Chapter Eighteen – Bishop
Things were great. Amazing, even. Things were the best they’d ever been. I’d been worried, at first, about this whole relationship between us, but once we got into a routine, everything became normal.
Well, as normal as things could be. It was still a little weird to walk into your friend’s room to find him and another friend in bed with your girlfriend, but I liked to think I handled it pretty well.
Weeks went by. Our show at Greenbay Stadium was coming up. We worked on our setlist, along with our costumes. Angel wanted to spice up our costumes for the show, go deeper on the twisted religious route. Basically wear what clergymen would wear, only with our signature demonic flare.
We got everything ready, and things were moving along nicely. I was happy. I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. How could I not be? Black Sacrament was on the way to making a comeback, and I had the girl of my dreams at my side—granted, she was also dating my friends, but considering we were all in each other’s business anyway, the arrangement wasn’t much of a stretch.
Everything was great.
And then, I swore, it was like I blinked, and suddenly it was the day of our first show at Greenbay.
I was ready, my new stage outfit on and snug, my skin painted black, save for the white cross down my lips and neck, my hair slicked back, my mask covering most of my face. I went to Angel’s dressing room, where I found her finishing up her makeup. Priest and Deacon were already with her, lounging around on metal chairs, watching her with interest.
It’s how I knew it wasn’t a joke for them, the way they looked at her constantly. I could tell by the expressions they wore when they were near her that they really, truly cared about her. They loved her just as much as I did.
There was no seat for me, so I went to lean on the wall near the guys, watching Angel’s reflection in the mirror. She wore her white dress—a Sunday dress, white and innocent, the kind of dress a real angel might wear if they graced the world with their presence—every bit of her skin painted white. She was currently fixing the black cross on her mask beneath the right eyehole with liquid eyeliner .
Out of nowhere, Priest jumped up. He started pacing the length of the room—which wasn’t much, since it was a tiny room. “God, the pre-show nerves. I thought they’d go away after so many shows, but fuck it, they’re always there.”
I think that came hand-in-hand with being a performer. You might get used to being on stage, but you never really got over the nerves. You just learned to ignore them and push through them, but in the back of your mind, you always wondered if the next show would be terrible.
It only took one bad show, after all. One slip-up. One fuck-up, and that’s how people remembered you. Luckily for us, this time our last show—where Priest had kissed Angel on stage in front of everyone—was still in the forefront of everyone’s minds.
“It’s gonna be fine, man,” I told him, and I believed it.
While I was a little anxious—hard not to be, since this open-field stadium was the biggest in the state, something we’d probably only been able to book because Black Sacrament went viral after that kiss—Angel’s presence was soothing. She helped pacify the anxieties within me, just from being near.
It was a superpower of hers, and she didn’t even know it.
“I know, I know,” Priest said, shaking out his hands, like he was trying to expel the jitters in his system. All of a sudden, he stopped pacing and looked at Angel. “Should we fuck?”
That got her to spin around on her chair and say, “What?”
“Should we fuck?” Priest repeated. “It would make me feel more relaxed, getting a taste of your sweet—” Before he could say anything else, a knock echoed on the dressing room door and Ramona walked in.
She was wearing torn black jeans, a studded leather jacket, and an old t-shirt underneath. Her long, curly black hair was free, falling halfway down her back. Her black eyes were done up in a thick eyeliner, and her gaze surveyed the room.
Everyone went quiet after that, and Ramona was smart enough to pick up on it instantly: “Do I want to know what you guys were talking about?” She answered her own question, “No. Can I have a word with Angel?” No one moved, no one said a thing, so Ramona added, “Privately?”
Priest threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted. You don’t have to say it.”
Ramona cocked an eyebrow, but she said not a word as Priest brushed past her. Deacon got up next and followed him out. I was the last to shuffle out, and once I was out of the room, Ramona shut the door.
We walked down the hall together. It was a few seconds before Priest asked, “What do you think Ramona wanted to talk to Angel about?”
Deacon shook his head, while I answered him, “I don’t know.”
Priest opened his mouth to say something else, but someone came hurrying down the hall, someone wearing a headpiece and holding onto a clipboard. A worker, a nerdy-looking guy. “Is there any way you guys can start early? Forecast changed—we got possible rain coming in two hours.”
We were all dressed, made up, and ready, so I didn’t see why not. We glanced at each other, and then I said, “Sure.”
“All right, come on. Let’s get you ready.” He turned around, leading us away.
“We have to wait for Angel,” Priest told him. “She’s talking with our manager right now.”
The guy’s eyes widened. “How long do you think she’ll be?” When none of us had an answer for him, he sighed. “I’ll come back for her. Let’s just get you guys ready. It’s do or die—and by die, I mean postpone.” Under his breath, he muttered, “And we don’t want to postpone, trust me. It’s a headache for everyone.”
I didn’t want to leave Angel, but this guy seemed super stressed out. For his job to rely on other people, I understood where he was coming from, why he wanted to get us ready. At least part of his job would be done.
So, even though I didn’t want to, I followed the guy. Priest and Deacon came with.
The Greenbay Stadium had a grassy area before the moveable theater, and that’s where the crowd was gathered. Big flat screens hung on either side of the stage, so anyone in the back could have a view of what was going on. We were ushered out, told to stop near the side curtains.
We didn’t go on stage; we were waiting for Angel, but from just a quick glance, I could see how packed it was.
We’d drawn quite the crowd. It was the biggest crowd Black Sacrament had ever seen. Having Angel, having Priest kiss her in front of a live audience; all that really did up our fame. Who knew?
