The Corkscrew

Exposure

"Oh my god!" Alfred staggered away from the horde of screaming fans, his eyes blurry and hands aching. He could barely grab the doorknob as he shoved the door open, sweat sticking his hair to his head and stifling his shirt and trousers. "I'm done. I'm done! That was-"
"Such a rush!" Ronnie yelled, seemingly undeterred by the performance. "I just wish we could have played longer!"
Aside from the sweat upon Danny's face, she, too, seemed rather unperturbed by the previous performance. It appeared the only person remotely tired was Alfred, who shoved his bass back into a stand and slumped against a wall and onto the floor. Ronnie noticed and crouched down. "You alright Alfie?" They asked
"I'll slit your wrists if you call me that again," Alfred replied, "and no, I'm not okay. It takes a lot out of a guy to improvise lyrics and play an instrument they've never picked up before in front of a crowd in a dingy building in the boonies of fucking nowhere."
Ronnie shrugged, "fair point. Hey, I have an idea, Oi, Danny- oh, there you are," Ronnie stood back up and stepped back, "why don't we all have some kind of night out!"
Alfred raised his middle finger with a sweaty, shaking arm, "No."
"Aw, C'mon," Ronnie argued, "why not?"
A female voice from behind them replied, "Because I wouldn't recommend it." Ronnie and Danny beside them turned to face Elena, who had begun clapping for the trio, "Well done!" She said, "Colour me shocked! I honestly thought you were going to flop! I had a whole plan where I would write you as a "rags to riches" deal-"
"Did you ask Ronnie to sing?" Alfred asked from the floor.
Elena stopped clapping and looked down at Alfred and exclaimed, "Well aren't you a right mess! what happened to you?"
"Just answer the damn question."
There was some hesitation before Elena finally relented, "yes. I did."
"Fuck you." Alfred replied simply. "Fuck... You."
"Well you see," Elena began before being cut off by Alfred who began to climb up the wall and onto his feet, "no YOU see here. Ronnie, believe it or not, has the voice off an uncooked Goose. They can play some fancy guitar, but that voice could silence a stampede. And you ASKED them to SING. Really?"
Elena nodded, "Yeah, I did. Now listen to me."
Alfred cocked his head, "I'm listening."
"Ronnie is excellent at guitar." Elena explained, "But technical skill only attracts a small, dedicated audience of guitar enthusiasts, and that doesn't earn nearly as much money as I'd like."
"Oh," Alfred chuckled dryly, "so this is about money?"
"SHUT UP!" Elena yelled, silencing Alfred. She immediately returned to normal, and continued, "Thank you. Now, as I was saying, we want a high potential income. We want a lot of dedicated fans, so that we can launder as much money through this band scheme as possible.
"My idea was a rags to riches one, as I have just stated. I wanted you chumps to be shit- that's why I gave you no time to rehearse and asked Ronnie to sing."
Ronnie was stupified, "Bruh."
"Now do you see?" Elena asked Alfred, "I had a plan, which could have worked. What I didn't account for was a certain pawn becoming a queen."
"What," Alfred asked, "me?"
"Yes, you." Elena grinned, patting her employee on the shoulder. Alfred brushed off her hand with a glare.
"Guess what?" Elena exclaimed, "There are about a hundred people out there begging you three to keep playing."
Ronnie perked up, "Then why don't we get back out there and-"
"Your first job- and I mean proper job- is tommorow." Elena interjected, starting to walk backwards. "Get your marbles together and recuperate. I'm expecting good shit from you!" And she left again, like some kind of gremlin. Then she poked her head around the door again for one final word, "So no drinking Ronnie!"

As Ronnie removed the strap from their guitar and placed the instrument back on its stand, they heard their name called, "Excuse me, Ronnie?"
Reluctantly, Ronnie turned to face Alfred, and forced a grin, "What is it Alfie?"
Alfred sighed, "don't call me that, I'm 27 years old."
"What really?" Ronnie exclaimed half jokingly. The telltale signs of stress were stretched thin along Alfred features, and he looked at least thirty.
"Shut up." Alfred replied, before shaking his head, "Look Ronnie. I know you want to sing."
Ronnie cocked their head, "But you said I can't-"
"I couldn't play bass an hour ago!" Alfred exclaimed. "And I'm completely tone deaf."
"So what?" Ronnie asked bitterly, "come to rub it in my face?"
"I'm not trying to be petty, Ronnie," Alfred replied, "I'm trying to be pragmatic."
"And what the fuck does that mean?" Ronnie spat.
Alfred shrugged, "It means I want to teach you to sing."
Ronnie stopped. They stared into the abyss, unable to process what they had just heard. "Gimme that again?"
"Give me preferably about an hour of your time, at regular intervals of course, and I'll teach you how to sing." Alfred waited for Ronnie's response
"But why?" Ronnie asked.
"Cause I'm no hotshot front-page leader-of-the-band interview icon all-the-album-covers sunuvagun Bon Jovi." Alfred explained, "I'm just a bassist."
Ronnie was silent for a second. Then, just as Alfred was turning to leave, they replied, "All Them Witches has a Frontman Vocalist who plays bass."
Alfred groaned, "So do you not want to learn how to sing?"
"Oh!" Ronnie exclaimed, "Yes, yes I do!"

