?! That pretty face of yours could be hanging over my mantle—but only if you care to wash it!”

Sophie flipped him off.

Gabriel shrugged and turned on the radio. He waved as he backed up the car, then shouted something as he pulled away—which Sophie couldn’t make out over the noise of the stereo.

Scapegoat Suicide blared over the speakers. The song drifted into the distance as Gabriel drove away. Sophie sang the modern classic to herself as it drifted into the distance:

you cannot buy

the things you’ve sold

no more fam’ly

or friends to hold…

“Shit,” she snorted, then turned and walked to her own heap of wheels.

3 Real Shit

After the excitement of coffee with Gabriel, Sophie’s life returned to its normal miseries. Over the next week, she worked her shifts at Wok ‘n Roll, shrugged off most of the unwanted advances of her creepy boss Mark, smoked several packs of menthols, and drank a handle of vodka. Several times she sat down with hopes of writing a little music—maybe work on a bit of lyrics—only to be distracted, frustrated, aggravated, and irritated. In a huff, she invariably gave up, only to settle into a fit of rage and self-loathing. Then, if she was lucky, she’d pass out before she could do any more damage.

A week after coffee, Sophie sent Gabriel a text. “Don’t start that clock until you bring me my money!” She wrote, and hoped he might change the subject to music. After two weeks, she sent him a second text. This one was a string of emojis: knife, sick face, skull and bones, ambulance, axe—anything that suggested danger, injury, or death—except for a guitar and the musical note at the end. After another week without a reply, she decided to send one last text. She sent it in a moment of weakness, of high frustration, but she sent it all the same. “FUCK YOU COWARD!” is what she wrote—and just like the other texts she sent before, this note received no reply. She didn’t even feel bad about it. She figured Gabriel left her life forever three weeks ago, when he drove off in the Cadillac, never to return. What did she care?

The doldrums of a mediocre existence pressed upon poor Sophie. The low point came on a Wednesday, at the end of a shift, as she fiended for coke. She showed her tits to Mark for a line; then let him have a bit of a grope for twenty bucks extra. “That’s enough, tiger,” she said after a minute of him nuzzling and sucking. She backed away and pulled her shirt down.

“Come on, baby,” Mark replied as he tried to reel her in. “I’m so fucking hard…” he whispered—as if it was either big or secret.

Sophie shook her head, grabbed her bag, and ditched out of the office. Having given into him, she knew tomorrow would be more of the same, only fortified by recent success. She shook head. The next few days were bound to be interesting—and not in a good way.

Sophie stepped from the restaurant and quickly forgot its troubles. Instead, she turned her attention to Gabriel once more. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She couldn’t stop thinking about a hundred thousand dollars. She wondered how nice it must be not to constantly worry about rent, about gas prices, about having enough money to eat anything except cheap Chinese food.

A month after Sophie sent the last text—two months after they had coffee—she finally managed to forget the famous drummer altogether. Of course, this is when he appeared, on a random Thursday. She came home from her lunch shift to find Gabriel waiting outside her apartment door. Her heart jumped to see him.

“Jesus, is that teriyaki?” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “Do they make you bathe in it before you can serve it?” he complained—though he still allowed her to wrap him in a hug.

Sophie ignored the insult. “I thought you ditched me forever.”

“Fuck you, coward,” Gabriel shook his head. “Have you ever heard of a tour? We’ve been in Europe since June.”

“Not really interested in your excuses,” Sophie noted. “I need a shower,” she said as she opened the door. “Wanna take one with me?”

“Speed freaks aren’t my thing,” Gabriel said as he followed her inside, small duffel bag in hand. He set it on the couch, then stared about the room. He’d seen few messes like it. “Well if you ain’t a shit show. The world isn’t going to miss you at all, is it?”

Sophie huffed as she peeled off her work clothes and sloughed them onto the floor in front of her unmade bed, piled high with rumpled outfits. “So what brings his majesty back to this forsaken city?” she asked as she pulled on her favorite pair of jeans.

“I’m still wondering if you want to be my corpse,” Gabriel shrugged. “I brought my half of the bargain, just in case,” he lifted the small duffel.

“That ain’t money,” Sophie snorted as she pulled on a t-shirt.

Gabriel opened the bag and pulled out roll after roll of hard cash.

Sophie stared. “Jesus…” She whispered and covered her mouth. Did this mean that he really wanted to kill her?!

Gabriel laughed as Sophie stood frozen. He put the money back in the bag and zipped it up. “Come on,” he gave her a nod. “Let’s get some lunch and talk this over. I’ll buy since you’re obviously retched poor.”

“I’ll take your free lunch, and when its done, you can be sure to go fuck yourself,” Sophie replied. “Maybe then you’ll quit teasing me with money and talk of raping my corpse.”

“Who said anything about rape?” Gabriel asked as he carried the bag to her bed and settled the covers over it. He pointed at the obvious lump under her blankets. “Is it safe there? Ain’t some dumb-shit boyfriend gonna come around, all curious-like, and walk off with it?”

Sophie shook her head. “You think two bodies could live in this cramped hole?”

“Not for long,” Gabriel speculated. “Come on,” he motioned and stepped toward the door. “I’m starving—and its rather apparent you need to give all this a little more time to sink in,” he said, then struggled against the wonky doorknob.

4 Hammering Out the Details

“So, what…?” Sophie began on the topic of the hundred thousand dollars. “Do you want me to like, sign some papers, to say I’m a willing party or some shit?”

“Papers?!” Gabriel snapped—loud enough that the couple at the next table turned their way. He leaned in close and whispered. “Why would I have you sign papers? Don’t be lame! I want to murder you—but more importantly, I want to get away with it! There’s nothing metal about having you sign some limp-wrist confession!”

“I don’t know?” Sophie shrugged. “This is all a little out of my wheelhouse,” she glared.

Gabriel snorted. “New or not, that’s no reason to be lame.”

“What if I run?” Sophie stared.

“I don’t care what you do,” Gabriel leaned back and folded his arms. “From where I’m sitting, if you take that money, you’re dead in six months. I’ll be like The Police. Every breath you take, every move you make. However you cut it, your life is mine,” he shrugged. “I will say that I really hope you don’t freeze. I want whatever you do to be metal—so I’d prefer you don’t run either,” he shrugged. “In the end, you’ll do what you do.”

“Metal,” Sophie repeated, then stared him down. “Six months and a hundred thousand dollars… I could fight you.”

Gabriel was a fair deal bigger and in much better health. They both knew it. “Yeah, okay,” he rolled his eyes.

Sophie huffed. “Maybe you should give me more than a hundred thousand dollars. I mean, you make eight million a year.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s a hundred thousand, take it or leave it. Mind you—even if you leave it—I might just strangle you purple in six months anyway,” he teased.

“Hey!” Sophie stared death at the drummer. She wiggled a finger in his face. “Don’t fuck around now! I haven’t accepted this trash offer!”

Once again, half the restaurant was engaged.

Gabriel backed off. “Yeah, well, we’re set at a hundred thousand. Any more money is off the table,” he told her.

“No other rules?” Sophie asked. “You give me a hundred thousand dollars, then you try to murder me in six months?”

“No guns, no talk,” Gabriel said, confirming their additional agreement. “After that, I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”

Sophie frowned. It was all so stupid. It was hella-fucking-stupid. She wanted to talk about music, dammit, but he was still going on about this weird fascination!

And yet, there was a hundred thousand dollars at home, sitting on her bed.

Was he really going to let her keep it? Indeed, he might just take her home, strangle her, then take the money back immediately. Maybe he was that deranged. Maybe she totally read him wrong. There was no way of knowing.

There was one way of knowing.

Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about the money. A hundred thousand dollars. It was a new beginning, a startling change of fortune! So what if the price was high?! It wasn’t as if she was loving her life anyway, or taking great care of it! Besides, she still wasn’t sure there’d be any price to pay at all.

Sophie tried to think of her life without the hundred thousand dollars and realized she’d already decided. She knew how her life would play out if she didn’t take it—the slog of Wok ‘n Roll, the malaise of tomorrow forever mirroring the drudgery of yesterday. She couldn’t face it when there was a much better alternative staring her in the face. She figured she could take the money and venture into a truly metal lifestyle—even if it was only for six months. Or she could suffer her tedious and mediocre existence for—how long? How many more years did she have left? For what stretch might she linger on the bottom rung—just scratching by?

A hundred thousand dollars…

Gabriel cut in on her thoughts. “I do hope you take it,” he stated. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a hot minute. I’m curious to see how you’ll spend the money. Indeed, I look forward to spending the next six months playing a little cat and mouse with you. You’re smarter than you think,” he winked.

Sophie stared back as she continued to wonder at his game. “All right, fucker,” she glared. “I’ll keep your money, and six months from now, we’ll see who’s dead,” she said and stabbed at the salmon in her salad.

5 A Shift in the Winds

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Sophie began. “We’ve got six months before we murder each other—and you have yet to hear me play,” she reminded him.

Gabriel shook his head. “If I came inside and lit a match I’d be doing you a favor,” he told her. “I just hope you don’t make me murder you in such a pathetic shit-hole.”

Sophie glared.

“Tell you what,” he began again. “You clean up a bit, I’ll come hear you play,” and with that he drove away in a clean and muscular Beamer.

Alone, Sophie sat on her crowded couch and stared at the lump under the covers of her bed. She could feel an electricity in the air and realized everything had changed. For a time, she considered going buck wild, buying a shit ton of coke, and burning the place down. Gabriel wasn’t wrong when he said it’d be an improvement.

Although it was an admittedly metal plan, Sophie felt it was foolhardy and far too immediate to blow the money on blow, and burn up all her shit. Even with a hundred thousand dollars worth of coke, she’d eventually need a bed. After all, there were still six months to attend. Besides, she didn’t really want to do coke anyway. It’d make her more impulsive and reckless. She didn’t want to blow the money long before the six months were over, then find herself pouting and complaining. To think she might become so pathetic that she’d crawl to Gabriel and beg him to end it… cripes.

No. For the moment, she didn’t want to spend any of it. Not just yet. She had a bit of her own cash stuffed away. She could live off her own funds for a bit—for a week—just until she had a solid plan.

Sophie bit her lip. Could she have a working plan by the end of the week? Her life wasn’t exactly on a strict regimen. She barely planned anything beyond her next shift.

