59. Noah
Noah
Istroll up onto a stage under lights so hot they nearly blind me.
I never thought I’d see myself as someone who would play on a football field, watching cheerleaders shake their pom-poms. The crowd is decent, with most seats filled up.
I’m surprised how full it still is based on the score right now.
The Falcons are getting their asses creamed, and I don’t watch football but this game is pretty pathetic it makes me even cringe.
I grasp the microphone, seeing bodies move through the bleachers and others staying in their seats watching. “Most of you probably don’t know us, but we are a local metal rock band in the area. We’re called Wolves in Sheep Skin, recently signed by Metal Blade.”
I hear a cheer in the far distance, and a few people in the crowd throwing up their devil horns.
I point over at them. “Hey, someone knows us!” I chuckle, my palms getting sweaty with the mic in hand.
“That makes me happy... umm... Well, we wanted to come out and support the Falcons, and we wanted to spread the word about a lovely young lady that went missing on this campus.
Her name is Charlotte Henderson. She's my girl, and I miss her. Maybe someone out there knows where she is, because I want nothing more than to see her again. But yeah, I hope you enjoy the show.”
I lick my lips pacing back and forth as the fog machines kick in, and I wait for my cue as Omen hits the first chord.
I do something a bit different. I sing a song I used to play a lot when going to bars and just starting off.
One of those iconic singles you can do for karaoke.
It’s one I was willing to do, even though Omen encouraged me to try to learn other covers.
Usually, I’d rather play my own music because I don’t want people discovering us from someone else’s creation, but tonight is all about grabbing attention.
As I’m singing, the large screens circling around the stadium cut to static. It’s grey snow that fills them like a television that lost signal. For a second I think it’s just part of the show, but the screen doesn’t change.
I keep singing while Payton does her thing, and eventually the static swirls into a black screen, with a green cursor and codes running like a countdown. Then there's a blinking loading bar.
The crowd is so invested in the songs, but it starts to die down, and the world around me goes quiet as a video pops up on all the large screens across the stadium.
It’s edited footage, and Brody is the main character.
A girl, nearly unconscious, is being thrown on a bed.
She’s kicking and pushing the guys climbing on top of her around.
I catch glimpses of girls Brody’s drinking with, they are kissing, or even sleeping around with him. The videos on the screen start showing other videos, or messages that seem to be from Brody. I start to block it out, all the other voices I'm hearing.
I slam my eyes shut just focusing on the lyrics, and the sound of the guitar in my grip, but just a faint image of Charlie flickers deep within my brain. The crowd’s energy is shifting. I can sense it. They’re booing and screaming profanities, but not at the music. They’re yelling at Brody.
I dive into another song, just performing like we do in the garage, nothing stopping the rhythm of what we do.
This time, it’s the song lyrics I snatched out of Charlie’s journal.
We put it all together so shortly, barely even tried to put a good beat to it.
Mostly it was angry grunts and roars through the mic, with singing between the chorus.
When I'm halfway through the song, I open my eyes.
The football team is strutting out into the field.
Brody is in the distance, using his jersey to wipe his bloody nose.
He holds up his hands like it’s the best fucking day in the entire world.
He's pounding a fist on his chest like this is some sort of victory when all of his sleazy videos are on the screen. I’ve had enough. The mic screeches.
“How does it fucking feel to lose tonight?” My hands clench around the metal pole. “You never lose right?” I point at the screen that keeps showing another video of him, assaulting someone else. “How many people have you sat here and hazed? I’d love to know the answer to that one.”
Brody wipes his lips, stepping over to the stage, holding out his arms with a come at me stance. I can’t make out what he says over the crowd, but I’m sure it’s a smart ass remark.
“Why don’t you tell the crowd what you did to Charlie that night?
” I taunt. He stands there, scoffing, just shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head keeping that cocky half-ass smile.
“You threatened her, didn't you? You forced her to leave me? Didn’t you? You told her you were going after me if she didn’t!
Then you sat there and fucking assaulted her!
” I curl the microphone off the stage. The entire mic stand lands on the turf.
I’m throwing off the guitar strap, and leaping off the stage. “Where the fuck is she?”