Alfred waved goodbye to his two new teammates, closed his car door, and drove away from the music club. He kept driving, his shiny black Renault gleaming in the moonlight. Alfred started out the window as he sped down the highway; the roads were empty, and the air was silent save for the steady hum of the car. The sky was void of clouds, and the highway continued into a bridge over an expansive body of water. Alfred, paying little attention, rolled down his window and felt the cool air lick his face, like

Dawn amassing in the east her melancholy army,

Alfred thought, remembering fondly his favourite poem. As he shut his eyes tightly, still with a stubborn foot heavy upon the pedal, Alfred let images of bodies fill his mind, lying motionless and half decayed upon the floor, lumped in piles and crawling with rats the size of dogs. Tangled like broken dolls within Custer's of barbed wire, twitching and swaying like flags of her majesty death. A barrage of icy winds flew by, knocking over a few beaten and rusted helmets and slowly forming a layer of frost over the many corpses.

A wry, joyless smile curled upon Alfred's lips as he opened his eyes once more. He stopped his car somewhere empty. It was almost like a parking lot, but it was empty and abandoned, with thick, oppressive ivy grasping the chainlink fences around on a firm grasp. All along the concrete floor and high above upon the buildings, graffiti was filled by age and neglect, barely standing out from the brutal, monochrome buildings. The sky was empty and the air was thick and heavy as Alfred opened the door and stumbled out of his car.

It was a brief walk over to a nearly empty cafe; fast food, dirt cheap, just the way Alfred wanted it. Yellow bulbs shone upon brown walls and a blue-grey floor. Alfred ordered a burger and small fries, and once he received a receipt with an order number upon it, he waited a few metres from the till, leaning on an empty table. It was a silent few minutes of waiting, which Alfred found himself entirely able to appreciate. Once he had his food, he sat at a table, Alfred made himself comfortable and began to eat.

After a very brief moment, Alfred watched as a woman he did not recognise sat herself down opposite him at his table. She looked up as if ready to confront Alfred, but he was nonchalant. He continued to eat, not once locking eyes with his uninvited guest. The woman, undeterred, simply stated, "That concert was good."
Alfred continued to eat with his eyes on the table. He spoke with mouth full of food, "I'm intimidated. What do you want."
The woman smiled, "Good. I have a proposal."
"Okay," Alfred put his burger down and finished chewing his bite, making eye contact with his visitor. She was slender, and her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. She wore a black shirt and sat perfectly upright like a mannequin. Alfred finally gulped down his food, "I'm interested."
"I want the full names and any information you have on your two collegues." The woman stated. "In return, you will have your life."
"Oh boy, where do I start with you," Alfred smirked, resting his head in his hand, "Firstly, I know next to nothing about those two. One's a girl sometimes and likes to stab people and the other has no gender, funky hair and an obsession with guitar and beating people up. The girl is Danny, the not girl is Ronnie. I don't know last names."
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Alfred was not finished.
"But more importantly," He continued, "I'm not intimidated by you. Because I have no idea who you are or why you want this information. If you are worried about our operation fucking your shit over a hill, then you would just kill me. But since you are worried about us actually being able to kill you, you followed me until I was alone and tried to get me to talk by threatening me with my life. Buddy." Alfred shook his head, "That just fucking sad." He leaned forward, "Go ahead. Point a gun at me. I fucking dare you."
The woman simply nodded, "Alright. You would like to know more about me?"
Alfred returned to his burger. He spoke with a mouthful of food, "If it's alright by you."
"My name is Silvia." Silvia lowered her voice and leaned in, "I sell drugs. Understand?"
"So, you're rich."
"Yes. So tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you if you help me." Silvia explained.
Alfred leaned forward, "I want my life back. I want my six years of medical school back. I want my house, my licence, my respect, my job, my fucking life. So call me back when you build a time machine, okay?"
Silvia leaned back. She waited while Alfred finished his burger before moving on to his fries. "So, Mr Surgeon," Silvia asked, "what is it that you're trying to say?"
"Call me Alfred," Alfred said, "I want you to kill Danny."
"As good as done," Silvia responded.
"But Ronnie," Alfred continued, his eyes beginning to gloss over as he became trapped in his own head, "The one with the purple hair-" Alfred laughed dryly, "I want you to make him suffer. Paralyse him, pull out his teeth, twist his fingers into knots. Crush his thighs, gut him, cut away his skin so cleanly, so slowly that he can watch his muscles pulse, and let him think and scream as you tear his face from his skull."
Alfred's eyes came back into focus. Suddenly, he was staring at Silvia again. "Keep him alive. Leave him for the rats and leeches."

Alfred had his best night's sleep in months. That night.