Sophie tore her focus away from the money. It was barely dinner time, and she’d already eaten. She thought to call Angela for a celebratory toast—then remembered that her friend was currently off again—so she sat and pouted about that for a couple minutes instead.

After fretting, she decided to count the money. What could it hurt? She was only going to count it! She pushed the mountain of rumpled clothes off her bed, and the bunched up covers too, which gave her an unobstructed surface. She opened the duffel and dumped it out.

Some of the money was in rolls, some in bundles, some was loose. There was even a bit of change, as if Gabriel dug the last of it out from under his couch cushions. She lined the money into neat little stacks, and set aside a small, sealed note. She frowned as she double-counted the money and got the same mysterious result: one hundred, eight thousand, eight dollars; and fifty cents. Why the odd amount?

Sophie tore open the note. It read: A hundred thousand, as agreed, plus a little extra, for your trip to Hawaii. 80085. She thought it might be the zip code for Hawaii—but no. She set the mystery aside.

Gleeful that she was now rich—or richer than she’d ever been—Sophie stared at the neat stack of money and wondered that it could seem so small. A case of nerves struck her as she stared at the cash, so right out in the open. She went to the front door and finally managed to lock it; which normally made her feel trapped, since it tended to stick, but now it made her feel secure.

Sophie put on some music. She turned it up—most of the neighbors would be out and about anyway. She grabbed a cushion off the couch. She hopped about the cluttered room as she laughed, and screamed into the couch’s cushion.

A hundred thousand dollars!

Sophie continued to laugh and dance—but the room was chalk full of obstacles that bogged her down: a mix of neglected belongings and far too much random trash. She grabbed at a empty bag of take-out and promptly walked it into the kitchen. She thought to jam it in an overflowing trash can, only to be reminded that she’d jammed it beyond capacity a week earlier and would have to settle the rumpled bag among the growing mountain of trash that climbed the sides of the bin.

Glaring, Sophie did something she hadn’t done in several months. She pulled a trash bag out from under the sink, then—in a rare and brave demonstration of newfound determination—she huffed into the living room and scooped at the obvious trash—and less obvious treasures—that lay pell-mell about the apartment. She needed a dance floor, dammit!

After a couple hours of picking about the room, there were two full trash bags near the door. Her clothes formed a series of small hills against the closet. Magazines, books, records, and other printed materials leaned in awkward stacks about the couch and coffee table. Dishes—all too often caked with mold—were balanced on mounting piles in the kitchen.

Prompted by one of her favorite songs, and now having a proper space for it, Sophie danced some more. Several hours later, the music continued at a dull roar. Sophie had separated her clean and dirty clothes (most of which were dirty). She’d taken out the trash, finished a load of dishes, and done plenty of dancing. Admittedly, much of her apartment was still a mess—there was still a long way to go—but there was a vast improvement over the mess she’d lived in for far too long.

Tired and happy, Sophie stuffed the cash back into the duffel and pulled her covers over it once more. She put on a clean dress and heels, took a bill from her own stash, drove herself halfway across town to her favorite upscale bar, and bought herself dinner and a glass of wine.

“Can I borrow a pen?” she asked the bartender. He gave her a courtesy pen with the restaurant’s name on it: The Hillsdale House. It was so much fancier than Wok ‘n Roll. She smiled, expecting she wouldn’t work there much longer.

While Sophie sipped at her wine and waited for her food, she did some simple math on a bev-nap. She figured that 100,000 dollars over 6 months was 16,666 dollars a month—a sum that would normally take her half a year to amass. 100,000 dollars over 24 weeks was 4166 dollars a week; and over 180 days was 555 dollars.

Sophie decided she’d give herself $500 dollars a day. She’d spend what she liked, and save the rest for her trip to Hawaii. Then she’d still have a chunk of change at the end of the challenge—just in case Gabriel decided not to kill her after all.

Sophie couldn’t stop grinning as her plate was set before her. Five hundred dollars a day seemed like such an incredible amount of money. The bartender caught her smiling, so they flirted for a bit. She thought about trying to seduce him—but felt that even if he was game, her house wasn’t fit for entertaining.

Besides, she’d just regret it in the morning.

Still, the dinner was delicious, the wine was enrapturing, and the company was attentive. The check was under sixty bucks. She left the entire bill.

As Sophie drove home she continued to smile. She drove slow, letting others rush about her. For a moment she thought cruising wasn’t very metal; then she thought, fuck metal! Metal was Gabriel’s hang-up, not hers! She was allowed to do as she wanted—and at the moment she wanted to cruise! Then she decided that doing whatever she wanted was totally metal—and she had to smile about that too.

Back at the apartment, Sophie decided to call it a day. She brushed her teeth and ignored all the work her bathroom needed. She wouldn’t get anything done tomorrow, since she had a double. But Saturday was a half day at work, so hopefully she’d add to her grand beginning over the weekend. She pulled a wadded blanket off the floor, grabbed the bag full of cash, and curled up on her couch. She muted the TV, turned her back to it, and spooned the duffel.

Sophie couldn’t stop smiling. Her mouth ached, and yet she couldn’t stop smiling. When it finally came, it was a deep and perfect sleep.

6 Grab Ass

Sophie was determined not to quit her job, not for at least a week or two. Although it was now inevitable that she would leave, she didn’t want to rush it. With the end in sight, Sophie suddenly remembered all the little things she loved about Wok ‘n Roll, all the things she’d miss: the easy comaraderie of her coworkers, the smiles of her generous regulars, the kung pao shrimp. She had a week to enjoy these things, and she meant to take the opportunity.

The first half of her shift went well. She was busy, but never overwhelmed. She was perky, quick at her work, and the customers were generous in response. The second half of her shift started in such a positive light. Even the gross details of the far too familiar relationship with Mark were tinged with the pastels of a bright future—until he goosed her. She talked to the cooks about a modified order when several fingers suddenly jammed against her asshole.

“GOD DAMMIT!” Sophie snapped as she turned on him.

“Watch your tone,” Mark cautioned.

Normally, she would have sucked it up and stewed about the injustice—but a hundred thousand dollars changes a girl. She didn’t have to put up with such horse-shit anymore—and not only was she fed up with Mark’s deplorable behavior—she was also over her own tacit acceptance of such chicanery. For once she decided not to drop it. “I don’t got time to play cop-a-feel!” she snapped. “I have work to do!”

Mark glared at her.

Sophie turned and stomped away.

That might have been the end of it, with Sophie doing an angry lap about the dining room before returning to her own concerns, but Mark followed her out and grabbed her by the arm as she began past the edge of the bar. Realizing they were now among the public, he tried to pull her back into the kitchen.

“WHAT?!” Sophie roared and pulled away.

Mark glanced about the bustling room, not wanting to speak in public.

“NO!” Sophie stared at Mark. “You don’t get to pull these shenanigans anymore!”

“We both know your no innocent,” he told her through clenched teeth.

“Fuck you!” Sophie snapped at him. “My weakness doesn’t justify your groping!”

Embarrassed, Mark’s face grew red. “Now listen here, missy,” he said with a wagging finger. “You’re making things very unpleasant.”

Sophie shook her head. She didn’t have to take this anymore! She had a bag full of money at home! Even if she died in six months, she had plenty of time to shop for a better job than this! She untied her apron, dropped it, and spit on it for good measure. “I quit,” She turned and stomped toward the door.

Once again, Mark grabbed her arm.

Sophie turned and slapped him. The dining room gasped and stared on in hushed silence.

“That’s assault!” Mark charged as he tried to play the victim.

“Yeah!” Sophie leaned in on him. “And what is it when you GRAB MY ASS?!” she shouted.

Red-faced, Mark seethed. Sophie remembered other times she’d seen him this angry. Once, he’d threatened to cut one of the bussers. Once, he bruised a server’s ribs by jamming her up against the bar. Once, he threw a hot pan at a dishwasher.

A jolt of fear shot up Sophie’s spine. If it got physical, it was going to be bad for her. She knew little of fighting. He could seriously hurt her before anyone could possibly stop him. Regaining her senses, she turned, and stomped out as the restaurant stared on.

7 Play It By Ear

It was late afternoon when Sophie got home. She was still hot from her confrontation with Mark. She hated that he goosed her and forced her hand, but she was rather happy she did what she did. Admittedly, she’d quit her job almost immediately—after swearing to live out a normal week—so to punish herself, Sophie cleaned the bathroom.

But first she put on some music.

As she worked, Mark sent her several texts. At first he was conciliatory and begged her to come back to work. He was wrong for sticking his fingers in her bunghole—and he was already down a bartender—could she be back by six?

Sophie ignored him. She cleaned the sink and scrubbed the counter instead. Mark doubled down. He offered her a line and fifty bucks if she’d come back and finish her double. Sophie maintained radio silence. The texts turned angry and demanding. Sophie tackled the tub.

As the night carried on, Mark became out and out insulting. He called her a rotten whore and told her never to come back to Wok ‘n Roll. She scoffed and refused to reply. Instead she turned up the music and allowed her anger to fuel her as she scrubbed the toilet, then swept and mopped the floor.

After hours of sorting, scrubbing, polishing, and sweeping, Sophie found herself in an totally adequate bathroom. Indeed, it was a fair bit cleaner than her kitchen—which still possessed a mountain of dirty dishes and a refrigerator stuffed to the gills. She shuddered to think of the horrors she might encounter in the fridge.

The day was getting on. The sun was down and Sophie wanted dinner. She took another hundred dollars from her own money and headed back to the Hillsdale House. It was a different bartender, but she flirted anyway. When he asked for her number, she did an uncharacteristic thing and declined, then left him a heavy tip for the compliment.

Sophie went home and turned over the piles of media that crowded her couch and coffee table. Among them were a dozen or so records that Angela was always trying to get her to play. She wondered why it wasn’t Angela texting her, instead of Mark.

With a huff, Sophie started her laundry and finished her dishes. She considered starting on the fridge—but the evening was getting on, and her stamina waned. Her subsiding hatred of Mark wasn’t enough to fuel such a momentous project—not at such a late hour. She decided to wait for the pure light of day—otherwise the world might find her corpse under a mountain of unrecognizable leftovers. Who knew what terrors might have evolved in the back reaches of her chiller? She’d need the sanitizing power of God’s good light if she hoped to overcome such a dark and dank hole!

