Voice. Part 28

"The girl with the blue mohawk," Case said.

"Yeah."

"There are others, too. Five or six more, I think."

Erin shook her head. "Guess again."

"Huh?"

"I think there are about fifteen now."

All at once, that lurking paranoia intensified. They were on the third floor, but Case got up and closed the curtains. When she sat back down, Erin was drinking from a cup of water. "Fifteen?" Case asked.

"Yeah. Something like that. There are a lot of them, anyway."

"Kerry told me that was kind of normal."

"Do you believe that?"

Case s.h.i.+fted her shoulders. "I didn't give him all the details, exactly. I'm not sure it's normal. Not at all."

"That's not all, either." Erin lowered her voice to a whisper. "Johnny's starting to really give me the creeps."

"Me, too," Case admitted.

"Yeah?" Erin said without much surprise. "Did you hear that weird-I don't know-chant or whatever it was he slipped into one of the songs the other night?"

"Yeah. I didn't like the sound of it. Neither did Allen."

"You should have seen the crowd. Most of them got real nervous about then, but Johnny's special followers looked like they had a collective o.r.g.a.s.m." A dark, cryptic expression spread across Erin's face. "I almost left after that show. I should have."

A sudden insight bloomed in Case's mind. She leaned forward, studying her friend's face. "Erin, what happened tonight?"

Erin smiled sadly. "It's that obvious?"

"What happened?"

"You've never been in the audience, so maybe you don't feel it. Johnny-he's got a gift. The real deal. Sometimes when he sings, it's like he pulls you into this trance, and all you can see is the spotlight on him, and all you can hear is his voice. You catch yourself thinking strange thoughts, and sometimes you feel that everyone around you has changed, but you don't even care. There's Johnny, and there's the music cras.h.i.+ng down like waves. Sometimes it makes you feel bad, but mostly it's intoxicating-and you don't always remember the bad parts very well later."

"I get paranoid," Case admitted, fascinated. "I feel like there's something watching us-something besides the audience."

"I get that sometimes, too."

"What happened tonight?" Case asked, though she was no longer sure she wanted an answer.

"Johnny was singing, and the light got brighter around him-it was so bright that Johnny was all I could see from the back of the room. As the light got brighter around him, it got darker in the rest of the room. Scary dark. I was half in that trance, but I tried to move away.

"There wasn't far to move, though-I was already at the wall, back behind the table with the merch. I pushed against the wall, but I could still feel something watching me, something behind me, even though I knew that was impossible. You ever do too much c.o.ke? It was like that, only worse.

"Then something touched me.

"It brushed against me. It touched my face. It was cold. Cold and awful. It was like, I don't know-it was like it was pressing on me. Somehow I broke free of the trance enough to push back at it. I couldn't see anything, but I could feel it move away.

"A moment later, it was gone. But a guy standing in the back row turned around and looked at me. I remember the light glinting off the rings in his ear-so many rings it looked like he'd wound the wire from a spiral notebook into the outer part of his ear.

"He winked at me, Case. He turned around, looked directly at me, and winked. Then he went back to watching the show."

"Jesus," Case said.

"You know what the worst part was? The worst part was that part of me wanted that thing to touch me-wanted it so bad I almost reached out for it." Erin rolled the plastic cup between her hands. "I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself next time."

"Are you okay?" Case asked.

"Do you mean, am I nuts?"

"No. I believe you." She did, mostly. She wanted to chalk all this up to Erin freaking out from stress, but too much of it matched her own experience. Too much of it lined up with things she was already worrying about. "I mean, are you okay?"

"I don't know. I do know that I need to get away from this. Either I'm cracking up, or something bad is happening."

"I don't think you're cracking up," Case said softly.

"Either way, I'm getting out of here." Erin paused. "You might think about doing the same."

"I can't do that. It's not like they can just replace me."

"I don't know if that matters anymore."

Case shook her head. "It matters."

Erin raised a skeptical eyebrow to show what she thought of that. "Watch the crowd," Erin said. "Look for a thin man with a spiral notebook wound into his ear.

"I bet he'll be right up front at the next show."

Chapter 28.

She knows, Johnny thought. It was an effort just to think those words clearly. His head seemed so cluttered lately, crowded with thoughts that were not his own.

Knows what? the voice in his head said scornfully. Johnny winced. The voice didn't whisper anymore-it spoke so strongly that sometimes he caught himself looking around to see if anybody else had heard it. She wasn't cut out for life on the road? Few are. Relax, John. Go back to sleep.

