Chapter 1
LUKE
Saturday night finds me at Earth bar. Neil’s on stage, doing his thing.
Along with Ezra, he’s the co-owner. Once a month, his band, Pretty Vacant, performs a set of Ezra’s songs with a few edgy covers thrown in.
Sipping my bottled beer, I watch as Neil, all beauty and grace, shout-sings, wiggles his narrow hips, and flashes his wannabee rockstar smile.
Punters throw themselves around the dancefloor at his feet.
In a couple of hours’ time, one or more of them will be in his bed. Plus ca change.
I’m describing Neil as if I know him. I don’t.
I won’t have even registered on his radar.
He fills a room, whereas, utterly unremarkable, I just occupy space.
He’d give you the best sex of your life, but also a broken heart.
And maybe an STD. I’m not bitter or envious of people like Neil, handpicked by the gods for main character material.
Neither do I care that under this hoodie my hair hangs onto my head in fragile clumps. It’s been doing that for years.
But I care enough for strangers and hot guys like Neil not to see it.
I frequent Earth because I live nearby, within walking distance.
Coming here occupies my evenings, and it’s a safe space.
My friends—Ezra, Isaac, Alaric, and Gerald—hang out here and Neil is their friend, too.
I’ve watched his set enough times now to know the thrashy, sweary Rage Against the Machine cover usually signifies the DJ is preparing to take over.
Sure enough, he’s at the decks, fiddling.
If I want another drink, now’s the sensible time to go to the bar, before the scrum.
But I don’t. I never do. Something about Neil prowling the stage keeps me, along with everyone else, hooked right until the last note.
He tumbled from it last month, high or drunk or something.
One second, he was grinding his hips along the edge at the far side, as if gravity didn’t apply to him.
The next he disappeared, smacking his arse down hard in amongst the lighting booms and sharp-cornered amps.
I felt the jolt deep in my own bones. Scrambling back up, he treated it as a big joke, provocatively rubbing his sore rump and playing to the crowd.
He invited his groupies—numerous and of both sexes—to kiss it better. I bet plenty took up the offer.
Fabricated from smoke and broken glass, Neil’s voice attacks the crude lyrics for the final time tonight.
Perfect for a Saturday crowd drowning in cheap booze and even worse decisions.
I cast my gaze over the amorphous throbbing mass of limbs, sweat, and strobe.
Earlier, Alaric and Gerald were in there somewhere, though given the way Alaric was humping Gerald’s leg, they might already be on their way home by now.
Isaac’s working at the hospital tonight, but I can still make out Ezra, dark head bent, surveying his domain from the other end of the bar.
Neil’s winding things up. The lead guitarist twangs strings as if he’s got a never-ending supply of them, and the drumming must be shaking floors three streets away. Neil owns this small stage as if he built it with his bare hands.
Maybe he should have done. If he had, he’d know precisely where it starts and ends in a six-foot drop off.
One misstep, maybe too much of his poison du jour, and with a stutter and boom—down he goes.
Again. No scream, no poise, just a jarring clatter of spilled instruments, drumsticks, microphone feedback, and discordant guitars.
In a collective what the fuck, the crowd pulls back.
Time slows as the band members catch on.
The drummer leaps from behind his gear, skidding over to the dark recesses where strobes don’t reach.
A second later, the lights go up and phones come out.
Ezra hollers, executes a swift, piercing whistle between two fingers, and points towards the DJ.
Quick as a flash, the lights go down again.
Bass pumps through the sound system, and the massive security guy from out front appears, ushering dancers back to the dance floor.
Show over. The DJ’s musical choices are solid, but he lacks Neil’s good looks. I’ll finish my pint, then leave.
“Hi, hi, excuse me. Are you Luke?” Reaching over the bar, one of the servers shakes my shoulder. “Luke?” she repeats. If I recall, her name is Jess.
“Um…yes?”
She seems relieved. “Ezra says can you go out back? Neil’s banged his head.”
“What?”
“He said to grab the guy in the green hoodie. You’re a doctor, aren’t you? He wants you to have a look at Neil. You know, the singer who just fell off stage? My other boss?”
“Yeah, I saw that. Is he okay?”
“We don’t know.” She opens up a flap in the bar. “But Ez told me to get you. So are you coming?”
My pulse ratchets up. I skulk in the shadows for good reasons. But what sort of doctor would I be, if I stood by?
“Um…yeah, okay.”
