5. - – Misha
CHAPTER FIVE
-
MISHA
An explosion rocks the night as I make my way out the back door of the arena into a crowd that watches a massive fire engulf the tour buses that I’ve called home for the past year.
Like a cinematic scene from and end of days movie, the fireball rises into the sky, torching the stars, lighting up the blackness with an ominous mixture of reds, oranges, and yellows before morphing into a cloud of smoke darker than the heavens themselves.
Paul ran this way, out these doors and into this nightmare, and I’m already choking on my fear as heavily as I’m gagging on the soot that floats on the wind from the blast. Panic is setting in as I look around for him and find nothing.
I can’t find him or the band. It’s all a crazy mess of people and fire; no one stands out in the crowd.
Oh no, no, no, no. I didn’t just lose him on the night I finally got him. I didn’t disinherit my entire adopted family in one moment. Did I?
“Paul!” I scream at the top of my lungs, coughing and spitting out pieces of hot embers. “Paul, where are you?”
I’m out in public, my leggings shredded, my headscarf long lost somewhere in the hallway inside and forgotten, yet I think nothing of myself, only of finding the man I’ve loved for a year, and the men that I adore more than life itself.
“Caine! Judas! Lucifer! Abel!” I shout into the smoke, still calling the boys by their stage names, not breaking their confidence, even though I really want to yell out for the men themselves and not their stage personas. “Guys!”
I’m shaking like a leaf, slowly walking through the crowd in a daze as I scan the scene, watching the massive fire move towards the wooded area behind where the buses once sat. It’s so hot that it hurts to breathe, yet I continue on, looking for my family in the chaos.
“Misha.” Paul’s voice comes from in front of me from the ground near the edge of the mass of onlookers, closest to the fire and as near as I can bring myself to it because of the heat and flames that stretch out like fingers from hell towards us.
On his ass he sits on the ground, his entire body covered in black soot, where only his icy blue eyes can be seen through the darkness. He’s alive, although he looks like hell, but alive still.
“Holy fuck.” I say, scrambling towards him, dropping to my knees next to his shaking body, pulling him into my arms and kissing his bald head, leaving bare lip marks in the ashes. “What happened? Are you alright? Where’s the guys?”
My rapid-fire questions seem to rattle him more than he already is, but he takes a deep breath and looks me in the face, his eyes dropping in a solemn glance at my chin instead of how he always looks me in the eyes.
“They ran into the fire, Mish. They’re gone.”
“No!” I shriek, squeezing him tightly to my chest, burying my face against his neck and shoulder. “That can’t be. Nooo!”
“Yes. I watched them myself. I couldn’t follow; it was too hot. But they went in. Looking for Red. She was on the bus.” He spits out between choked breaths from his sadness and the heat that encircles us. “I’m sorry, Mish.”
“No, that’s impossible. They’re indestructible. They can’t be gone. They can’t be!” I wail as loudly as Cary does when he’s on stage with his mic in his hand.
I’ve seen firsthand the shit these boys get themselves into, and they can’t be dead.
Not all of them, not that easily. These are the guys who tear through cities, leaving chaos in their wake.
They’re the men who have saved women, brought evil men to their knees, and so much more.
They are God’s angels and the devil’s playthings.
They’re Screaming Fyre. They can’t be gone.
Time stops. The world stops spinning, and the flames seem to pause in the air as I try to process the loss of my boys, and my best girlfriend, Red. It’s all too much, the thought of losing them all in one moment, and I unbury my face from Paul's neck, look up to the sky and cry hysterically.
The tears haven't even begun to fall from my eyes, as all of the sounds from around us return. I can hear people gasping and shock, and as I bring my sight back down I see fingers pointing towards the inferno, the fans directing my gaze to a sight that’s impossible.
Like the four horsemen crawling out of hell, all of the guys walk towards us, their bodies seeming impervious to the flames that grab at them and wrap around them.
Cary leads the group, as always, just like when they're on stage, at a party or event. But behind him are the other three, and draped over Lucian’s arms is the lifeless form of his mate, Red.
My heart feels like it stops in my chest for just a moment before it races in the excitement and the relief of seeing my family coming towards Paul and I.
