deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 50: guardian angel

The Halloween party proved to be quite the event, especially once the Cherry Suicides showed up in their bloody dresses and the false knives. Sam sat there at the bar with her hand rested upon the bottom of her glass. She gazed on at the rim of the glass and she thought about Cliff. He was so close to her and yet there was still so much to him that she didn't know. She took one glimpse over at the other side of the bar and she pictured him there next to her.
His scent still lingered in her nose, and yet it must have been a part of her imagination. It had vanished from the inside of the hat he had given her, and all that remained was the feeling of the rain. The feel of his fingers on her skin still lingered over her, right over her hip: he had touched her while they were at her parents' house. He lay next to her in her old bed. If only she could touch him again. If only she could feel him again.
To feel his fingers again. To feel him laying next to her again. She moved her hand out from the base of the glass and she rested it on the bar next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Marla set a hand on her shoulder. Sam had wished for a quiet moment, and she got it right there at L'Amour, right when they first started, right back at square one for her.
It was only a month after the accident and yet she still hadn't lived up to Lars' promise. So much to do in Cliff's wake and yet she knew it was the perfect time for that. Halloween night and Day of the Dead followed suit. Something big and powerful to show that she would always love him no matter what the odds.
She thought about all the things that came with Day of the Dead, all of the colorful skulls and the overall grim feeling. All so contradictory and yet it all rang true with her. She thought about the times she had drawn with color before the last month and yet there wasn't much depth to it all. Cliff left something in his wake, a dark void there in the seat next to her and Marla: his colors had faded away into that total darkness. All the times she had drawn with colored pencil and yet there was something underneath it, a slight darkness, and it took Cliff's absence to realize it.
She had cried all of the tears into Lars' shirt but she knew there was something more inside of her. The first real loss in her life and it extended before her like an eternal dark field with no way out. Indeed, she flashed back on that dream she had with the mysterious man, the one in the forest, and how it seemed to extend on for eternity. It made sense right then. Losing Cliff felt exactly like that dark forest, and the empty spot next to her made her think of the void over his face. Nowhere to run and nowhere to seek out the safety of: the void was sucking her inside.
She thought about the other dreams she had had about him, if any of them were about to come true or give her some sort of sign. If only she could look at them a second time, not at the man himself, and uncover them before something big happened again. To see the forest for the trees.
Sam bowed her head a bit to the stool. She could still feel him there next to her. A month onward and she could still feel his presence right next to her. She wondered if James, Kirk, and Lars had paid their grievance at that point: they were about to head out on tour in less than a week; indeed, they had already left for Europe. She pictured Lars alone in his hotel room, seated on the edge of his bed.
The fact he coaxed her to do the same thing Cliff had done with his bass playing made her sit perfectly still. Her fingers crept across the wooden surface of the bar. She and Cliff had crossed paths for only a brief time and yet it felt as though she had known him forever. The two of them belonged together: every second with her hand there on the bar made her think that over and over again. They had met up in the proverbial forest where they were supposed to keep on walking, keep on walking to find the way out of there, and then after that, she had no idea what had happened there. It was as if he had ducked into the trees in search of food and shelter, and he never returned: she could only hope he had lost himself on the way, but hope only lasted for so long before the darkness swept over her again. He left her there in the forest without a compass, left her up the river without a paddle.
Marla stroked her upper back and Sam let her eyes wander to the stool. She thought about those yellow tulips back in her apartment: they were still big and yellow even a year after he had given them to her. Still big, bright, and that beautiful perfect yellow: still with such that flawless color even with Cliff gone. She managed to keep them alive, but she couldn't keep Cliff alive. She couldn't keep him from going.
She thought about one of the last things he had said to her, how it could be the last time they would ever see each other. A completely innocuous comment to her, but when she looked back on it, a fleeting thought crossed through her mind that told her he knew what was going to happen to him.
The cramped bus. The girls not there. The ace of spades.
To think the arts could be so deadly and he knew where he was headed, to boot. All the bright bold lush colors, the bright yellow of the tulip petals, and right next to them were the dark shadows: the dark green of the tulip stems and leaves. The arts were deadly and monolithic, but it kept him going, and it kept her going in his wake. It kept her going in those last few hours of Halloween, right before the Day of the Dead.
"Remember those gourds we had last year?" Marla asked her out of the blue: the very sound of her voice took Sam off guard.