Having a show at a stadium where the weather could make or break it did suck. Nobody wanted to cancel. Canceling made a headache for everyone, it was true.
“Man,” Priest mused as he stared out at the crowd from around the corner of the side stage, “this is nuts. Is Black Sacrament going mainstream or something? Because we’ve never seen a crowd like this.”
Going mainstream. Maybe that was the reason. Having Angel opened us up to a new audience. Plus, we’d trended for a while. Streaming of our older stuff and our downloads had increased after that, so it could very well be that we weren’t just in the alternative rock scene anymore.
Maybe things were changing for Black Sacrament. Maybe things were changing for the better. I used to think kicking Pope out was the first step into a downward spiral, but Angel had reinvigorated my love for the band and brought us new opportunities I’d never dreamed of.
Minutes passed, and the guy with the headpiece reappeared, a frantic look on his face. “She wasn’t there,” he said, looking like he was going to be sick.
“Who wasn’t where?” Priest asked, but the face the guy wore told me exactly who he was talking about.
“Angel wasn’t there? What do you mean?” My heart constricted. If Angel wasn’t in her dressing room, then where the hell would she be?
I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy, watching as he grabbed his mouthpiece and said, “If anyone finds Angel, bring her to the stage immediately. Immediately .” To us, he asked, “Can you call her, see where she is?”
“On it.” Deacon was ready to call, and he held up the phone to his ear, waiting as it rang. Silence stretched between us, and as the moments ticked by, it became clear that no one was picking up the call. “She’s not answering.”
“I’ll call Ramona,” Priest said as he pulled out his phone to do just that. Unlike Angel, Ramona must’ve picked up instantly, because he said, “Ramona? Yeah, we’re at the stage, about to go on. No one can find Angel. Are you still with her?” He put her on speaker so we could all hear.
Ramona’s voice came out agitated and annoyed, “What? I left her in her dressing room. Did you look there?”
At hearing that, the guy with the headpiece nodded, and then he must’ve realized Ramona couldn’t see his nod, because he took the phone from Priest and said, “Ramona, it’s Rob, the stage manager. I have everyone looking for her.”
“Maybe she got lost in the halls somewhere?” Ramona’s next possible explanation came without prompt, but it didn’t make much sense, since Greenbay wasn’t known for its vast inside networks of hallways and rooms. There really weren’t many spaces where Angel could get lost.
Deacon was still trying to call Angel—futilely, I might add—while Ramona and Rob troubleshooted where Angel could’ve gone. Priest and I exchanged glances. The last thing we knew, Ramona had asked to speak to her privately.
When I remembered that, I snatched the phone out of Rob’s hand and asked, “What did you say to her when you had us leave?” I didn’t think Ramona could tell Angel something to make her leave without letting us know what was going on, but I guess you never knew.
“You think this is my fault?” Ramona’s voice hardened. “All we talked about was how happy the label is with her. They want more of her. They want her to stay on longer than a year for an album and a tour. They want her to be a permanent member of Black Sacrament.”
Priest’s brows furrowed. “Why couldn’t you say that in front of us?”
“Because,” she hissed out the word, “I wasn’t sure how she’d take it. She’s still new to this whole thing, remember? I didn’t want to have you three looming behind me, pressuring her or anything. If she wants to stay, she needs to make that decision on her own.”
But right before a show? Why tell her that right before our first show at the stadium? Ramona could’ve waited until tomorrow, or in a few days, once our spotlight here was done and all our shows here were in the rearview mirror.
Ramona sighed. “I was heading to my car, but I’m turning around to help look. We’ll find her. Call with any updates.” And then, without saying another word, she hung up with a huff.
I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to do. The guys didn’t know, either. We stood there, none of us saying a word, for at least a minute, while Rob talked furiously into his headset.
“Should we… split up and go look for her?” Priest asked.
Deacon was slow in stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Whatever we do, we gotta do it fast. Her phone’s going straight to voicemail now, like she’s…”
Something hard poked my chest, like a tiny knife in the heart. “Ignoring us?” I asked, not wanting to believe it. Angel would never. She wouldn’t. Although, it wasn’t like her to just disappear right before our biggest show yet. None of this was right.
“Oh, God, if I have to postpone tonight’s show, I’m going to kill myself,” Rob muttered. He must’ve suddenly become aware that he wasn’t standing by himself, muttering to himself under his breath, because he glanced at us and added, “I’m kidding. Mostly.” Before walking off to try to find Angel, he said, “Can you three start without her? Get the crowd going? Maybe do a few surprise songs or something? As soon as we find Angel, I’ll get her on that stage with you.”
Performing as the three of us wouldn’t be hard. Angel only did vocals, since she couldn’t play anything. I supposed we could go on that stage and stall for time, at the very least start the performance so Rob didn’t have an aneurysm about postponing the show.
I could tell Priest and Deacon didn’t want to. Hell, I didn’t want to, either, but we didn’t have many options, so we went out on the stage, greeted by applause and cheers, and we stalled.
And then, after we’d stalled for ten minutes, we started to play the show ourselves with the excuse that Angel wasn’t feeling too well. A lie, but what else could we tell the crowd that had gathered for us? They’d paid for tickets. They wanted to see a show.
A lot of them probably wanted Angel, but right now, they’d have to settle for us.
I’d like to say that, sometime during the show, Angel joined us, but she didn’t. She was officially MIA, and we had to play the entire show by ourselves. The only fortunate thing about it was the rain held out until our encore.
That rain dampened moods. But more than that, it was an omen. Something wasn’t right.
Where was Angel?