For a time, Sophie stood by her front door and admired her much cleaner apartment. The carpet might be old, the paint chipped, the wallpaper peeling. The linoleum might be worn, the bathroom might be a patchwork of ancient fixtures and makeshift repairs—not to mention a motley of other problems and inadequacies about the place—but at least it was clean, almost presentable! Indeed, it was livable, even comfortable! Plus, now there was no way Gabriel could refuse to hear her play! It may be a shitty apartment, but she smiled to think that it was her shitty apartment. She settled on the couch with the duffel of cash, turned off the television, and quickly fell asleep. After a couple hours, she got up long enough to brush her teeth and shut off the lights; then, on a whim, she unplugged her alarm clock.

Sophie woke late the next morning. The day was already warm. More than anything, she wanted a cigarette—but she was out. She considered going to the store, but she didn’t want to go out until she’d cleaned the fridge, and it was far too early to engage that beast. Instead, she drank a glass of water and settled for a bit of leftover weed. She glanced at her broken ukulele, frowned, then picked up her bass and turned on the amplifier ever so low. She sat on her bed and played her favorite songs. It’d been a long time since she’d practiced. She smoked a little more weed, played several more songs, then smoked the last of her weed.

Sophie played until her fingers ached. It was late afternoon and she’d consumed nothing but water and pot. She wanted to go to the grocer and get food for the house—so she could use her newly-clean dishes—but the fridge was still a mess. She drank more water, then smoked the resin that clung to the walls of her pipe. She put on one of Angela’s albums, then set to work on the fridge.

An hour later, Sophie was quite thankful she’d consumed no food. She gagged several times before she realized some containers were simply not worth saving. By the end of it, she’d thrown out most of the fridge’s contents. It was a heavy bag, and there were several nice containers sacrificed to strange and primitive gods of mold and dross.

With the fridge finally clear of trash, Sophie took the first five hundred bucks from the duffel and went to the store. She bought some basics for breakfast, then decided she didn’t really want to cook anyway, and stopped on her way home for a couple slices of pizza and a side salad. It was late. Cooking would have to wait until morning. She set the remaining money aside—just over four hundred bucks.

After eating, Sophie tried to play her bass a little more—but her fingers ached too much. Instead, she dug into the piles of media, and set about organizing. Suffering a touch of loneliness, Sophie put on an old movie. She read snippets of books and magazines, then placed them neatly on the shelf, or tossed them aside.

A pile of unwanted media formed near the door. Another pile formed next to it, this one to be returned to Angela and other friends. Thinking of her on-again off-again friend, Sophie decided to call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ange,” Sophie began. “How are you?”

“I’m good, girl. How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You should come over. I’ll make you dinner.”

“You’ll what?” Angela asked, well aware of Sophie’s cooking prowess, or lack there of. She knew the woman peaked at ramen.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Sophie corrected. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Angela tsked. “You know I’m down with a free meal—but its late—and don’t you work Tuesday nights?”

“Not this week,” Sophie admitted. “Or next week. You should come by next week.”

“Well Tuesdays are no good for me anymore,” Angela noted. “Listen, babe. I love ya—but I gotta go. We’ll get together soon. I promise.”

“Okay,” Sophie pouted.

Angela sighed. “I’m glad you called. Sometimes, I don’t know why we be so ill with each other.”

“Yeah,” Sophie agreed. “My fault.”

“Well, this time,” Angela jibed. “But I be startin’ my fair share of the filth,” she admitted. “Later, babe.”

“Later,” Sophie hung up.

8 Ground Rules

Sophie bought a cat calendar and marked February 2nd, six months from when Gabriel gave her the money. She marked it with a big fat X, then circled the entire week. By the end of August, she’d further adorned February 3rd with a question mark. What were the odds that she’d make it that long? A few weeks later, she added a star to the 28th and an arrow on the 29th, indicating the possibility of March. Would she be around to flip the page? What would she have to do in order to get there? By the time February arrived, deep in the snowy winter, the well worn calendar page was decorated to the nines with symbols, curly-ques, and other curiosities.

But that was still far from now…

Occasionally, Sophie thought about going to the cops and telling them that Gabriel meant to kill her, but each time she did, she talked herself out of it. For one, she wasn’t sure Gabriel was serious—then again, she wasn’t sure he wasn’t. Despite his words, he was fairly considerate. He said awful things, yes—but he said them in such a flattering manner. Besides, he gave her the money, and he didn’t bring any guns around… Sophie huffed at that. It was a stupid demand. She could have asked for anything! She could of asked for another hundred thousand dollars! Instead, she got tripped up in the past, by the wayward deeds of her parents... Anyway, Gabriel was good to his word. That was the point. Sophie meant to be good to her word too. She felt the only course to take was to hope he was joking—and to plan as if he was serious. Indeed, she was having fun and hoped that by February she’d be a mean, clean, metal machine.

Whether or not it was a healthy fixation, there was something magical about Gabriel’s money and attention. It was a panacea for Sophie’s soul. It was such a wonderful boon that it buoyed her from her funk. She wondered if perhaps something less dramatic might have jolted her in a similar fashion, but thought that such a great transformation might only be possible because she was given such an incredible gift: a metal gift, with a metal cost.

Aside from Gabriel, there was little worry in Sophie’s life. She refused to plan beyond the next six months, so the far-distant future could not trouble her. She set aside the extra $8008.50, in case she lived beyond February. That’d give her a couple months to find a new job. If she lived. If Gabriel was indeed sick in the head—and also managed to kill her—Sophie meant for Angela to have the extra cash. She was a good friend—usually.

The next order of business was learning how to fight, just in case Gabriel turned out to be a psychopath. Personally, Sophie hoped he’d rather run off with her. She even bought a nice nightgown, just in case. But that was the easy part. After that, she typed “karate” and “martial arts” into her browser, then poked about the local listings. Over the next week and a half, she attended a dozen introductory classes, but felt they were all geared to a young audience, and set at a pace that would take years to make her competent. After one such class, she approached the instructor, frustrated. “This is all very nice and what not,” she began. “But I was hoping there’d be a lot more fighting, and not so much sitting and listening.”

“What is it you’re looking for?” the instructor replied.

“I need to get good in six months,” she claimed.

“You need private lessons,” he shook his head. “They aren’t cheap.”

“How much?” Sophie asked.

The instructor shrugged. “Depends on what you want.”

“I want to learn how to fight in six months,” Sophie repeated.

“You looking to compete?” the instructor asked. “Do you have a stalker? Why are you learning?”

Not wanting to answer, Sophie crossed her arms.

The instructor shook his head. “Look, it ain’t none of my business, but if someone is troubling you, you need to tell the cops, and you should tell others you trust.”

“Okay,” Sophie replied. “But that won’t save me if its only me around.”

“Point taken,” the instructor agreed. “We don’t do private lessons here, but I know a guy. An ex-cop. He does self-defense classes for women. He specializes in stalkers.”

Sophie smiled. “Well that does sound an awful lot like perfect. Does he train with weapons?”

“He’ll make you a weapon,” the instructor said. “First thing he’ll do is aggression training so you won’t freeze up if you do get attacked.”

“That’s cool,” Sophie replied. “But you know what’s better than being a weapon?”

“What’s that?”

“Being a weapon that’s holding a weapon,” she answered.

The instructor smiled and waved her into his office. “He’s going to like a little spitfire like you,” he nodded. “He gets to weapons. He’ll teach you a lot about weapons. He’ll teach you hand-to-hand. He’ll help develop your mental game and give you strategies to stay safe. He’s an all around good guy—and he’ll turn a little scrapper like you into a genuine terror,” he said as he gave her the ex-cop’s card.

“Thank you,” Sophie held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

After an hour with the ex-cop, Sophie was feeling good, but was also exhausted. She was sure to have a few bruises tomorrow, but she figured the more bruising she got now, the less she’d get later. Satisfied with the day’s progress, she went home, practiced her bass for a couple hours, then made a simple dinner, and called it an evening.

The next day, Sophie woke early. She played her bass as low as she could stand until the majority of her neighbors were up and away—then cranked it and played until noon.

The ex-cop had an opening that afternoon, so she went for her second session of self-defense. This time was two hours. Afterward, she thought about weapons and went shopping. She bought enough food for a week, a nice iron skillet for the perfect bacon and pancakes, and a knife. Indeed, Sophie bought a wicked-sharp chef’s knife: eleven inches long. She also bought a solid cutting board, so she could practice on carrots and tomatoes.

Thus began Sophie’s life of solitude and routine: music, fight, eat, sleep. Music, fight, eat, sleep, music fight eat sleep, musicfighteatsleep…

9 Angela

It was almost three months after she got the money that Sophie finally had Angela over.

“Sophie!” Angela gasped as she stepped through the doorway. “I love what you’ve done with the place!” She stopped and stared at the large planter in front of the window. “That is a monster cactus.”

Sophie smiled, sheepishly. “I have wine for you,” she said.

“Oh, I see the wine,” Angela gathered her friend in a hug. “I see the prosciutto, the strawberries, the snackie nuts. You’re so good to me!”

“I’ve missed you,” Sophie told her.

“I’ve missed you too,” Angela replied.

The two sat, opened the wine, and talked about Angela’s endeavors—though they inevitably circled back to Sophie’s changing world. Angela ignored Sophie’s attempts to shift attention back to her. “What?” Sophie stared back.

“What do you mean, ‘What?”!” Angela exclaimed. “Are you really going to pretend that everything is normal when it most certainly isn’t?!”

“Why do you think I wanted to have you over?!” Sophie shrugged, “Besides, it’s all good.”

“It’s all good, huh?” Angela gently prodded a bruise that peaked out from under Sophie’s shirt. “Did Mark give you that?” she asked with a grim face.

“No,” Sophie shook her head and pulled her sleeve over the purple welt—although there was another visible at the base of her neck. “I’m not talking to Mark—haven’t talked to him in months. He tries, but I ignore him,” she explained.

“The ol’ cold shoulder,” Angela nodded. “I do like that.”

“I did let him have one last grope,” Sophie admitted with a snort. “I let him feel me up for 20 bucks and a line. But I kicked the coke, and I kicked Mark at the same time.”

“Literally?” Angela stared.

“No,” Sophie grinned. “Figuratively.”

“Well then?” Angela frowned and stared at the half covered bruise. “Who did this?”

Sophie shrugged and picked at a piece of prosciutto. “Do you think it’s important to be honorable?” she asked.

“You’re changing the subject,” Angela stared.

“No I’m not!” Sophie protested, “I’m just… taking the long way around to the answer.”

“Alright,” Angela conceded. “Define honorable.”

