-1Thank You and Goodnight
By Matthew Stephens
Copyright by Matthew Stephens 2008
Published by Smashwords
The Allstate arena was packed plum full. The air stunk of sweat and cigarettes. It was elbow to elbow and one hell of a project to get a beer or take a piss. The house lights had come on after the opening band, "the ticks" finished their set. The crowd faces looked drained and strung out, but also anxious and excited. The band they had all come to see was about to play.
The lights went out and the crowd screamed in unison sounding like a super amplified blow dryer. A man's voice came over the P.A. "Ladies and Gentleman, the band you've been waiting for. The ass kickin' in your face, loudest band in the world. The one, the only, THE WARLOCKS."
The blow dryer went off again as the bass drum came in with a thud, thud, thud. A loud crunch of a guitar rang through the arena in unison with a bright white laser light. Damon "the demon" Deagon walked on to the stage running his long black hair out of his face with one hand and holding a microphone in the other. He screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Are you motherfucker's ready." The crowd screamed in reply. "A One , Two, One, Two, Three, Four." The band exploded into their latest hit song, "breathing fire" as fire shot up from the stage. Lights of all different colors whipped around and danced on the fans faces. There was a small circle of bodies slamming into each other in the front of the stage. Damon was whipping his long black hair around and then pointing at nobody in particular. He sang the first line.
"I've been breathing fire my whole life. You can't save me with your Jesus Christ. All your words are just like ice. They melt before they reach my mind." This was followed by a sonic guitar solo. Baldy, the bass player, was keeping rhythm while doing his usual antics of sticking out his tongue, flipping the bird between notes and kicking half full beers into the crowd. Crazy Carl was at his usual post, beating the tar out of the old pigskins. Steve Wallace or Stevie, as the band would call him, led the band through their twenty song set, ripping through all their hits on his guitar before the house lights came back on and the crowd started filing out.
The backstage of a Warlocks concert was the same as you would expect from any heavy metal band out there. There was the buffet table filled with appetizers, coffee, and water. The band would barely touch this table. They were more interested in the giant cow tank filled with beer and ice and a small table beside that was filled with all the different kinds of booze you could imagine. The band would always come off the stage, make some cocktails, and then talk to the fans with the v.i.p passes, paying more attention to the female fans of course! There would always be a handful of groupie girl's dressed in black leather and dark eyeliner just waiting for a chance to expose themselves to one of them.
Crazy Carl would take all the opportunity he could every night. He was known to take three or four women to his room after the party for "a little fun," as he would tell them. Baldy was a little more shy, but he still would get his fair share. Damon and Stevie would be a little more selective. It was almost as if they had it all and were looking for a sexy girl to settle down with. If that's even possible for a rock star.
On this particular night. A very attractive fan stood leaning against the wall underneath the "enter stage right" sign. She was staring down Damon and twirling her hair. Damon didn't see her until Stevie pointed her out.
"Someone's got their eye on you." Steve grinned pointing with his Budweiser bottle. "Better take care of that before I do."
Damon walked to the liquor table and made a jack and coke for himself and cranberry vodka for the little lady and then walked over to her. She uncrossed her long tan legs and took a few steps to meet him. Damon watched as she fixed her little black leather skirt and reached for the drink.
"Ah, this for me?" She said as Damon pulled the drink back still looking her up and down and thinking to himself that this had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and that meant a lot.
"Not until you tell me your name first." Damon teased.
She seemed to look right through him with her enticing green eyes. "Venus." She finally spoke as she put out her hand as if to shake. This struck Damon as kind of funny until he realized she was just reaching for the drink.
"Venus, that’s an odd name. You must have some fun parents." He joked.
"It stands for goddess of love according to the Romans." She stated catching Damon steal a look at her chest.
"Really! You must be pretty good then!" he said talking through his plastic cup.
"Good at what?" She was acting like she didn't know what he was talking about. Crazy Carl walked by patting Damon on his back.
"That's my boy!" he said softly as he went on to slap some groupie's ass.
"I think you know what I meant." He said lightly blushing from his drummers stupid antics.
"Well, why don't you take me somewhere and find out." She grabbed his shirt.