"How could I forget?" she sputtered.
"I have an idea to bring them back for tomorrow night. Given it's Day of the Dead and whatnot."
Sam sighed through her nose, and she moved her hand to the edge of the stool.
"More gourds to celebrate the life of Cliff."
"The life and the loss of him," Sam added in a soft voice.
"I believe that is the point of these three days," Marla told her, "all I know is it's a celebration of life as well as death, hence the name. But it could probably help out with those last vestiges of grief within you."
"I hope James, Kirk, and Lars do something for themselves, too. You know, because Jason came in rather quickly. I hope they do something over that way."
"Well, Day of the Dead does happen in other cultures, I would assume. Lars being Scandinavian—I'm sure there is something from their culture that he can employ, not just for himself but for James and Kirk, too."
A few more people came into the club, also donned in Halloween costumes: she wondered where Scott and Dan had run off to, the two of them evil clowns. She wondered if Joey had anything in mind for himself when he showed up.
"What's Kirk's heritage?" Sam nudged a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you know?"
"I think he's Filipino? I'll have to ask Zelda when she gets back here again—"
Sam leaned forward for a look past her: Marla turned her head a bit to follow her gaze.
"What you see over there?" she asked Sam.
"I thought I recognized someone we knew over there by the door—" She leaned forward again, and she recognized that smooth lush dark hair and those bangs over his eyes. Wrapped in a black cloak and with a silver scythe in one hand. How appropriate for her to think about her deceased boyfriend and one of her best friends appeared as the Death herself.
"Hey, it's Frankie!"
Marla shifted all the way around the head of the stool for a look herself.
"Frankie and another dude," she added. Sam rested her chin on her shoulder for a better look: indeed, there was another guy next to him, one who looked a little like Frank, but with a smooth pompadour upon his head. Where Frank was dressed like the Grim Reaper, he wore a plain soft blue shirt over plain black jeans, as if he had come from a church session rather than for a Halloween party. He had a big black and beige Polaroid camera slung around his neck.
Marla waved at them and Frank nodded at her. Indeed, he nudged the hood off of his head a little bit so they could better see his head. His dark hair hung around the sides of his head like the floppy ears of a dog: he kept the scythe rested upon his shoulder as the two of them padded over to the bar. The guy next to him showed them a sly little grin.
"Hey, Sam and Marla," Frank greeted them.
"Death herself played by a dude," Sam declared.
"Death herself played by a dude, yes!" They both laughed in unison. "Anyways, this is my brother Anthony. He just wanted to come along 'cause he wanted to meet you ladies."
"I also wanted to come to a party," said Anthony with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I guess the Cherry Suicides are playing in a bit," Marla told them. "In their bloody dresses and their knives. So I'm told, anyways."
"What a name, right?" Frank said to Anthony.
"Great name. Sexy and dangerous at the same time."
"I just wonder how Zelda is gonna play drums in that dress and that knife right out from her stomach," Sam confessed.
"She's a drummer—she's tough, though," Marla assured her.
"Yeah, she's got a fake knife jutting out from her belly," Frank told Anthony, "well, you saw her when we came in. But those girls give absolutely no fucks, dude."
"And they're opening for Metallica when they come back here to the Northeast around Thanksgiving," Sam added.
"Right on!"Anthony showed both girls another smirk and he tucked his hands into his pockets. They seemed so unlike each other, but then again, Frank and Charlie seemed close enough in age that Sam swore there was no way they could be nephew and uncle to each other. But aside from the similar sparkle in each other's eyes, Sam swore they emerged from two completely different families. She spotted Zelda at the doorway from whence Frank and Anthony came in, still donned in that white frilly dress and that big floppy hat, both splattered with that fake blood, and with that fake knife in one hand.
"Speaking of Zelda," she remarked with a nod to the other side of the room; Frank and Anthony peered over their shoulders in unison and Marla tilted her head to the side for a better look. Zelda nodded at them, and she clutched at the crown of her hat with one hand and held onto the skirt with the other. She sauntered over to them, to which Anthony gestured at her feet.
"You oughta walk on over on your tiptoes," he said, which brought a laugh out of Frank. Zelda chuckled at that once she came within earshot: she had put on a heavy layer of dark but glittery eyeliner all about her eyes.
"My band's not playing tonight," she informed them.
"What!" Marla gasped.