“In my world, an honorable man does as he says,” Sophie stated. “It’s the opposite of hypocrisy.”

“I like that,” Angela nodded. “Honor does as honor says.”

Sophie smiled. “I like the idea that my word is worth something.”

Angela squinted at Sophie. “Is there some promise you’re looking to break?” she asked.

“If only it were that simple,” Sophie began a bit hesitantly. “I’m engaged in a transaction. I don’t know what to think about the other party. Is he full of shit? Which would be good. Or is he honest? In which case, he’s a certifiable nutter. So the question becomes, how should I act? Knowing that I can’t know?”

“Ahh, so your stuck in some arrangement with an asshole,” Angela shrugged. “You don’t have to honor assholes.”

Sophie shrugged. “I knew what he was when we made the agreement. I agreed with open eyes, and he’s been good to his end of the bargain, so I’m fine to honor it, because I definitely got something out of it.”

“And what’d you get?” Angela pressed.

“I can’t tell you,” Sophie shook her head. “I not supposed to talk about it. I shouldn’t even be giving you hints. Ask me next summer and I’ll be free to say what I want. But for now,” she sighed. “It might not matter. I think it might all be a lark to him.”

Angela stared at her friend. “Him?”

Sophie stuck a nut in her mouth and clammed up.

For a time, neither party said anything. Finally, Angela objected. “You really want to leave it at that?!”

“Yeah,” Sophie nodded. “It’s for the best.”

“Well, now I’m even more concerned,” Angela pointed. “And if I find out it’s Mark…”

“It isn’t Mark!” Sophie insisted. “I’ve got bruises because I’ve been working out! I’ve been learning how to fight!”

“Then why didn’t you say that?!” Angela huffed.

“Because it’s more complicated than that!” Sophie pleaded.

“Did you meet some new asshole?” Angela glared. “Is he another choker?!”

“I swear to god, I got these working out,” Sophie insisted.

“Yes! Learning to fight,” Angela noted. “Jesus, Sophie, what is going on with you?! Don’t get me wrong—some of this is down right glorious, like the cactus—but I’ve been busy the wrong few months! You’ve gone and made yourself into a whole new person!”

Sophie shrugged. “Something weird but wonderful came up, and I can’t talk about it specifically right now, but I’m doing great! I promise!” she exclaimed. “It’s been a boon, even though it put the fear of God in me. I’ve been forced to recognize that there are a lot of assholes out there, and I need to take care of myself, so I’ve been taking self defense classes! Isn’t that fair?!”

Angela huffed. “Yeah…” she shrugged.

For a long second, Sophie simply stared at Angela. “Do you think you could do it?” she began. “Could you kill someone? In self defense?”

“Christ, Sophie! Did you agree to a suicide pact or something?!” Angela gasped. “Are you involved with a cult?!”

“What?!” Sophie replied. “I’m learning to fight! You can’t expect me not to have these thoughts!”

“Well, maybe!” Angela retorted. “But you don’t have to voice them. It makes me worry.”

“Maybe we should be worried,” Sophie replied. “Don’t let it bother you—they’re just thoughts,” she took her friend’s hand. “Do you think I’d clean my apartment if I was looking to off myself?! Do you think I’d hang art? Do you think I’d adopt a prickly pear?” she replied. “Instead, I’m watching cooking videos while playing with pie tins and rolling pins. I’m thinking deep and troubling thoughts! I’m cleaning up my shit! I’m trying to be the person I always wanted to be, before it’s too late!”

Angela put a reassuring hand on Sophie’s shoulder. She shook her head. “It’s fine, even if you don’t want to do coke,” she began. “I see the new you as a vast improvement. It’s just a bit much, you know, to see this all at once. But you see why bruises are concerning. It makes the rest of this look like a mask.”

Sophie snorted. “It did happen rather all at once, didn’t it?”

Angela shook her head.

“I’m just—I’m not fucking around anymore. I have to take my shit seriously,” Sophie shrugged. “And since I quit acting a mess, I’ve had all kinds of time and energy on my hands! In fact, I’ve been writing music. You want to hear a piece?”

“You bet your ass!” Angela replied as she stuffed a dried fig in her mouth.

“I call it Just Another Normal Murder,” she said as she collected her bass.

Angela scoffed and rolled her eyes at the terrible title.

“All right,” Sophie settled on the couch. She strummed the strings a few times to establish a beat, then began to play an aggressive and hard-charging song. She sang with a throaty rasp, gifted by too many cigarettes.

Angela sat rapt and stared at her friend. She beamed as Sophie played and sang so well, then smiled in utter delight as Sophie screamed the last line at her. Angela cheered and clapped, then hugged her friend and told her it belonged on the radio—“though it is a bit short,” she offered up her one complaint.

Sophie blushed. “It’s actually the third part of a four part song. I just played it because that’s where it really gets metal,” she grinned. “See it starts off all light and easy…” she began to play once more. “This first part is called, ‘A Gleam in the Eye / An Itch in the Pants’.” She sang soft ooo’s and ahh’s to start, and made throaty, seductive sounds. The song grew into a bouncing melody and the lyrics spoke of the easy life of a child. The song continued to build; complicating, and accelerating. “Now its ‘The Soft Babble of the Stream Becomes the Unquenchable Roar of the Ocean’,” she said between lines. The lyrics turned to adolescent matters—young and careless romances—stupid infighting with friends and neighbors. Then came the crash and roar of Just Another Normal Murder; building until Sophie screamed once more.

Angela grabbed Sophie’s hand as thumping sounds came from the ceiling. “Woooo!” cheered the upstairs neighbors. “Play it again!” they called through the floor—which caused Sophie and Angela to burst out laughing.

“Christ on a cross!” Angela clapped. “You are absolutely brilliant!”

Sophie blushed. “Thank you.”

“You are so good!” Angela continued. “Hot damn, Sophie!”

“It isn’t finished,” she confessed. “It needs to get harder.”

“Harder?!” Angela frowned. “How do you plan to get harder?! You were screaming at me, for Pete’s sake!”

“Like, lake of fire, steppes of hell—you know—some real heavy shit,” Sophie said.

“More yelling?” Angela shrugged.

“I guess,” Sophie shook her head. “I just… I don’t know… It’s not working. I’m not likin’ it…”

Angela shrugged and gathered her in a hug, “Whatever you do will be brilliant—and don’t fret if you can’t come up with anything. Just Another Normal Murder ends perfectly well with you screaming.”

“No,” Sophie disagreed. “It needs another part. After all, it’s based around the four seasons. It needs a worthy winter,” she explained.

“What were the names again?” Angela asked.

“The first one is ‘A Gleam in the Eye / An Itch in the Pants’.”

“And the second one?”

“The Soft Babble of the Stream Becomes the Unquenchable Roar of the Ocean.”

“That whole thing,” Angela eyed her friend. “That whole thing is the name of the second part?”

Sophie nodded.

“Okay. And the third part is Just Another Normal Murder,” Angela smiled. “Do you have an overarching title for the whole thing?”

“You think it needs one?” Sophie stared at her friend.

“And what makes you think it needs four parts?” Angela rolled her eyes. “It’s your song, Sophie. You can do anything you like with it.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Sophie chuckled. She set aside her bass and took her friend’s hand, “Hey, I have a favor to ask.”

Angela leaned back. “Oh here it comes! I knew this was all too good to be true!”

“I was wondering, will you watch my apartment?” Sophie asked. “Just stop by from time to time and make sure the plants aren’t wilting. You can stay if you like. You’ll have the run of the place for three weeks.”

Angela glanced about the flat, newly cleaned and redecorated. “Can I watch your apartment?!” She snorted as a grin stretched across her face. “Before today, it would have been a hard pass—but now staying here would be a privilege! I’d say you’re doing me the favor!” she smiled. “Where are you going anyway?”

“Hawaii,” Sophie beamed.

Hawaii?!” Angela blanched.

“Well, you know, I’ve never seen the ocean. Not in person anyway,” Sophie explained.

“Hawaii isn’t cheap,” Angela noted. “Where are you getting the money?”

Sophie shrugged. “I’ve been saving,” she smiled.

“For a ukulele!” Angela shook her head as she sipped her wine. “You are too much girl! You done cleaned your apartment, started fighting, wrote a song, and planned a trip to Hawaii?!” she stared at her friend. “Who are you and what did you do to my wild and reckless Sophie?!”

“Don’t tell me you want that mess back in your life!” Sophie snorted.

“At least she was predictable,” Angela chuckled then let out a long sigh. “I know I ain’t the most put together, but I have been cleaning up a bit myself,” she nodded. “I didn’t give up coke, mind you, but we’re good like this. It’s time we grew up,” Angela shook her head and stared bug-eyed at Sophie. “That said, you didn’t have to go and do it all at once!”

Sophie blushed at the teasing. She giggled and popped a strawberry in her mouth.

“So how much do I water the cactus?” Angela eyed the prickly beast.

Sophie shook her head. “It’s a cactus. Why would you water it?”

“I’m afraid if I don’t, the thing might try to eat me,” Angela noted.

“It is kind of big,” Sophie snickered.

The night continued well into the evening. Angela tried to beg off, saying she had to sleep at some point—but Sophie talked her into staying the night. She gave her guest the tidy bed and situated herself on the couch—but even with the lights off, the two continued to jabber and guffaw deep into the wee hours. The next day, Angela thought to be mad at Sophie for keeping her up so late, but found she was fueled by Sophie’s antics, and barely suffered at all from the excessive wine and sharp lack of sleep.

10 Staring Into the Abyss

A month later, Sophie flew out and over the Pacific Ocean. Staring out at the abyss, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. She squirmed in her seat and frequently raised the blind, only to lower it seconds later, captivated and frightened by the endless expanse of black water just beyond the tip of the wing. She wondered that her father had been so enraptured with the open ocean. How had he ever served so long in the navy? Apparently, she was more her mother’s daughter.

Sophie hadn’t seen land in over a hour—and it’d be several more before she did. There was nothing but undrinkable water below her, and a gnawing worry that something terrible was about to happen. The thought of crashing into the ocean, of treading water until her stamina gave out, of drowning in the deep blue—well—the thought terrified her. She could understand the villainy of her fellow humans—the possible treachery of Gabriel and his ilk—but the casual brutality of the natural world made her skin crawl.

Hours passed. The sun crept over the water and turned it a brilliant blue. Hawaii crept into view. The plane landed. Sophie stepped out of the airport and into the thick, warm, Hawaiian breeze. She smiled. So far the gamble was worth it.

