Voice. Part 30

"I know. Erin noticed them, too. They're part of the reason she left." Case thought of Erin's story about the man with the earrings, and of the bad vibe she got onstage sometimes. All the time, lately. She thought carefully before speaking again.

"Danny, I think there's something really weird going on here. Something I don't understand, but I sure know it's not normal." She put her hand on his knee. "I think maybe Erin was right. Maybe we ought to get the f.u.c.k out of here."

Danny looked at her hand and then slowly, as though it pained him, moved his gaze up to her face. "No."

Case waited for him to say more, but none was forthcoming. "That's it? No? You don't think we ought to talk about this?"

His face stretched into a pain-streaked grimace. "Please don't go," he said.

Case got quiet. She was aware of her heartbeat and the hiss of blood rus.h.i.+ng through her ears. In the next room, the bed thumped against the wall, and somebody swore. She didn't know if she could bear Danny looking at her that way much longer. "Why not? I can't do this forever. Not like this. Not with Johnny. Things are getting bad. The first thing you ever learn in a self-defense cla.s.s is to avoid putting yourself in bad situations, and I feel like I'm hip-deep and sinking."

"Just finish the tour," Danny said. He was pleading, Case saw, breaking her heart and simultaneously disgusting her. She hated herself for the latter. "We'll talk about what happens next after we get back to Dallas, but please don't leave now. I'll talk to Johnny." He covered her hand with his own. "I've got this band, this tour, and you," he said, "and that's all. Remember what you told Erin? We've sacrificed so much for this. Can we just finish it? Please?"

Tears streamed down his face, and Case gathered him into her arms. Big, softhearted Danny.

I love you, she almost said, shocking herself as the words rose to her lips. "I'm scared," she said instead.

"Me, too."

As she held him, she wondered if they were scared of the same things.

Chapter 30.

Two more shows, Danny told himself. Two more.

He wasn't going to last that long. He could feel it. The strain was more than he ever could have imagined. Johnny wasn't just taking his alter ego too far-somewhere, down in his mind where the dark things slithered, Danny knew that. He didn't like to think about it, though. There was enough to worry about.

There was the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Fan Club, for starters. Danny had been having bad dreams and getting lousy sleep ever since that first night in the van. n.o.body else seemed to notice, or maybe n.o.body wanted to say anything, but the bleached blonde with the leather choker that had been following them for seventeen shows and counting had been one of their visitors that night. At every show, she gave Danny a sly look, as though he were her co-conspirator. He'd started to see that face in his dreams, and in every dream she changed to something pale and reptilian and opened her jaws unspeakably wide as she came for him.

There was something else, too, something he'd been afraid to share with Case. After the last show, Johnny had tossed his journal into the nearest trash barrel like a man throwing away an empty beer bottle.

Danny didn't know what had possessed him to go after it, but he had. Maybe it was that he hadn't seen Johnny without a journal since Johnny was about twelve, or maybe it was that Johnny had been acting weird and Danny thought there might be a clue inside. Maybe it had been some other perverse impulse entirely, but he had waited until Johnny was gone and fished the journal out of the trash. He hadn't had a lot of time alone with it yet, but there was a whole section with show dates and grim newspaper clippings that made his stomach do unpleasant things.

It has nothing to do with Johnny, he told himself. Johnny was with us all the time. That was true-but why was Johnny even keeping those articles? Danny didn't know, but he thought of Quentin a lot. And the Fan Club.

He'd torched his marriage and shot a budding career in the head for this tour, but the dream was starting to show a lot of wear around the edges.

Two more shows.

Terror gripped Danny from the first note that came out of Johnny's mouth. Johnny's voice sounded strange, but that wasn't all-his voice always sounded strange these days. This time, though, he stepped up to the mic and opened his mouth and- Two light bulbs exploded at the back of the room, sending a sizzling shower of short-lived sparks to the floor. The room got darker, too, much darker than it should have with just the two lights out. Case looked back at Danny with an expression that was half afraid and half I-told-you-so. Danny pretended not to see her and tried to concentrate on playing the drums, but he felt it, too. The room had dropped ten degrees and a dank odor, fish and sewage, permeated the air.