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Min's sick—she's got a little bit of a problem with her heart and she's been having palpitations lately. Morgan and Rose both told her to take it easy and we'll hope to try out for tomorrow night for Day of the Dead. We got a song for that, anyway."
"Aw, man!" Frank groaned. "Brought my brother along with me and everything."
"Yeah, you did—what'd you say your name was again?" Zelda asked with a wave of her finger.
"Anthony."
"Anthony, that was it. Yeah, you kept looking at my knife, especially when I took it out and waved it around like I was gonna do something with it."
Frank laughed out loud at that and his hood fell off of his head all the way.
"Belinda's here, too," Zelda said to Marla. "She's outside with Aurora and some guy who looks like—question mark, getting her costume fixed."
"Some guy who looks like question mark," Marla echoed, "that's probably Emile."
"Emile."
"Her friend—I think?" She peered back at Sam.
"He's my landlord but Aurora's pretty friendly with him. A little too friendly if you ask me—and as far as I know, the dude's still married. As far as I know, anyways."
"Oh, damn." Zelda chuckled a bit at that, but then Sam spotted Belinda herself dressed in that beige jumpsuit at the doorway. Aurora congregated right behind her.
"Got the camera ready, Anthony?" Frank asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Right here, Frankie!" He picked the camera off of his chest, and Sam and Marla met up with Belinda and Aurora for a group shot. Sam and Aurora were the only ones without something to stand in for a ray gun, otherwise they were in fact the Ghostbusters. Belinda had put on big knee high black leather boots with two inch high heels and so she stood taller out of the four of them. Anthony held the camera up to his face and he kept the finger over the shutter button.
"Alright, ladies—gimme your best pose—like four models—"
Sam and Aurora stood with their shoulders pressed to each other and their index fingers pointed out to imitate the lasers. Marla pointed right at him with her eyebrows raised, while Belinda held her ray gun close to her chest. He pressed the button and the bright flash filled their eyes. Sam fluttered her eyelids: all the spots floated around her in a little flurry. Aurora shook her head about.
"Another one?" Frank offered; Anthony took the fresh photograph out of the slot and shook it about, and handed it to Frank. "Oh, perfect!"
"But yeah, let's do another one," said Marla as she extended her arms out on either side of her; Belinda put her right arm around her, while Aurora took to her left side. Sam stood on the far left as if she was a third wheel, but she wasn't. They were all together for the group photo, courtesy of Anthony.
"Fucking hell, that's a bright flash," Frank remarked, even though he stood right out of the line of sight. Zelda offered to join in for a second group shot: all five girls, all together under the Halloween lights. A third flash and shutter later, and Sam brought her hand to her eyes for them to better adjust.
"Excellent, ladies!" Anthony declared.
"There should be like a photo wall over here," Zelda suggested with a gesture to the wall off to the right, right next to the bar and right behind Cliff's former spot no less.
"Thrash metal and punk parties at L'Amour," Frank added with a grin on his face; he reached into his pocket and took out a pack of gum. That gave Sam a chance to pipe up: she took one look at that stool off to the side there and she brought her attention to Frank, dressed as the Grim Reaper. She stood in between Belinda and Zelda and in a few hours time, the party would be over for them. Marla mentioned the gourds while they were sitting there. Time to act.
"Seeing as tomorrow is Day of the Dead," Sam suggested, "and the Cherry Suicides aren't playing tonight, you guys wanna go do something together?"
"All of us?" Marla asked her.
"Yeah. I would think that it's an all night affair, too."
"It pretty much is," Frank joined in as he offered Anthony a piece of bright white mint gum.
"There's a weird, graveyard looking place not too far from here," Belinda told her. "It's not exactly a graveyard—in fact, it's a few miles from the real thing, but it's like a field with a bunch of monoliths over the surface. At night, it resembles to it. Only drawback is it's across the river so we'll have to drive."
"Well, we better boogie because the rain's coming down right now," Anthony insisted. "And y'know how it gets around here. All sopping wet and crazy." He flashed her a smirk.
"Sopping wet and crazy—yeah, you wish," Belinda scoffed, but she couldn't help but laugh at that.
"Alright, I'll tell Charlie where we're going," Marla said as she tucked two locks of violet hair behind both ears.