Her hotel looked out over the water. Sophie stared out the window of her room as she stripped, then put on her bathing suit and ran out to the beach. The sands were so bright, almost overwhelmingly so. There was a touch of breeze, and the heat of the sun was immediate, yet pleasant. There was a tang of salt and a greasy, fishy flavor to the thick ocean air. The roar of the water was constant and the waves were incessant. There were seabirds everywhere. They swirled overhead, gathered in groups, and dodged among the humans to snap at scraps.

Children and adults lounged and frolicked about the sand and surf. Some charged about the water’s edge to play among the waves. Others poked at the sand, building castles, searching for shells or bits of sea-glass. More sat around; observing the goings-on, reading, or closing their eyes against the glare of the sun. Sophie sat under an umbrella, happy to see her newest bruises were all but faded away. She watched the commotion before her, enthralled by the endless crashing water. For a time, she stood and kicked about the surf. She splashed a few kids and jibed with a couple adults—but mostly kept to herself. She ventured out into the water—but only up to her knees. She wasn’t willing to commit herself to the mercies of the deep just yet. What if there were sharks? Or jellyfish?

Sophie took a walk down the beach for a good twenty minutes—until the soft sands gave way to massive cliffs draped in the green of verdant growth. She sat for a bit and watched the water do its slow work against the rock, enthralled by the incessant crash of the waves.

Sophie turned and meandered back to the hotel’s waterside bar. She put a beer on her room, then sat in the sun and drank it as the beach scene progressed before her. She blinked away from the unforgiving light, able to see the glare of the sun even through closed eyelids. Content, she smiled. She leaned back in her chair and thought; this is the life. This is paradise.

Laying back and drinking beer brought on a weariness that Sophie couldn’t deny. Needing sleep, she wobbled back to her room. She was a little shocked that she should feel her alcohol after one bottle—but then remembered she didn’t eat during the flight because her stomach was tied in knots, and she didn’t want to experience the humiliation of a sick bag.

Used to tipsy tourists, the maids and bellhops smiled and nodded as they dodged her stagger. Jet lagged and drowsy, Sophie hoped to take a bit of a nap, perhaps doze until sunset. She crashed on her bed and slept a deep and peaceful sleep that lasted late into the night. Initially, Sophie was irritated with herself for sleeping so long—but when she looked out the window, she could see the dark churn of the ocean—and wondered how she could possibly be angry when she still had so much time before her.

The beach was nearly empty. Sophie pulled an orange juice from the mini bar and put on her spare swimsuit. Despite the dark, there were others afoot; a few surfers, the occasional beachcomber, a runner now and again—but they were few and far between. Sophie explored the wet sands and watched the slow sunrise, surprised that goosebumps flecked her skin. The water was warm compared to the crisp air and Sophie was lured in all the way up to her neck. She waded out into the ocean until she had to tread water, out among a half dozen surfers that gathered just beyond the breaks. She treaded water and chatted with the athletes about their craft and about the ocean in general. Were there sharks about? What of jellyfish?

Sophie returned to the beach, so she might catch her breath and calm her nerves. Light crept over the earth. The sun painted the sky red as it rose out of the ocean. More and more people appeared at the far edge of the sands and made their way to the water. Cold and winded, Sophie laid on her towel until she was dry, until she was warm, until the heat of the sun beating down on her was almost unbearable. With a worn smile etched on her face, she trekked back to her room, washed the salt and sand from her body, then rested for a time—until hunger overtook her weariness.

Eventually, Sophie got dressed, and ventured out for a late breakfast. After eating, she avoided the harsh midday sun by shopping. She browsed clothing stores that were always half full of swimwear. A pair of rose-colored aviators caught her interest. She discovered a swimsuit she simply had to have.

Bags in hand, Sophie arrived at a music store. Her heart skipped a beat. They had a beautiful selection of instruments: keyboards, horns, guitars, a number of basses, and row after row of ukuleles!

Sophie hadn’t played a ukulele in years. Her fingers itched and her heart pounded as she lifted the first instrument from its cradle. She handled the ukulele with reverence as she plucked it’s cheerful strings, then put the first one back so she might test another and another; going back and forth between them and listening carefully to variances in their song.

A sales associate approached, Keoni according to his name tag, “I see you play,” he smiled and sat nearby.

Sophie returned the smile. She was falling in love with the ukulele in her hands, and decided to play her song on a whim—though she left off the lyrics. As she played, Keoni’s smile deepened and his eyes shined with appreciation.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, puzzled by the abrupt ending.

“You don’t like it?” Sophie asked.

“No, it’s good. It’s just… sudden,” he replied.

Sophie shrugged. “Well, that might be the end of it. I’m not sure I can write it any further.”

Keoni gaped. “You mean to tell me you wrote that?”

Sophie smiled and nodded.

“Will you play it again?”

Sophie couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do—but before she could start, Keoni turned and whistled.

“Hey Jake! Get over here!”

Jake approached, a tall and lanky youth, likely just out of high school. “What’s up?”

A couple customers moseyed nearby. Sophie swallowed a lump in her throat, began to play again, then added her vocals—which caused Keoni to gasp and smile all the more as he shook in time to her tune. A small crowd gathered, coy and unobtrusive at first, then unabashed as the song continued. They turned and stared at each other as she screamed the ending.

Keoni clapped and cheered and those gathered about followed suit.

“That’s really good,” Jake began. “That’s really really good!”

“If only I could figure out the rest,” Sophie said with a shrug.

“You wrote that?!” Jake asked, bug-eyed.

“I know, right?!” Keoni hooted. “Fucking metal!” He shook his head. “I feel like you could end it there.”

Sophie frowned as she wondered if he might be right, if Angela might also be right.

“You new here?” Jake asked.

Sophie shook her head. “I’m on vacation.”

“How long are you in town?” Keoni asked.

“I got a little time,” Sophie hedged, not interested in getting too personal with strangers.

“You have to jam with us,” Keoni said.

Sophie shook her head and raised her hand.

“Please! You just did a few things I’ve never even seen—and I thought I’d seen it all,” he shook his head. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for an hour of lessons!”

Sophie considered it. “Fifty bucks, eh?”

“We’re having a luau this weekend,” Jake added. “Pig in the sand and everything!”

“My hotel has a luau every night,” Sophie told him.

“Well then, we’ll come to you,” Keoni suggested.

Sophie smiled and gave in. “All right. Why don’t you swing by the White Sands. We can jam on the beach if you like.”

Jake turned to Keoni. “I’m busy tomorrow,“ he noted with a shrug. “Gonna have to be the next day…”

“Yeah, tomorrow’s no good for me neither,” Keoni agreed. “I do have the next day off. I have a few errands to run, but I can do all that by noon,” he noted.

“I work the morning anyway. I think we could be there, say three or four?” Jake suggested.

Keoni nodded and the two friends turned to Sophie.

Sophie shrugged. “Alright, boys. In two days, we jam—but before I can do that, I need an instrument—and I’d like this one,” she smiled.

Two days later, Sophie sat on the beach in her new swimsuit with her new glasses and a new ukulele. She played the first three parts of her song yet again, then frowned as she puzzled over how she might add to it, irked that nothing seemed to work. Once again, Sophie turned to her phone. She had access to a musical genius, that is, if he cared to answer. Despite her better judgement, she sent a text to Gabriel. If he should kill her, well, maybe he’d help her finish her song first. “When are you going to hear me play?” she asked him yet again.

Time passed as the text was ignored. Sophie sat on the beach and stared out over the water, perplexed. She had two months to go before Gabriel promised to collect. She hadn’t seen him once since he gave her the money. For all she knew, he’d completely forgotten about her and their deal—and here she was reminding him… why would she do that?

“THERE SHE IS!”

Sophie flinched. She turned to see Jake and Keoni striding across the white sands, Jake with a guitar in hand, and Keoni carrying a trumpet. Sophie shook her head. “How am I supposed to teach you if you didn’t bring a ukulele?” she asked him.

“I can use yours for that,” Keoni grinned. “But I also got a jam on this horn. I’m loving the brass, lately.”

“So you play trumpet and ukulele,” Sophie began. “What else do you play?”

“He’s a monster on the drums,” Jake spoke for his friend. “He also plays a mean piano. Then there’s about a dozen more—though he’s a basic bitch with the rest of his weapons.”

“That’s impressive,” Sophie noted. She turned to Jake. “And you? What do you play?”

Jake held up his guitar and kissed it, “this is the only lady in my life.”

“Its the only one that will have him!” Keoni teased, then started tooting his horn.

“He’s just jealous,” Jake said to his ax as he plucked at her strings. Sophie caught the timing of their song then began to add a note or a chord here and there. They played for hours. They drank beer, took the occasional dip in the ocean, and played and played as others looked on. After one energetic jam drew cheers from near bystanders, Jake set out his hat and gathered a couple dozen dollars from the crowd.

The night wore on. Sophie bought the boys a late dinner. They tried to protest, but Sophie put it on her room before they could do anything about it.

“Why’d you do that?!” Keoni pressed.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Sophie shrugged. “Besides, I have plenty of cash, and you still owe me fifty bucks for a lesson. I can’t have you spending all your money on frivolities like dinner.”

“Fifty bucks won’t cover this,” Jake pointed to his plate.

“Dinner's on me, because I haven’t had so much fun in such a long time,” Sophie smiled. “But if I’m giving a lesson, you will have to pay for it.”

“Well, thank you nonetheless,” Keoni said as they ate. “Where’d you learn to play?”

“My dad,” Sophie shrugged. “He was stationed here in the navy. He taught me the basics before he got himself killed.”

Keoni frowned. “Sorry to hear it.”

“Who knew people die at war?” Sophie shrugged. “It was nothing compared to what my mother did. She was so tore up about it that she used one of his pistols to end her own misery.”

“That’s rough,” Jake noted.

“I was in the backyard,” Sophie told him. “I heard it and was the first one to see her dead.” She shook her head then turned to the boys and noted their surprised expressions. “I’m sorry,” she added. “You don’t need to hear about the traumas of my life.”

“No!” Keoni put a hand on her knee. “It’s fine! It was just unexpected is all!”

“People’s mess don’t bother us,” Jake agreed. “I had a neighbor that drowned three of her own babies,” he whispered. “Took ‘em out to the ocean, held ‘em under, then left ‘em for the critters. The authorities found them, bloated and blue, covered in crabs…”

“Shush now,” Keoni reprimanded. “Most people don’t want to hear that grim shit! Besides, she’s supposed to be teaching me how to play, not reliving the horrors of her past!”