Blowing out a long breath, I flick my sensory wristband. Here goes. Dermatologist coming through.
I pick my way around a couple of desks littered with mugs and unidentifiable pieces of dismantled guitars.
The back office is an eco-system of barely contained clutter; amp cables slither across the floor like tree roots.
A whiteboard covered in illegible scrawl and post-it notes also sports an excellent caricature of Ezra in red felt tip, capturing his expressive eyebrows perfectly.
“Luke! There you are. Thank fuck. Neil’s smacked the back of his head.
He says he’s fine but, typically, he’s also being a dick about it.
Listen, do I need to call for an ambulance?
Alaric’s buggered off early, so I can’t ask him.
I phoned Isaac, and he suggested you could have a look.
Maybe I should just phone for one, to be safe, yeah?
” Ezra clucks around Neil like an anxious mother hen.
“Neil. Luke’s here, Isaac’s friend. You know, you’ve probably seen him at the bar before. Open your eyes and say hello.”
Neil’s on the floor, in amongst the cables, his top half propped up against a wall.
Not only is Ezra fussing around him, but the drummer hovers too.
One of the women who works behind the bar is crouched down, trying to coax Neil into sipping from a glass of water, and a couple of people I don’t recognise peer through the open doorway.
An overhead fluorescent light shines directly into Neil’s face.
With blood tracking down his chin, he’s like a ghostly mannequin from a horror movie.
No wonder his arm shields his eyes and he’s ignoring all of them.
I indicate to the strip light above. After the darkness of the bar, even my eyes are smarting, and I haven’t smacked my head. “Um… can we turn that thing off, or down? Please? And maybe everyone could back off him a little?”
“What? Yes, sure.” Ez darts to the switch, leaving enough light streaming in from the corridor and the streetlamp outside the window.
Aware of several sets of eyes on me, I squat down in front of Neil.
We’ve been in the same room several times prior to now, not that he’ll ever have noticed.
“Hi, I’m…um…I’m Luke. As Ezra said, I’m friends with Isaac and Alaric.
I’m also a…uh… doctor.” Specialising in dermatology.
I can hear Alaric pissing himself laughing already.
Neil’s lips twitch. “Cool resumé. And I know who you are, I’ve seen you around. But maybe some other time, yeah? Just turn that fucking light off.”
“I’ve done it,” Ezra says. “Relax.”
“It’s still too fucking bright.”
“It’s not, not now. Don’t be an arse. Luke’s trying to help you.”
Except for mascara or eyeliner or some other coloured shit bleeding down his cheeks, Neil’s face is deathly pale. The trail of blood leads to his split lower lip.
“Okay, anyhow, I’m …um…a doctor,” I start again, cringing. Goodness, it’s hard doing this outside the security of a name badge, a hospital, and everything within at my disposal. I’d be a useless paramedic.
“So you said. Congratu-fucking-lations.”
“Pack it in, Neil.” His expression stern, Ezra joins me on the floor.
“What’s got into you lately? Luke’s going to take a look at you, and if he thinks you need it, then we’ll either call for an ambulance or I’ll drive you to the hospital to get checked out properly.
And if you don’t cooperate with him, I’ll drag you there anyway, whether you need to go or not. ”
“You can fuck right off with that idea. Just banged my fucking nut, that’s all. Too pissed.” Neil’s volume swells to a shout. “And how many times have I got to tell you? It’s too fucking bright in here.”
“Not anymore, it’s not. For fuck’s sake.
” Ez shakes Neil’s shoulder hard. “Put your arm down, stop being an obnoxious dick, and let Luke examine you.” He turns to me.
“Sorry, he’s usually a little more charming.
Too much of this, probably.” Ezra makes the universal signal of someone knocking back a drink.
I finished my last shift in ED three or four years ago, so I’d be the first to admit my emergency skills are a tad rusty.
But you never forget the sour-sweet stink of the boozed-up late-night clientele.
Strangely, the only thing I can smell on Neil is stale cigarette smoke, fresh sweat, and a faint whiff of aftershave, something earthy and outdoorsy. He’s not slurring either.
“Do you know where you are?” I begin, seeing as Neil’s in no hurry to acknowledge me further.
“Yeah, on the floor of the office surrounded by this bunch of tossers, when I should be back out there. Some lad promised a blow in the bogs at the end of the set.”
Not an image I’m going to entertain, at least not now. “Do you know what day of the week it is?”