I'm shaking so hard I can't even stand as they come to us, but the relief I feel at seeing the four of them becomes overshadowed by the sight of my best girlfriend unmoving, not breathing… dead.
Her body is burned, and her skin is charred black.
If it wasn't for the bright red hair, I wouldn't even be able to recognize that it was her, the woman who has been my confidant and friend ever since I took the job with the band.
The smell coming off of her is obnoxiously rank, the odor of seared flesh and death, and it makes bile rise up in the back of my throat.
The look on Lucian's face is one of utter sadness, yet at the same time, that amber color of his eyes that seems to glow when he’s relaxed and content is present.
“Come on, we can't take care of this in front of the people.” Carrie says as they stop in front of us, holding out his hand for me to take.
His skin is hot to the touch as I wrap my small hand in his larger one, and he lifts me to my feet.
I want to yank away from him as it burns me, yet at the same time I never want to let him go again.
I can't imagine what life would be without these boys anymore, and it breaks my heart to know that eventually, in fact, sometime probably soon, they're going to face the same thing, but only it'll be them losing me.
It's a solemn walk back to the arena, walking amongst the fans who stand quietly, their heads bowed in respect.
They part as we trudged through their masses, opening a pathway for us like Moses opening the Red Sea.
No one says another word or breathes any utterances until we're safely back inside the building, with the door locked behind us, and one of the other roadies, Michael, standing guard.
“In here.” Marcus says, opening up a door to one of the unused dressing rooms, flicking on the light, and ushering us inside with a sweep of his heavily tattooed arm.
Paul is right behind me, on my heels, his hands fluttering across my hips like he wants to hold on to me but is afraid to touch me at the same time.
I really wish he would just touch me, to remind me that he is still here, and that he is still alright, even though he looks like death warmed over.
But he doesn't make a move, he doesn't wrap his hands around my hips, or reach out for my hand, not until Cary points his slender index finger towards a sofa in the corner and nods at it for us to head in that direction.
He doesn't give us any verbal directions or orders, but we don't need any. The look on his face says it all.
“Are we really going to do this with them here?” Derek asks, confusing me, as Paul and I take a seat next to each other, where he finally takes my hand.
“Does it really fucking matter anymore?” Cary asks him through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, but...” Derek starts to say, but is cut off by Marcus silently lifting his finger to shush him.
“They've both been with us long enough; we can trust them.” Lucian says, as he drops to his knees in the center of the room, gingerly laying Red down onto her back on the soft, white, fluffy area rug that spans half the room.
Her body instantly turns the white, furry carpet dark gray from the soot that coats her, and I watch in silence as Lucian leans back on his heels, bows his head, and strokes at his face, as if he's wiping away tears that he’s not yet shed.
“Trust us with what?” I ask, leaning forward on the leather sofa, staring at Lucian, wondering what he means.
Lucian rocks back and forth on his knees a few times, his eyes completely fixated on the open and lifeless ones of his woman, then his face scrunches up, his amber eyes blaze brightly, and a sound like a wild animal growling erupts from his mouth.
“This.” Cary says, motioning to Lucian as the guitarist snarls, pulling back his lips, revealing long, pointy teeth.
I almost jump out of my skin as Lucian throws himself forward over the lifeless body of Red, scooping her up in his muscular arms and holding her close to himself, sinking those large fangs into the center of her chest.
It's brutal the way he bites into her, gnawing on her flesh like he's a rabid animal and she is his prey. As he rips her skin to shreds violently, snarling turns into cries, which then morph into whimpers. Finally, as he sucks on a piece of her flesh that dangles from the wound, he whispers to her.
“I love you, baby. Now come back to me.”
Releasing her from his hold, he gingerly positions her with her hands crossed over her chest and lifts her chin, tilting her head back, and opening her mouth.
It's a stark contrast from the violence that he just showed to her corpse, and it leaves me speechless, hanging on the edge of my seat, morbidly curious as to what he's going to do next.
Of all the things I could’ve imagined, I’m completely unprepared for the sight of him ripping into his own wrist, slashing it open, making his blood pour out of it like water from a faucet.
“Oh, God.” It’s all I can say as he bleeds profusely.