Sophie smiled and shrugged. “That’s about the end of it anyway. After my parents left me, I drifted through a number of foster homes. My father’s ukulele was the only thing that kept me halfway sane—but I didn’t have anyone to teach me, so I just figured it out on my own—which is probably why you’ve never seen anyone play like me. They probably learned the easy way,” she told him. “Admittedly, I haven’t played in a couple years. An old boyfriend broke my dad’s ukulele a couple years back. He was angry with me. I don’t remember if I deserved it or not,” she shrugged.

“How could you deserve it?” Keoni poopooed.

“You didn’t know the old me,” Sophie smirked. “Anyway, I’m glad to see I retained it—most of it anyway. I guess I’m doing okay.”

“Yeah yeah! You okay,” Keoni scoffed. “You’re a god-damned musical genius! You play better than half the natives!” he told her.

Sophie blushed. “Thank you.”

After dinner, they jammed for several more hours, until the moon came up. Exhausted and ready for bed, Sophie stood. “This was fun,” she smiled at the boys.

“Our pleasure,” Jake bowed.

“We work tomorrow,” Keoni began. “But we could come by in the evening, that is, if you’d like to jam some more.”

“That’d be great,” Sophie smiled. “And since I can’t be out in the sun all day anyway, maybe I’ll stop by the shop and show you what I can do with a bass,” she smiled.

Keoni laughed. “Look who’s holding out!”

“You should definitely do that,” Jake said as he kissed her hand.

The two boys turned and waved as they walked away.

Over the next week, Sophie jammed with the boys a number of times. Jake and Keoni eventually convinced her to join them for their luau, which was far more boisterous than the staid affair that the hotel put on night after night. They spent most that day together: eating, drinking, swimming in the ocean, playing music.

At one point, Sophie and Keoni found themselves away from the others. He was making eyes and being obvious, which Sophie enjoyed, because he was cute, talented, and witty—so when he tried to kiss her, she let him.

They rolled about the sand, getting hot and bothered as they made out. Sophie laid on Keoni and kissed him, her hands rubbed against his chest. Then, while she was distracted, he slipped his hand between her legs and under the cloth of her bikini bottom before she could do anything about it. In days gone by, Sophie might have let him do as he pleased. In days gone by, she would have ignored her own reservations. But not now. Instead, Sophie knocked his hand aside and drove her finger between his ribs. “No!” she scolded.

“Oww!” Keoni flinched, then stared up at Sophie, shocked by the immediacy and viciousness of her attack.

Sophie’s face burned red as she climbed off him. “That was too much!” she charged.

“I’m sorry,” Keoni apologized. “I was overzealous! I’m a douche bag!”

“Well,” Sophie began as she turned to the ocean. “Now I’m not even going to kiss you anymore.”

“Oh?” Keoni hanged his head. “You sure?” he tried to take her hand.

Sophie pulled away. “I don’t want to play that game with you,” she answered. “Wanna go back to the instruments instead?”

“Yeah,” Keoni rubbed the embarrassment from the back of his neck. “I guess.”

“Come on,” Sophie smiled and took his hand after all. They returned to the others, gathered their instruments, and proceeded to play once more.

As the sun went down, Sophie got a text. She hoped it was Gabriel—but it was a wall of words from Mark. She didn’t bother to read it. With a snort, she set her phone aside and turned to her new friends. “What is it when you find yourself texting an asshole and praying he’ll text you back?”

“You got a boyfriend?” Keoni blushed.

“If he likes me like that, he’s sure going about it in the strangest way possible,” Sophie expounded. “But no, he’s more of a benefactor—a totally selfish and off-putting benefactor—as far as I can tell,” she clarified.

“Sounds complicated,” Jake noted as he concentrated on his guitar.

Sophie stared off over the ocean still bothered by thoughts of Gabriel. “Are you afraid to die?” she asked the boys.

Keoni blanched.

“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid,” Jake shrugged. “But I’d prefer not to see it coming.”

“What do you think it’s like?” Sophie began. “Is it just the deep sleep without any dreams? Is it just a big fat nothing for ever and ever? Or is it the worst pain imaginable? Maybe its a lake of fire—or some stodgy heaven where everyone bakes perfect brownies and nobody ever gets laid?”

“You terminal?” Jake asked.

“No,” Sophie shook her head. “I mean, we’re all terminal. We’re born, so we eventually must die, right? But I’m not like ‘cancer’ terminal.”

“Then why bother thinking about it?” Keoni shrugged. “What’s the point?”

“The point is my song,” Sophie told him, which was partially true. It was also about Gabriel—but she wasn’t going to tell them about that. “Winter is missing because I don’t know how to go about death,” she told them. “You see, my song follows the four seasons. I keep trying to add winter, to make it harder! You know—pain and torment; eternal damnation—but it isn’t working. I thought about doing some bumbling happy kind of heaven ending, but that strikes me as even worse,“ she shook her head.

“Maybe heaven and hell aren’t what we think they are,” Jake replied.

“What do you mean?” Sophie asked.

“What if it’s just this, over and over again?” Jake asked.

“You mean, reincarnation?” Sophie asked. “Like I have to relive this life?” she shuddered. “God no.”

“Well, not like that. Not so exactly,” Jake shrugged. “What if it’s like this again—but we come back as different people—or maybe animals, insects, or even plants?”

“Like, what if I come back as a crab?” Sophie asked.

“Or what if you come back as that rock?” Jake pointed. “What if you didn’t have to do anything? You just slept for like a million years.”

Sophie grinned.

“Or maybe you’re a fish in the sea one day; and the next, you’re an angel in the ether,“ Jake added.

“An angel in the ether?!” Sophie laughed. “And I thought if I was really good I might come back as a cat!”

“Maybe,” Jake shrugged. “Maybe between here and there is just a deep sleep where you forget everything. And maybe if you’re really lucky, maybe if you’re really good, you don’t forget anything at all.”

Sophie stared. “Are you saying you remember past lives?”

“No,” Jake admitted. “But who’s to say what’s possible?”

Sophie didn’t know how to reply to that.

“Nature is amazing,” Jake continued. “It never wastes a single thing. Even your poop nourishes something. Yeah, it feeds flies and molds—but without flies, what would the lizards eat?”

“So you’re saying I’ll be a poop-eating fly in my next life?” Sophie smirked.

“Probably,” Jake replied. “Either that, or I’m five beers deep, and your taking me a touch too literally. The point is, the universe doesn’t waste anything—even the waste. And if the universe anticipates—no—if the universe begs for the sweet greasy poop of your butt so she might feed her flies and worms, how do you think she feels about the immortal spark that fuels a prodigy like you? Do you think she simply casts it into the first fire she comes across? Or do you think that maybe, just maybe, she keeps it safe until she finds another worthy vessel for it to inhabit?”

“That is, assuming there’s an immortal spark that fuels me,” Sophie retorted.

“Yes! And there’s the rub!” Jake admitted. “Nobody is sure of anything! Nobody has proof! But we have a lot of inferences. For one, winter always feeds into spring.”

“Belief?” Sophie repeated. “Why can’t we be certain? Why can’t it be science?”

“Where’s the fun in being certain?” Jake countered. “If you could science the soul, there’d be no fear, no worry, no trepidation at all! There’d be no rush, no impulse to do much of anything!” he nodded. “But uncertainty—now there’s a motivator!”

Sophie stared at him for several seconds and took his measure. She turned on Keoni. “What do you think about all this?”

“I try not to,” Keoni shook his head. “When I do, I bother him about it.”

Sophie laughed at that, then turned to the ocean. She stared out at the endless waves and hoped she’d be reborn near the water. She felt she could handle the life of a crab, or that of a seagull. Then, instead of wondering about a new life, Sophie wondered what it would be like if she should live a long and fruitful life—if Gabriel decided not to kill her—as if he just went away on his own. She imagined toiling into her eighties, of days stretching out like years before her. She thought of time reflecting on her failures and triumphs, and hoping she’d have more of the latter. She thought of deep winter with the snow falling straight down, ever so slowly, and without a sound. She thought of a thick white blanket over everything, calming and cooling the rush of fall, before the bright burgeoning of spring could occur once more. Eventually it all ends, she thought. She’d grow cold, stiff, and as quiet as the night about her—only to be reborn once more, as a tadpole. Or a cherub. What was winter if not a long pause before the next spring?

“Son of a bitch!” Sophie uttered as she stared off over the water.

“What is it?” Keoni asked as Jake looked on.

“I figured out how to end my song,” she grinned. She leaned over, snagged her ukulele, and began to play once more.

11 Dress Rehearsal

I’d been a month since Sophie returned from Hawaii. She played her ukulele and bass more than ever. She played her song at a number of open mics around town, to uproarious applause.

She still hadn’t heard a word from Gabriel. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping to himself. She’d given up on seeing him before the deadline. She’d given up on playing for him altogether. Oh well, she shrugged. His loss. Still, she continued with the self-dense classes, just in case.

One night, Sophie walked home from a show when Gabriel turned up like a bad penny. She strolled through the parking lot of her apartment and he stepped out from behind a Mercedes G-Class he must have rented. He approached her from the side and she flinched to see a stranger in her periphery. Did he notice her fighter’s stance?

“Jumpy much?” Gabriel smiled. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sophie shook her head. “Maybe not yet. You still got a month, brother. Come back in February.”

“I’m under the impression you’ve been writing music,” Gabriel said.

Sophie nodded. “You should buy a ticket and come to one of my shows.”

“What do they cost?”

“The price of a beer.”

“Is there no private show for an old friend?” Gabriel asked.

“An old friend,” Sophie snorted. “You and I have business, and I appreciate that—but I would not call you my friend—especially since the time to collect is nigh at hand.”

“So you’re saying you won’t play for me?”

“I will for another hundred thousand dollars,” Sophie offered.

Gabriel gaped. His mouth twisted into a smile, and his eyes sparkled with mirth. He seemed to be on the edge of making a counter-offer when someone else stepped out of the shadows.

“Sophie?” It was Mark. “Hey Sophie,” he pouted. “Who’s this loser?” He was clearly strung out.

Sophie huffed. “Christ almighty!” she snapped. “What’s with the lurkers tonight?!”