It was a small line of cars, with Belinda, Zelda and Marla at the front, all the way from the heart of Manhattan to this stretch of grass and trees on the other side of the East River. Given it was raining, and night had fallen, Sam peered out the window as they crossed the bridge at the black waters down below. She remembered what Frank and Charlie had told her about the East River before, how it was off limits to everything and everyone. The very sight of that water in the darkness made her think of that patch of earth where they had spread Cliff's ashes about. His final resting spot.
The East River was where New York City came to die and bury itself. Those black waters that didn't even glimmer under the bright lights of the city or with all the big fat droplets of rain. The shadow under all the bright colors, almost like a hallucinogen.
Of course.
They reached the other side of the bridge and she didn't realize they were on the actual Long Island at first.
"There's so much of this place I've yet to explore," she confessed to Aurora, who was nestled back in the driver's seat and with those goggles rested high upon her head.
"Oh, yeah, me, too. I remember when I first moved here, I was told that this is Brooklyn, but we're also en route to the community of Long Island. But we're on the actual Long Island right now. So for the first month I lived here, it kept throwing me that you could be talking about Long Island, but not the community itself. It's almost like how it's called Catalina Island but the actual community is called Santa Catalina. Or how Lake Elsinore is called that but Lake Elsinore itself isn't anything special."
"Or, it's more like—how the whole entire L.A. area is just referred to as L.A.," Sam added. "But the actual city of Los Angeles is buried in there somewhere."
"Exactly, yeah! Or how we refer to the San Diego area as San Diego, but you could be referring to anything from La Holla or the beaches or San Diego itself."
"Right!"
They made their way along the pitch dark freeway into the heart of Brooklyn, but then Belinda and Marla flashed their lights.
"Already?" Aurora wondered aloud.
"It's so freaking dark, I can't see where we're going," Sam admitted.
"There's a lot to get through, Sam. There's a lot to unpack here."
They took the next exit after Belinda, Zelda, and Marla, right into a quiet neighborhood outside of the Brooklyn.
"This is actually not too far from where I live," Aurora told her.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, I get off a couple of exits up from here. I went walking through here when I first moved here just because it reminded me of San Diego a bit. It's mainly the backs of things on this street here. Extra calm and quiet pocket from the rest of the city. Emile came here with me about a month ago and he told me the French Quarter has something really similar. Amongst the chaos and brilliance of the cities we all hail from, there's that one tiny pocket where it all falls quiet."
"Right before where it goes to die, of course," Sam muttered under her breath, as she knew they were still near the East River.
They pulled up to a stop sign right near the actual park itself: through the darkness, Sam spotted five dark figures against the trees. One of them had a candle lit.
"Looks like someone beat us to it?" Aurora remarked.
The car in front of them pulled off to the side and parked at the curb, and they followed suit right behind them.
Zelda rolled down the window and said something over the roar of the rain. One of the figures lifted his head so the candle light washed over his skin.
"Is that Chuck?" Aurora wondered aloud.
"Looks like it? It's hard to tell."
"Zelda!" Louie's voice caught Sam's ear.
"Yeah, it's them! It's Legacy!"
"The hell are they doing here?" Sam and Aurora climbed out of the car in unison and they hurried up to the sidewalk with Marla, Belinda, and Zelda: the five girls clustered under a tree to stay away from the rain. With nothing more than the candle light in Chuck's hands, the five men padded up to them. They each wore long black hooded cloaks, much like the cloak that Frank wore.
"You guys look like a bunch of monks," Sam declared.
"What if we actually are a bunch of monks?" Louie teased her as he lifted his head and nudged the hood off a bit: his smooth inky black hair spread across his forehead. Alex moved the hood back a little bit so she could see the little sliver of gray over his forehead: even in total darkness, it stood high and bright like a little pearl. Even in total darkness, his eyes were clear and bright, and Sam knew that that bit of acid had long flushed out of his body. The light from the candle flame washed over his oval face and those deep set eyes, and the small plume of gray over his forehead, so he actually resembled to a ghost. Sam was taken aback by him, and he was taken aback by her, or by something else. But his deep eyes were big and wide, as if something spooked him.
"My stomach is kind of nervous, sorry," he muttered to them.
"It's alright, Alex, it's not like we've got a Ouija board with us," Greg assured him.
"It was your idea to do this anyway," Louie added.
"His and my idea," Chuck joined in. "We came here to grieve over Cliff for Dia de los Muertos."