His dark soulless eyes find mind, and I can feel the devil within his soul. And for a sliver of a second there’s amusement on his face, a laugh that I can’t shake off. I march right up to him, and all it takes is one swing.
My fist finds his jaw with a loud thud. He staggers back, grasping his jaw.
“Nothing like getting punched twice in one day,” he says with a laugh.
But I slug at him again, before I can land another punch, his fists coil the collar of my shirt.
He overpowers me, and he smashes his knuckles right into the side of my face throwing me down onto the turf.
He goes down with me, his fist pulling back as he slugs me again.
The lights go out, and my ears ring as the back of my head hits the ground.
There are just flashes of white. The flashes of Omen throwing his guitar over his head. More flashes as Vince chucks his sticks, and Tony cracks his knuckles before they lunge forward. There’s screaming in the crowd, people flocking up and down the bleachers. The lights bend and twist above me.
“You fucked with the wrong people!” Vince shouts, his footsteps on the turf beside me as he slams his boots into Brody’s stomach.
“Show him the wall of death boys!” Tony snatches him by the shoulder pads lifting him up.
“Get em!” Omen shouts.
It all happens so fast. Tony pushes Brody in the chest, then Vince behind him shoves him on the shoulders.
As Brody tries to back up, Omen pushes him around too.
“How does it feel fucker!” Brody is stumbling over his footing, as each of them kick and punch until he’s tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ground.
In the distance, police officers holding their belts come sprinting over. They haul off my bandmates, pulling and tugging at their shoulders to get them off Brody. I roll onto my stomach and wipe the blood off my bottom lip as I place a hand on my knee to stand up.
The cops are yelling at my guys to back off, while they use their knees to pin down Brody who continues to just laugh hysterically as they place cuffs on him. They start to read him his Miranda Rights, while pulling him up into a standing position.
Brody spits in my directions and all he does is give me that vicious smile as the police escort him off the turf.
It’s sprinkling outside and I’m kinda cold. Police lights flash red and blue across the parking lot, reflecting off puddles that are silent and still.
A line of football players stand along the curb, helmets tucked under their arms. Police have been talking to them non-stop once they suspended the game. I watched them scribble notes on pads.
The police didn’t say much to me except the classic line that I should've kept my hands to myself. Yeah, I probably should have. I guess I could get charged for it. Assault, maybe. Whatever though, it’s not like I can’t play music with a criminal record.
Plus maybe my mugshots will be blasted on those tabloids and I’ll read what they say about me and how far they twist the narrative. That’s always fun.
Somehow, the live streams and videos posted have gone viral within the hour.
I’ve already had to silence my phone because my notifications have blown up on social media.
Everyone is tagging me in something. We shot up over ten thousand followers within the hour, and I'm not about to look at the total again.
At least I got my shot to finally punch the asshole. The ache in my hand throbs into my bones, but it was worth it.
Out of the corner of my eyes I spot two shadows moving fast. When I focus a bit more it's Ryder and Payton. Their shoes crunch against the gravel. Ryder is crying. He’s running a hand down his wet face.
My chest tightens and I think I might throw up. He’s crying. That only means one thing. They have to be coming over to tell me that she's gone. That this was all for nothing. Charlie, the girl causing me so much trouble is gone.
When they get close enough, I hold my hand up to stop them. “Don’t... I can’t... I don’t think I...”
Payton rushes over grasping my hands, squeezing them tight. “No, that’s not it.” Her voice wavers as her eyes shimmer, glossy with a little sweet smile with it. “She’s alive.”
The air leaves my lungs so fast it hurts, “W-what?”
Ryder wipes his face again, “They found her... fuck...” Ryder brings a fist to his mouth.
“My ex-girlfriend... she umm... she hurt Charlie and left her with a bad head injury. She has some memory loss, but she was found. She’s okay.
They took her to a completely different hospital.
It’s why we couldn’t figure out where she was. ”
“The police weren’t looking in other counties either,” Payton adds. The rain starts to pick up again, the droplets hitting the surrounding ground. “She saw you on TV, and she was asking for you,” her eyebrows lifted up into a smile.
My blood slams on its breaks, my heart no longer beating, everything inside me just stops. All I do is stare at them. I think my knees almost give out, as I press a hand to my face, half laughing, half choking on a sob that comes out. Trouble was asking for me.