Danny muddled through the rest of the song-it wasn't hard; he could play it in his sleep by now-and at the very end he noticed the Fan Club. They hadn't sent up their usual raucous cheer at the end of the song. All twenty-odd of them stared up at Johnny, eyes wide and mouths open, as if they were about to ascend directly to heaven in some kind of bizarre rock concert micro-Rapture. The girl with the leather choker had her tongue out slightly, and she appeared to be panting. Danny shuddered.

Johnny turned around and put his hand over the mic, getting a squeal of feedback. "Come on!" he said.

"f.u.c.k," Danny muttered, realizing he'd been s.p.a.cing out for who knew how long. He started the next song.

It should have been hot under the lights, he thought. The G.o.dd.a.m.n stage lights were so horribly bright he had to squint, but there wasn't so much as a droplet of sweat on his skin. The room was getting still colder, and though he couldn't actually see his breath, he felt like he would be able to any minute. Despite the cold, the smell thickened, and now there was a hint of the ocean in the fish and s.h.i.+t stench.

Case and Allen had pulled back toward Danny, leaving Johnny out front to do his thing. Allen's face was pale; Case's was murderous.

They kept playing. The lights focused in on Johnny, leaving everything else swaddled in a thick, palpable darkness. Danny could see nothing beyond the stage, hear nothing above the music. They could have been playing Madison Square Garden, for all he knew. Or Venus.

Another song came to an end. No cheers came from the audience, no shouts or cries of "Freebird!" Danny couldn't tell if there was even anyone out there anymore. He felt empty darkness swirling at his back, eyes boring into his neck, and he s.h.i.+vered.

Johnny turned around. His grin was wide and hungry, and his eyes gleamed with a light both fanatical and predatory.

"Do 'Slipping,'" he said. "I like that one."

Danny's mouth had gone completely dry. He gaped, offering no response.

"Allen doesn't know it," Case protested in a small voice. "We didn't rehea.r.s.e that one."

Allen must have seen something in Johnny's face that bothered him. "Just play," he said quickly. "I'll watch you and catch up."

"It's awfully down-tempo for this crowd," Case said.

"They'll love it," Johnny said, smiling until Danny thought his face would tear. "Trust me."

Case took an obvious glance toward the back of the stage, her eyes white and darting.

"I wouldn't," Johnny said. "The Fan Club paid good money for this show. I'd hate to see them disappointed."

Danny winced. The subtext was painfully clear, and he could only imagine how Case would respond to the threat.

This is going to get ugly.

But Case's face stayed neutral, and she played the first chord of the song, a dissonant, eerie chord that Danny had really liked-about a hundred years ago. Danny picked up the beat mechanically, following along out of habit more than anything else. It was a straightforward enough tune, and Allen picked it up after the first iteration.

Johnny nodded and went back to the mic stand.

"I felt it slipping

A little yesterday

A little bit crumbled away"

He sang, and the darkness crowded around. Danny could see the crowd now, hundreds of pairs of gleaming eyes reflecting the light back to the stage. The crowd swayed back and forth with the music, making no sound. An icy finger slid down the back of Danny's neck, and his body stiffened. Sweat, he realized. Now he was sweating, cold beads of ice water.

"I think I'm losing traction

I think I'm losing touch

I think I'm sliding away"

The Fan Club started singing with Johnny. There was no way they could know the words, but they did. Their voices swelled in an eerie harmony, and the darkness closed in even tighter. Breath was hard to find, and each labored inhalation brought the stink of decay.

Something cold touched Danny's neck again, but this time he knew it wasn't sweat. Claws or sharp fingernails ran down his spine, and he s.h.i.+vered. His mind gibbered at him: Don't look don't look don't look maybe it will go away maybe it's nothing don't look. He f.u.c.ked up the beat and dropped a stick.

Then the cold hand, a cold mind pushed against him with a rancid and intolerable pressure. It beckoned to him, whispered seductive things in his ear, and all the weeks of strain and travel and fighting caught up to him. He was so tired. He felt it push again, and he offered no resistance.

The world stopped. Case, Allen, and Johnny still moved, but Danny's body froze, and his thoughts became strange and alien. His limbs felt cold and dead, and he was suddenly filled with a yawning, vast hunger, like nothing he had ever experienced.

A moment later, he was kicked to the back of his own mind, and he watched in horror his arms started to move on their own, picking up the song in the middle. Laughter filled his head.

Somewhere, buried back in his own head, Danny screamed. No sound escaped his lips.

