Toad said nothing as he bandaged my hand once we were offstage and back in our little dressing room. I knew he thought I was crazy. It was obvious that the wounds on my hand were nothing new. I’d seen him glance at them sometimes but he’d never asked and he had nothing to say to me now. I can’t really blame him. I hated him, and anyway, I was insane, right? It made me smile, sitting there while he pressed gauze onto my bloody palm, imagining how he’d feel if he knew I’d killed two people. Smashed someone’s head in.
Doesn’t being self-aware negate any sort of insanity? I can rationalize, of course, that the things I had done up to that point were insane, but I also remember acknowledging I am insane. Which maybe means I actually wasn’t. One thing’s for sure — Fern was in the room while Toad was wrapping my hand, looking in the mirror that had been hastily nailed to the wall, fixing her powder and lipstick, brushing her long hair, and humming to herself like a lunatic. To me, she was the picture of madness. But that’s probably because I knew she was plotting mass murder while she smiled prettily at her reflection. To Toad, I’m sure she just looked fuckin’ hot.
Then she and I went to go smoke outside, and as we walked through the building, we passed a wall lined with DED’s stage props. That same old rig, the rack of medieval weapons that they always had onstage. The battle-axe, the swords. Fern whirled to me. Our eyes met, and our faces lit up. I swear: it’s like the universe wanted this to happen. I mean, how many bands bring real, functioning, deadly weapons onstage?
“They’re asking for it,” I said to Fern, and her shriek of laughter startled the people beside us.
FIFTY-FIVE
I remember everything that happened that night. I can even play it back in slow motion, every detail crystal clear. Maybe because it was my last night free? Or maybe because I was so damn nervous. I felt so completely aware. I could feel something moving through my veins — adrenaline, fear. I felt like my whole body was tingling.
As the afternoon progressed into evening, the musicians in the band building started getting drunk. Especially after dinner. The voices echoing and calling got louder. We’d hung out after our show in the dressing room for a while, gone out to the autograph tent shortly after that, and then we were free to do whatever we wanted for the rest of the day. I’d gone onto the fairground for a while, wandering through the rows of vendors. It was cold outside, but there were thousands of people out there. There was booth after booth of rock shirts, boots, jewellery, belts, candy, all kinds of crap. The ground was muddy, and with so many people walking around, it was getting pretty torn up. Everyone’s feet were covered with mud, so the floors in the stage buildings were a mess.
Just before DED was scheduled to go on, I was in the dressing room with Fern and Edgar. Socks and Toad had disappeared, probably to go drink beer on the fairground. I couldn’t sit still, and I had smoked so many cigarettes that I felt light-headed and sick.
But that didn’t stop me from lighting another. My insides churned. My knee jerked up and down as I sat at the little table, staring into the overflowing ashtray. Fern placidly brushed her hair, a serene and wistful smile on her face. Edgar sat across from me, frowning. I could tell he was weirded out by the both of us.
“So,” he said. “You guys want to watch DED from the side of the stage?”
My knee stopped bouncing, and Fern smiled. “That’s a great idea, let’s do it,” she said. They both looked at me, and I nodded my head stiffly, butting out my cigarette.
There are walks you never forget. You know, the walk you do down the hallway at the dentist’s office, the walk into the hospital for some terrifying procedure. It’s a walk full of dread, a walk you want to turn away from. A walk where you can’t believe your own legs are carrying you, when every fibre of your being is telling you to stop. You entertain fantasies of some helpful person in white dragging you, while you kick and scream and refuse to take another step. I imagine walking down death row towards execution feels the same.