Damon and Venus spent about an half an hour talking and drinking backstage until they caught a cab outside the arena to take them to the holiday inn. On the way, Venus had been kissing his neck and groping for whatever she could in the darkness of the cab's back seat. When they arrived, Damon had taken a minute to pay the driver as Venus got out. What he was really doing was trying to get the erection in his pants to settle down.
They walked up to the hotel's main entrance elbow's wrapped around each other’s. Stevie was standing there smoking a cigarette and holding his black guitar case. He never let the roadies pack his guitar up nor would he ever use a different guitar to play. It was his baby and his ritual.
"Don't you kids go staying up all night, We got to leave early for cheese country tomorrow!" Stevie heckled them with his best granny impression as they started walking through the door.
Damon checked in at the front desk and the two of them made their way to room 201. Across the hall they could hear bottles clanging, laughing, and what Damon thought was a girl moaning. Crazy Carl! He thought to himself as he slid the card in the door. He flipped the switch and held the door open. "Ladies first!'
The two room Jacuzzi suite was what you would expect from someone who sold as many records as Damon "The demon" Deagon.
"How about a stiff one? They always keep me happy. I bet If I told them I wanted some fucked up wine from Israel, they would have some poor son of a bitch searching the city for it." Damon laughed as he was already pouring two glasses of whiskey.
"I want you to come here. Sit right here!" Venus responded while taking off her jacket and throwing it on the couch. She walked slowly like a cat would stalking it's prey and turned on the radio. Damon walked to the spot where she told him grinning like a little boy and holding the glasses of whiskey. It was a small love seat with a giant table sitting in front of it that appeared to be made of mirrors. Venus walked toward him biting her lip and kicking off her heels. She stepped slowly on to the table. Some African, weird music was playing on the radio that Damon didn't really like, but he wasn't going to complain about what was going on in front of him.
Venus was swaying back and forth like a snake. Her shirt was laying in Damon's lap. If you could call it a shirt, just a couple of small strings connected to two patches of leather. Something like a rosary bead necklace dangled between her breasts. Damon went to set the drinks down , but before he could, Venus was in his lap grinding her hips against his pelvis and offering him a taste of her perky breasts.
She sat back teasing him and took one of the glasses of whiskey. Without even wincing, she downed it. She threw the glass behind her and grabbed the other one.
"Hey," was all Damon could get out before the second glass was gone.
"What do you say we move this party to the bedroom?" Venus whispered as she got up and led the way. She stripped Damon quickly and pushed him hard on to the bed like some kind of dominatrix.
Damon's first feeling was complete joy as Venus climbed on top of him and slid his penis into the beautiful warmness. Time and time again, Damon has enjoyed this feeling, but this somehow felt better. As he was just about to explode the feeling changed. Pain! Oh! horrible pain. It felt like his lungs were going explode, his eyes were on the verge of popping out of his head, his heart was going to race itself into a million pieces. Good! Oh, God! It feels good again. Incredibly good. Ecstasy!
The room was going nuts as Damon kept switching back and forth from these incredible feelings. The curtains were blowing like a tornado was ripping the building apart. There was lightning or electricity shooting through the air. At one point when Damon could manage to pry an eye open, Venus's eyes were glowing bright white. Pain! Pleasure! Incredible Pain!
Damon woke up to a pounding on the door. He raised a hand to his aching head and rubbed his eyes. He went to put his leg on to the floor when reality hit. He jerked his head around. There was nobody on the bed. He got up and went to the door.
"Hey man! Holy shit, you look like shit. What happened to you?" Stevie said stepping back.
"Ah nothing. I, I ah. I don't know!' Damon slurred and put his head down.
"Well, bus is leaving, you gonna make it?"
Damon shook his head in a quick jerking motion, "Yea, I'll be there."