That's it. I'm bugging the f.u.c.k out. Case left the stage after the last song, just as the lights came up and the crowd inexplicably burst into riotous applause. She'd make one last attempt to get Danny to leave with her, but she was done either way. Everything about this is wrong, she thought, even as the memory of the show drained away, losing some of its power.

Was it really that bad? she wondered as she hit the first stair. By the time she made it all the way down the stairs, all she remembered of the show was a vague unease. The Fan Club-they'd done something strange, hadn't they? And Johnny had demanded the band play-what was it? Something Allen didn't know, she was sure of that.

The specifics were gone already, but she knew she was done. Something had gone pear-shaped up there, and the fact that she couldn't remember it just minutes after the event was all the proof she needed.

She turned around to see if the others were coming. Allen was right behind her, a confused twist to his features. He rubbed his head and looked puzzled. Danny was in conference with Johnny. G.o.d knew what that was about, but Case doubted anything useful would come from it. Johnny was . . . not Johnny these days.

When Danny turned to her, that lingering sense of unease cranked way up. He gave her a disturbingly flat smile and patted Johnny on the shoulder. "We're going out," he said. "You wanna come?"

"Uh. Where are you going?"

Danny shrugged. "Out with the Fan Club. Johnny says they're a scream." His smile stayed fixed, like a drawing that had been stapled to his face.

Case took a step backward. "You guys go ahead," she said hesitantly. Every nerve in her body screamed. You need to get out of here, Case, she told herself, trying to keep calm. Don't let them know anything is wrong, and as soon as they leave, go. Far away. It doesn't matter where. Get the h.e.l.l out of here. It didn't matter that there was only one show left-it wouldn't have mattered if there were only one hour left. It was time to go. "I'll see you back at the hotel," she said. The lie sounded hollow and transparent in her ears, but Danny just smiled. Johnny nodded, grinned, and touched up his hair.

"Cool," Johnny said. He led Danny past her toward the back exit. Danny didn't look back. The two of them left, and the door snicked shut.

Case counted to ten, waiting for her heart to slow down. Allen was watching her.

"I'm going back to the hotel," she said. She had four hundred bucks in the safe, and it wouldn't hurt to grab her bag and a change of clothes. "Then I'm done. I quit. I am gone. You coming?"

Allen nodded. "Oh yeah. This ride stopped being fun a long while back."

She couldn't argue with that.

Case punched the numbers into the safe and pulled out the four hundred dollars first. As she stuffed the wad of folded cash into her pocket, a twenty peeled free and fell to the floor. For a second, she thought about leaving it, leaving the bag, the clothes, and everything-leaving Allen, who was next door getting his own s.h.i.+t-and running. Time suddenly seemed very important.

That's crazy, she reminded herself. They're out doing . . . Fan Club stuff. According to Allen, Johnny hadn't gotten in until almost dawn the last time he'd partied with the Fan Club. Looting the entire hotel room wouldn't take more than five minutes. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the bill off the floor and pocketed it. Still, she couldn't shake the idea that time was short. Her stuff and Danny's had gotten mingled over the past couple of weeks, virtually all of it ending up in Danny's bag. He insisted he'd carry everything. It had been a nice gesture, but now it was a pain in the a.s.s.

Ah, f.u.c.k. Danny. Her heart tore at her. Danny. Could she really just ditch him? Leave him with whatever Johnny had become? She had put her ditching days behind her, or so she'd thought. And I love him.

That's not him, she reminded herself. She didn't know what it was, but Johnny's madness was apparently catching.

More reason to get the h.e.l.l out of here right now.

But are you sure? Really sure?

She didn't know. Her eyes burned, and the light from the lamp refracted into a thousand dull shards in the prism of her tears. Big, gentle Danny. He didn't deserve what had happened to him, she thought, and a flare of righteous anger ignited in her chest.

I can't help him. And now is not the time to worry about this.

She picked Danny's bag up. Rather than go rummaging, she dumped the contents on the bed.

A notebook fell out on top, slid down the pile, and flopped open. Johnny's handwriting and newspaper clippings. Case ignored it-Johnny's crazy journal was the least of her concerns.

Then the word Killed in large newsprint caught her eye. She looked down the page.

Atlanta. June 17, 2010. Two Concertgoers Killed in Apparent Parking Lot Brawl.

Raleigh. June 18, 2010. Woman's Body Found Mutilated in Alley. No suspect in custody.

There was more. Every show date, every city they'd played.