"Funny 'cause—" Frank's voice floated in from right next to Sam: the sound of his voice was so sudden that it made her jump a bit. "—we all did, too."
Sam gazed on at the candle, which burned bright in spite of the torrential rain. She remembered one thing that Lars had told her in that room, in that the flame that burns the brightest burns twice as long. This flame shone bright against the darkness of the rain and the trees. The bright yellow against the darkness.
The bright yellow of the tulips against the imminent wilt that would overcome them at some point no matter how long she took care of them.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and she looked over at Belinda, who held a small pale white gourd in her hand: the candle light made the lines of glitter near the stem twinkle and shimmer like the stars behind the clouds, and like everything the East River could never do.
"It's Dia de los Muertos," Chuck announced with a break in his voice. "Two minutes to midnight, and we are among the dead."
"The living walking among the dead," Eric added in an absent tone. The five of them clustered together just like a small group of monks. Sam looked over at Frank and the scythe in hand: the fake blade shone in the candle light. To her left stood Zelda and the blood upon that dress. The living among the dead.
"To the one Cliff loved," Chuck continued with a gesture to Sam. "Dear little Sammich."
"Samantha," Alex almost breathed her name.
"He's like a guardian angel to you now," Belinda told her, as she handed Sam the glittered gourd.
"Mourn over him, Sam," Chuck encouraged her. "Mourn over him!"
Sam cradled the gourd in both hands. She remembered the room: her and Lars alone together, away from the world. She remembered everything Lars had told her. She closed her eyes and let the rain wash over her.
Cliff next to her. The man of her dreams. Disappeared into the dark forest and he never returned. Disappeared into the East River and never made it out of those black waters. He was never coming back.
The rain helped the tears out from her. Her shoulders quivered. A dead weight emerged in her chest. She was never going to see him again.
She wept like a widow in front of those five men and among her friends. It was more torrential than the very rain itself. Aurora threw her arms around her and cried with her. She felt another body behind her, a larger more slender one, and she knew it was Frank. Her best friend Frank, who told Cliff he was going to see him the next day for the show in Stockholm.
They may have had the funeral, but she never got to grieve in the way she should have done so then.
Her body shook but Aurora held her so close to her own. They were the only ones crying: the guys from Legacy were silent as far as Sam knew. Frank held them both close to his body to protect them from the rain and he wept right into their ears.
Sam gasped for air and she stared up at the black sky as the tears on her face mixed with the rain: Cliff was up there somewhere. He watched over her. He had become an angel for her as Belinda had said. Gone away for good but he was never far away.
He would never be far away from her even as more and more tears fell down her face. Aurora lifted her head and looked up at Frank, whose chest and shoulders shuddered underneath his black cloak. Marla joined in right next to them: Sam rested her head against Frank's chest and closed her eyes. It would be something to tell her parents about when she found the chance.
But on the other hand, she felt a dead weight lift off of her even as the rain came down harder over them. The candle light extinguished and Chuck swore to himself.
"Had a feeling that was gonna happen," Belinda confessed with a break in her voice.
"Eh, swings and roundabouts," Chuck told her, also with a break in his voice. They were all grieving, but Sam did it the loudest for Cliff, and even as the tears continued to fall, she could feel him officially laying down on the cold drenched earth for his final sleep. The Day of the Dead had started and she opened her eyes to see it happen for herself. A brand new day to celebrate the living once more as she stared on at those five shadowy faces next to her, Frank, and Aurora.
Frank sniffled and let out a long low whistle.
"Fuck, I needed to do that," he confessed.
"I did, too," Sam added as she brushed away more tears. Aurora lifted her head for a better look at her despite the darkness: Sam raised her hand from behind her head to show off the gourd, which still glittered and sparkled despite the darkness.
"Where'd you find that, by the way, Bel?" Sam asked.
"Glove box," Belinda replied; in the dim light, she could see her brushing away a tear. "Felt appropriate enough—"
"Good night, Cliff," Eric declared up to the black sky.
"Yeah, good night, Cliff," Chuck added. "We love you, buddy." As the words left his dark lips, Sam couldn't help but feel closer to them. She still had a lot more to figure out with them, but she had time. Time before she could join Cliff once again.
"Let's get the hell out of this rain," Zelda said as she ruffled her frilly skirt, "good thing this fake blood doesn't actually bleed otherwise your car would be a complete mess, Mar..."