Damon closed the door and walked to the bathroom. A question kept lingering in his mind. How did she get out of this room if the door was locked from the inside? He looked in the mirror and couldn't believe what he was seeing. His eyes were as red as stoplights and his pupils were no bigger than a head of a needle. His skin was pale-white with lines of blue veins on his face and arms. He threw his body over the toilet and began to throw up. Sick! Incredibly sick, but at the same time he could feel a little ball of anger building deep down inside. He somehow managed to get himself together long enough to make it down to the bus and crawl in the back bunk. He slept all the way to Wisconsin, which was only about a three and a half hour drive. Baldy, Stevie, and Crazy Carl thought nothing of it. All of them have woke up with a killer hangover on this tour quite frequently, but by the looks of it, Damon must have really tied one on. Hell, he literally looked like the walking dead.
The band's agent had informed them they would be doing a interview with Rolling Stone magazine before sound check. After practically dragging Damon to the room, he sat through the interview acting almost incoherent.
Cynthia Barns, the interviewer, had a few uncomfortable moments when Damon would burst out with obscenities like someone with turrets. The band, looking at each other confused, tried to answer the questions and get it over with. Damon sat through the rest of the interview with his dark glasses on and his elbows in each hand. He was rocking back and forth like a person in a padded room.
It was two hours before the show. The band was doing their sound check. They made it through about half the routine when Damon dropped his microphone and started walking out.
"You better get your shit together before the show." Stevie yelled after him.
"Go fuck yourself!" Damon replied as we walked out and slammed the door. The band finished up sound check and stood around backstage waiting and having a few drinks as the crowd started filing in. There was no sign of Damon.
It was now twenty minutes until show time and still no sign of Damon. The band was starting to panic. Five minutes before they were to take the stage, Damon came walking up.
"Are you sure your ready to do this?" Baldy asked him.
"Oh, I'm sure. This is gonna be one hell of a show." Damon said. It seemed to Baldy that he was perfectly fine. Even though he was far from it.
Damon had been sitting in a quiet bathroom down a lonely hallway when the band was finishing sound check and waiting backstage. His body was going through these surge's of hate and uncontrollable anger. He was pounding on the stall doors with his fists and kicking the side walls, screaming and coughing.
"What's happening to me. I hate everything! I hate everyone!"
A police officer came in to see what all the commotion was about and without even thinking twice, Damon leaped on him and snapped his neck. He knew the officer was already dead but he kept punching and kicking him anyway. At one point, he ripped the paper towel holder off the wall and slammed it down on the poor dead officer's face. Breathing heavily, Damon took the officer's gun and stuffed in his pants. He walked over to the mirror and cleaned off the spots of blood on his face and hands. Then he stepped over the dead officer and walked out.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Are you ready? The band you've been waiting for. The ass-kicking, in your face loudest band in the world. The one, The only, The WARLOCKS!" The announcer screamed as the same thud, thud pumped through the stadium. The band ripped through their set with Damon right on key before walking back stage and waiting to go back on for the encore. A fan lingering backstage had told Damon that they fucking rocked.
"Wait for the encore. It will be a mind blowing experience." Damon responded and started for the stage.
The song was about over and Baldy wasn't paying any attention as Damon pulled the gun from his pants. He held the gun a inch from the back of his head and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on to a giant speaker as Baldy fell over in a heap. No one saw this accept a few fans up front. The lights were going in a strobe effect. Damon walked slowly to were Stevie was noodling on his guitar. Once he had noticed there was no bass playing he looked up. Bang! Stevie's world went black. The guitar gave out a piercing feedback and the drums played for about four seconds before coming to a halt. Crazy Carl was standing up behind his kit trying to absorb what was going on. Why were his guitar players laying on the ground? As soon as his eye's met Damon's, he felt a burning pain in his gut. He looked down and saw a red spot forming on his white shirt. He looked up once more before a bullet entered his forehead blowing his brains all over the back curtain. Damon turned to the crowd. The stadium was almost dead silent. The house lights had turned on. A few security guys were rushing toward Damon from both sides of the stage, but before they could reach him Damon put the gun to his temple and spoke into the microphone with the other hand.
"Thank you and goodnight." He pulled the trigger.
The worst tragedy in rock and roll history made news all over the world. The entire industry and fans were in complete shock. What would posses a very successful man to do such a horrific act. Why? Why? Why?
Thank you and goodnight By Matthew David Stephens 2008