“You don’t answer my texts,” Mark noted. She could tell he’d been drinking, as he stared Gabriel up and down. “Is this the reason you don’t talk to me?”

“No, Mark! I don’t talk to you because you’re a fucking loon, and you need to forget about me!” Sophie snapped.

Mark sized up Gabriel and realized he had a good ten pounds on the shorter man. “You should be the one forgetting about her,” he said to the drummer. “If you knew half the shit she’s pulled... If you knew half the shit she let me do…”

Gabriel shrugged. “Ain’t none of us saints,” he replied.

“Fuck off,” Mark yelled at the drummer—then took an unbalanced swing.

“No!” Sophie barked.

“Oh, so it’s like that?” Gabriel said as he dodged the blow.

“You assholes!” Sophie snapped as she stepped in between them. She was turned toward Mark, the aggressor, so she couldn’t stop Gabriel as he twisted an arm around her and flung her into the grass. She took several rushed steps in order to keep her feet.

As Sophie stumbled away, Mark took another swing at Gabriel. The drummer parried and hit Mark with a quick jab—then grabbed the manager of Wok n’ Roll around his neck and swung him into the side of Sophie’s car. Mark smashed into the driver’s door head first and dropped in a heap. Gabriel was on him immediately. He kicked the downed man several times as he swore a blue streak.

Sophie grabbed Gabriel and pulled him away before he could take anymore cheap shots. She yanked him hard as she scolded. “Knock it off!”

Gabriel pulled away and glared.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” Sophie harangued.

“He came at me!” Gabriel noted. “That was self defense!”

“Oh?! Kicking him while he’s down—that’s self defense?!” Sophie hissed.

“Fuck ‘im!” Gabriel snapped. “He swung at me!”

Sophie glared and pointed. “You should go.”

“I came here for a song—not this horseshit,” Gabriel noted.

“Go,” Sophie repeated.

Gabriel stomped away. He got in the Mercedes, turned the music obnoxiously loud, and roared off.

“Shit,” Sophie muttered as she lowered herself down to the ground, next to the slack form of Mark. He was a bloody mess. “Hey,” she stroked his hair. “You there, buddy?”

Mark came to. Suddenly aware of his pain, he wept, weak and pathetic.

Sophie comforted him as he pressed his face into her lap. “You have to give me up,” she told him.

Mark’s only reply was to continue crying.

“Should I take you to the hospital?” Sophie asked. “I can take you home if you prefer—but you probably shouldn’t sleep for a while—just in case he gave you a concussion.”

“Can I stay with you?” he asked.

Sophie shook her head.

Mark hanged his head. “Take me to Miranda’s.”

“Miranda’s,” Sophie nodded as she got him into her car. She got him halfway there before she asked the obvious question. “So how long have you been sleeping with Miranda?”

“Who says I’m sleeping with her?” Mark replied.

“I worked there too, remember?” Sophie stared at him. “Are you denying it?”

Mark shrugged and looked away. “Almost a year now?”

Sophie frowned as she realized her own debauchery had lasted longer. “What does she get out of it?” she asked.

“What!” Mark bristled. “I’m not enough?”

“You might be,” Sophie noted. “If you ever thought about taking a girl out to dinner, or bringing her flowers from time to time. All I got was coke and cash, which was fine back then. Does she get dinner and flowers?”

“No. Cash. And she writes her own schedule,” he admitted.

“No coke?” Sophie noted. “Smart girl.”

When they arrived at Miranda’s, Sophie helped Mark up the sidewalk.

“I’ve missed you,” Mark told her, before they reached the door. “Come back and work for me.”

Sophie shook her head as a wry grin crossed her lips.

“Ungrateful bitch,” Mark murmured.

Sophie stuck a finger under his collar bone until he cringed. “Listen, I’m sorry my friend was a little overzealous,” she began. “I don’t mind that he whooped your ass, but I am sorry he overdid it. That said, if you’d like to suffer more, keep being an asshole.”

“You’re being mean,” Mark retorted.

“I’m being frank,” Sophie told him. “You’re being mean.”

“Come back to me,” Mark pouted. “I’ll buy you flowers—dinner—the whole nine yards.”

“NO!” Sophie snapped.

Defeated again, Mark hanged his head. Sophie knocked on Miranda’s door. The door opened and Miranda stared at the two of them. “Sophie?” she started. “Sweet Jesus, Mark!? What the hell happened to you?!”

“He came over to ask me to come back, and pissed off one of the neighbors in the process,” Sophie told her.

“You mean, to work?” Miranda asked.

Mark nodded his head, and Sophie didn’t bother to contradict him. “I was going to take him home, or even to the hospital,” she said. “He asked me to bring him here.” “Well, Jesus, I guess!” Miranda shrugged. “You look a downright bloody mess!” she said as she took her manager and settled him on the couch.

A small boy appeared in the hallway along with an angel-faced toddler. Sophie smiled and made eyes at them as they stared at the unfolding drama.

Miranda turned to Sophie. “I don’t know what to say,” she began with her hands up.

Sophie shook her head. “It’s not your place to explain.” She took Miranda’s hands and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s good to see you again,” she said and kissed her old coworker on the cheek.

“You’re not coming in?” Miranda asked.

“I can’t,” Sophie replied. She wasn’t interested in keeping Mark company.

“It’s good to see you too,” Miranda smiled and rubbed her friend’s arm. “Let’s get coffee sometime and catch up.”

“I’d like that,” Sophie smiled and nodded. “The sooner the better,” she waved, then returned to her car.

Alone in the parking lot, she stared at the new dent in the driver’s door. She caressed the worn metal and considered what she’d witnessed with increasing worry. Gabriel got violent in a flash, he had a good forty pounds on her, and he might be planning to murder her. Sophie didn’t stop thinking about that until she fell asleep.

The next day, as she worked the bag at her self-defense class, the ex-cop eyed her critically. “You saw him, didn’t you? This douche bag that’s bothering you?”

Sophie didn’t reply—she never said much to the man and he knew it was fruitless to pry. She kept working the bag.

The ex-cop knew he was right. His face turned grim. “That’s it,” he said as he critiqued her attack. “Work that aggression out—but keep enough of it bottled up for the next time he comes creeping around—just enough. Then, when you need it, just open up and do your damage,” he nodded.

12 Lilith Fair

February second arrived without any fanfare. It wasn’t until the third that Sophie received a text from Gabriel. He wanted to meet her. She suggested the Hillsdale House, then double checked to make sure her pepper spray was in her purse. She dressed nice and did her hair, then gripped her kitty knuckles as she unlocked her car. She drove across town, with her stomach in her throat, then walked into her favorite restaurant as if everything was perfect.

Gabriel sat at the bar, which caused Sophie a touch more distress. Will was behind the bar and she’d flirted with him a number of times, but the bartender was a professional first and foremost. His service was attentive, yet never overbearing. What had she expected? After all, this wasn’t Mark trawling for ladies at Wok ‘n Roll.

Gabriel stood and wrapped Sophie in a hug. He kissed her on the cheek and she allowed it. They ordered drinks and an appetizer, then talked about small stuff until their entrees arrived.

Gabriel stuffed his mouth contentedly. Sophie picked at her fish and ignored her wine. She glanced about the restaurant, then leaned toward the drummer and whispered. “I didn’t expect you’d murder me in such a public place. This isn’t exactly how one gets away with it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gabriel admitted. “I assume that’s why you picked it instead of inviting me back to your apartment?”

Sophie shook her head, “You’re never coming back to my apartment.”

“Oh?” Gabriel leaned away. “Well, that’s concerning. Because I distinctly remember you asking for a hundred thousand dollars so I could hear you play. Shall I have you bring your instrument here?”

Sophie shook her head. “That was a month ago, when I might have used the money. Now I don’t got no time,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Gabriel rubbed his neck. “What if I gave you fifty thousand dollars instead, and three months to spend it.”

Sophie stared at the man.

“I got the cash in my car,” he noted. “I’m in no rush to get away with it.”

“Sure you do,” Sophie chuckled. “Why don’t I go on out and see? Then you throw me in the trunk, drag me out to the middle of nowhere, and ditch my body.”

“It was your idea to make another deal,” Gabriel noted. “But if you don’t believe me, how ‘bout I bring it in?” Before she could answer, he stood and left the restaurant. He returned shortly with another small bag, handed it to her, then sat and returned to his food.

“I’m beginning to collect these,” Sophie held up the cloth bag. She opened it and slid her hand through a stack of cash. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Gabriel shrugged. “Just another simple exchange. I give you money and time. You perform.”

“No refunds, no takebacks?” Sophie clarified.

“And no guns,” Gabriel stared. “You’re life is still mine to take—but not for another three months.”

Sophie wondered if it was a trick. She had to admit that Gabriel might be full on psychopath, but he hadn’t lied to her—yet—and here she was, holding the money. The deal seemed legit. She nodded. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Gabriel shook his head. “We have a show in Vancouver. I got the red-eye in a few hours.”

“Oh? When do you plan on coming back?”

“Two months?” Gabriel shrugged. “We go up the coast through Alaska; over to Korea, then Japan, the Philippines, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand—finally ending in Hawaii,” he smiled.

“How nice,” Sophie snipped, unwilling to talk about the islands. “When you come back, you have to give me proper notice. You can’t just show up whenever you like.”

“That’s just common courtesy,” Gabriel smiled. He offered his hand.

Sophie took it and shook it.

On the last day of March, Sophie welcomed Gabriel back to her apartment. For a time, they talked, then Sophie brought out her bass and played all eight minutes of her song. “Do you like it?” She asked, after she finished.

Gabriel smiled and nodded his head—he was about to speak—when Sophie cut him off.

“Good. Now listen with the ukulele and imagine it layered over the bass,” she unpacked the smaller set of strings and began to play again.

Gabriel stared and smiled at her the whole time. “You’re playing this in bars and coffee houses?” he asked as she finished, then shook his head. “Not for long,” he grinned. “That was unreal!”

“Thank you,” Sophie blushed.

“What do you call it?”

“Well, I haven’t figured a name for the whole thing,” Sophie admitted. “I’ve named the parts—of which it has four,” she shrugged.

“What do you call the parts?”

“The first part is, ‘A Gleam in the Eye / An Itch in the Pants’. Then its ‘The Soft Babble of the Stream Becomes the Unquenchable Roar of the Ocean’.”

“That whole thing?” Gabriel began. “That whole thing is the title of the second part?”

“Yeah,” Sophie confirmed and played a few notes from summer.

“No wonder you didn’t come up with a title for the whole song. You used all the words on naming the parts,” he ribbed.

“Haha,” Sophie replied. “Do you want me to tell you the rest or not?”

“Please.”

“The next part is ‘Just Another Normal Murder’—inspired by you—thankyouverymuch. And finally, we have ‘The Drifting Snows Water the Silent Trees’.”

“That’s the soft end, after the hard break,” Gabriel pointed.

“After the scream,” Sophie nodded and played the first few notes of winter. It was a soft tune with a chorus of ooo’s and ahh’s that ended where spring began—with a burgeoning of throaty breathing. “The whole song goes in a circle,” she said as she began it again. “Sometimes I start in winter, or summer. Once I started it with Just Another Normal Murder, and then I played back through autumn after I finished the rest, so it started with the scream, then ended with another scream.”

“Did they like it?”

Sophie grinned. “It brought the house down.”

“You have a song that starts in four different places,” Gabriel stared at her. “That’s fucking genius. What do you want for it?” he asked.

“The song?”

“I don’t want the ukulele,” he pointed. “Could you imagine the drums I could lay over that?”

She didn’t hesitate as she shook her head. “Its not for sale.”

“That song—that one song could make you rich,” he told her. “What if I gave a quarter of a million dollars?”

Sophie snorted. “I know the big money is all on the back end. I’d want royalties—and I’m keeping the rights.”

Gabriel shook his head. “We want fifty percent. After all, you’ll be getting access to our fanbase.”

Sophie stared for several seconds. “Let me think about it,” she answered.

“Alright—but don’t take too long,” he replied. “You only have another month to live.”

Sophie chuckled—no longer believing he meant to do her harm whatsoever. She leaned in and kissed him.

Gabriel kissed her back. With his face pressed against hers, he smiled and made her yet another offer. “Jump my bones and I’ll give you another three months to live.”

“Oh, so now you want to shag?!” Sophie asked.

“A genius like you?” he smiled. “You bet that fine ass!”

Sophie batted her pretty eyes. “Ask me in a month,” she smiled, then kicked him out of her apartment.

13 Heavy Metal

But that’s not how it happened. Gabriel didn’t text her on the third and they didn’t go out to dinner. Indeed, he didn’t see her for several weeks. He didn’t see her until he spied her car as it pulled into the parking lot of her apartment.

Sophie parked her car and went inside without seeing Gabriel in the beat-up Kia he bought, for a couple thousand cash, under a fake name. He slipped up to the door, found it unlocked, and let himself in.

Sophie had her back turned. She kneeled on her bed and noodled her ukulele. Gabriel locked the door, then made it all the way across the room without her noticing. He felt hard and bloody as he grabbed her from behind, by the neck.

Sophie gasped and spun around. Gabriel collapsed on her—but not before she managed to smash the side of his face with her ukulele.

Despite the blood, Gabriel fell on top of her. He still had her in his clutches. He pushed her back on the bed, as he crushed her delicate throat.

Sophie clutched the broken neck of her ukulele, then stabbed it into his back. With a scream, Gabriel recoiled and lurched away.

Sophie coughed, then kicked Gabriel in the chest and bolted for the kitchen. She snapped open a drawer and pulled out her chef’s knife. Huffing and puffing, Sophie fumed as she brandished the 11-inch blade. “You got one chance,” she told him. “Turn around and walk the fuck out.”

“Is that your offer?” Gabriel smirked as blood dripped from his face.

“It’s been nice to know you,” Sophie nodded. “Now get out of my life.”

Gabriel took a step forward. “Well I have a counter-offer: set the knife down and I’ll fuck you gently before I put you out.”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” Sophie roared, and took a threatening step toward him.

Gabriel snatched a mug off the counter and flung it at her. Sophie deflected the mug—but doing so put her in an awkward position. Gabriel jumped forward and grabbed at her hand.

Sophie dodged back and swiped with the knife. She caught his arm—but Gabriel didn’t seem to care as he pressed in on her. He grabbed her wrist and twisted the knife away.

With her free hand, Sophie punched him in the neck, then dodged passed him, and yanked the cast iron pan off the stove. She flung it at him, center mass, as she ran the opposite direction.

Gabriel dodged and caught the heavy pan on his hip. He buckled. Sophie grabbed the spider plant off her coffee table, and launched it. The ceramic bounced off Gabriel, then exploded when it hit the counter.

Sophie ran for the door. She fumbled with the knob and cursed it for sticking. Tears welled in her eyes. She could barely see as she battled the difficult lock.

Gabriel grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her back into the main room. Sophie screamed. She spun on Gabriel then clawed, bit, and kicked him as he pummeled her.

Sophie was losing. She found herself cornered next to the cactus. Not caring how much it would hurt her, she ripped a nopal off the mighty succulent—needles and all—then smashed the pincushion into Gabriel’s face. Despite the cactus sticking to his cheek, Gabriel drove Sophie to the floor.

Sophie landed hard. Stars exploded all about her vision. When her eyes cleared Gabriel stared down at her with the bit of cactus still stuck to his face, and her hand still stuck to the cactus. It stung like hell. Despite the pain, Sophie pulled her hand away. Gabriel grimaced as the cactus stretched between them. Barbs gave. The needled nopal released her hand—though several stubborn barbs still attached the dangling nopal to Gabriel’s face. Blood beaded and ran down his cheek.

Sophie glanced at her hand and noticed an identical patter of blood weeping from her palm, then she glanced about her wrecked apartment. Gabriel panted as he pinned her down. She noticed his other injuries. His sleeve was cut and his arm dripped where she’d cut him with the fine edge of the knife. The other side of his face was gashed and bleeding from the ukulele. He favored his right leg as he pinned her to the floor. She realized the famous drummer was a mess. A snort escaped Sophie. She laughed.

“What?!” Gabriel snapped. “What’s so funny?!” he asked as he wrapped his hands around her neck.

Sophie shook her head. “You’re never gonna get away with this,” she sneered.

He crushed the life out of her.

14 The Show Must Go On

Perhaps that’s not how it happened either. Perhaps February came and went—and March and April did the same. Perhaps Sophie started serving lunches so she could play open mics at night.

Spring progressed into summer, and still Sophie heard nothing from Gabriel. By June, she was barely attending her self-defense classes. She wrote several more songs and even had a few paid gigs. She played over the internet with Keoni and Jake. Eventually, they talked her into returning to the islands, so the three of them could start a band. In August, she gave her cactus to Angela, sold her car for a pittance, then packed her bags and moved to Hawaii.

Back on the island, Sophie found herself too busy with music to do any other work. She played luaus during the day and clubs at night. She made more money than ever before.

One night, after a show at a rundown bar and grill, Sophie followed Keoni and Jake through the back hall of the restaurant. Keoni pushed open the kitchen door, then startled as he stared into the kitchen. “Holy shit!” he covered his mouth.

Jake and Sophie pressed close. “What is it?” they asked.

“It’s Gabriel James, drummer of Psychic Incest!” Keoni pointed. “Did you watch our show?!”

Gabriel nodded. “You’re quite good,” he smiled. “Especially her,” he pointed at Sophie.

Sophie huffed. “What are you doing here?!” she snapped.

“I finally came to watch you play,” he shrugged.

“You know him?” Jake asked, astonished. “He knows you?!”

“I hope you don’t mind that I waited back stage,” Gabriel shrugged. “I figured it was a fitting place to surprise you.”

“It isn’t back stage,” Sophie glared. “It’s a kitchen. Can’t you tell by all the knives?”

Gabriel held up his hands. “I get it. You’re still mad—but listen,” he shook his head. “I was bored, and pissed,” he began as a way of apology. “Life at the top seems likes its all cream and roses—but there’s a lot of gold-diggers and gonorrhea lurking in the corners, just waiting for their chance.”

Keoni turned to Sophie and whispered. “Are we mad at him?”

“I don’t know,” she answered as she continued to glare.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re even,” Gabriel continued. “You owe me nothing. I owe you nothing. All our old business is done. Concluded. Honored in full.”

Sophie gave a nod and breathed a sigh of relief. “All right then, even-steven,” she smiled and held out a hand.

Gabriel took her hand and shook it. “It was a beautiful set you played,” he added as he held her hand. “You got the talent.”

“Yeah?!” Keoni grabbed his hand from Sophie and also shook it. “You really think so?!” he gushed.

“You’re no slouch with the drums,” Gabriel nodded. “You’re quite possibly the second best drummer in the room.”

“Geez man! Thanks!” Keoni beamed.

“Have a beer with us,” Jake offered. “We’ll talk shop, and how you know Sophie.”

“We ain’t talking about me,” Sophie protested.

“You gotta have a beer,” Keoni said. “Which one of you came up with Scapegoat Suicide? I freakin’ love that song!”

Gabriel shrugged. “The execution was pure collaboration, but the title and lyrics are all Mandeep,” he explained as he stared at Sophie.

“All right,” she sighed. “Let’s talk music and drink to Psychic Incest.”

“Metal,” Gabriel smiled and followed them to the bar. “Did you name your song yet?”

Sophie shook her head. “We can’t even name the band,” she told him.

The four drank and spoke, though Sophie and Gabriel both refused to share anymore of their history. After a good hour, Sophie claimed she was tired and had to go home.

“We’ll take you,” Keoni said.

“No,” Sophie refused. “You should stay. Have another round with our old friend here,” she said as she hugged Keoni and Jake. “But don’t believe a word he says about me—and above all else, don’t you dare tell him where I live!” she pointed.

Keoni and Jake glanced at each other, then stared at Gabriel as the famous drummer shook his head.

Sophie turned on Gabriel. “I’m glad you finally heard me play,” she stated. “It should of been a year ago, but…”

“Yeah,” Gabriel nodded, his smile askew. “I had to work out some anger issues.”

Sophie stared back at him, not sure what to think. Without knowing why, she asked, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel’s smile straightened. He offered her a hug, and she accepted. “I’m sorry for the games,” he told her. “I just…”

“No,” Sophie interrupted. “I’m not sorry for any of it. Not at all,” she smiled—and as she said it, she knew it was true. “Don’t you see?” she continued. “It was exactly what I needed—a little fear—a lot of money,” she grinned.

“It wasn’t a lot,” Gabriel noted. “It was barely a pittance.”

“Maybe to you,” Sophie kissed his cheek, then held his face as she stared at him. “Next time, call,” she pointed, then turned and walked off without looking back.