That sounded like a good idea. Sleep. "Johnny" probably had the right idea-it usually did. Look what it's done for me so far, Johnny thought with genuine grat.i.tude.

That's right. We're going places together, you and me. Now go back to sleep. "Johnny" sounded irritated with him.

Well, we're all tired in here, Johnny thought, and he laughed. It sounded desperate and hysterical, even to him. In the other bed, Allen stirred.

Despite his leaden limbs and sluggish mind, Johnny forced himself to sit up. It was five-forty, which meant the newspapers would be out. He got out of bed and grabbed his backpack.

This is foolish, John, the voice said, like a stern parent. There's nothing to prove, and you're only making yourself upset.

Nonetheless, Johnny walked to the door. He reached for the handle, and for one dreamlike moment, his body stopped moving. His hand stopped in midmotion and wouldn't go forward, and his legs were stuck in place. Then the moment was gone, and he moved forward just as smoothly as if he'd never stopped.

Did that really happen? Am I losing my mind?

No, the voice said, though it didn't seem especially sincere. You're tired. You need rest.

He ignored it as best he was able and left the room.

Downstairs, the motel staff was starting to set breakfast out. Johnny had no interest in that. He found a copy of the Tribune and settled in to one of the chairs in the lobby.

He found what he was looking for in the local section. A young man had been brutally killed late last night-beaten to death, apparently, though the article hinted that an animal had been at him after he was killed. The article also gave an address where the body was found, and though Johnny didn't know anything about Chicago geography, he didn't guess he needed to. It would have happened near last night's venue.

It always did.

You're being stupid, the voice told him. This obsessive fantasy of yours isn't doing anyone any good.

He took his journal and a pair of scissors from his backpack. His vision blurred, but he shook his head and it cleared. A woman in a business suit walked by, giving him a wary look.

He flipped to the middle of the journal. Once, the journal had been a log of daily thoughts, events, fragments of lyrics, but lately it had become a grisly sort of sc.r.a.pbook. At the top of each of the last thirteen pages was a city and a date. Below most of the dates, Johnny had taped an article from the local newspaper.

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.

Richmond. June 20, 2010. Man Mauled to Death Downtown. Police suspect feral dogs.

It went on for thirteen pages, one page for each stop they'd made on the tour so far. Charlotte. Baltimore. There was no article on the page for New York-Johnny had combed the papers and found nothing. Perhaps nothing had happened that night, or perhaps New York suffered an embarra.s.sment of riches in the violence department, rendering the nightly crop of bodies found in Dumpsters and alleys less than newsworthy. Boston. Columbus. Indianapolis. Detroit. No article for Cleveland, for whatever reason. Philadelphia. Milwaukee.

He cut the article for Chicago out with trembling hands.

Put it away, John, "Johnny" told him, disgusted.

What are we doing, Johnny? he asked it. What are we doing?

We're not doing anything. These are big cities, Johnny, and the human race is teeming with barely suppressed violence. That the cup should run over sometimes is hardly a surprise. It runs over nightly, everywhere. You're looking for patterns in chaos, John. Save your energy for something worthwhile.

Numbness filled Johnny, but while he felt no pain, no guilt, there was a slight pressure reminding him that he should feel something.

Erin knows, he thought. Maybe not anything specific, but she knows something has gone wrong here.

Nothing has gone wrong here, "Johnny" told him. Put this foolishness away and go to sleep.

Through the fog in his thoughts, Johnny made a decision. The thing in his head wouldn't like it-but f.u.c.k him. This was going to end tonight.

John, what are you thinking? I can't hear you, John. The voice sounded faintly alarmed, Johnny noted with satisfaction.

He taped the article in under Chicago.

Erin said her goodbyes at breakfast, and there were no tears this time. She gave Johnny a searching look before giving him a hug. He didn't miss her hesitation, or the way she wiped her hands on her jeans afterward, but he tried to smile even as the voice in his head cursed and called her foul names.

They dropped her off at the bus station, and then it was on to St. Louis.

What are you thinking? the voice asked him. He stared out the window at the cornfields and tried to tune it out. Don't hide from me, John. We're in this together, you and me. All the way to the end.

Johnny didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't answer. That thing wasn't going to get anything from him. Not again.

It called to him as they pa.s.sed the St. Louis arch. Talk to me, John. Again as they got off the interstate. John, it's awful quiet in here. Let's talk. Again as they got to the venue. Please, John? Don't shut me out. We have so much left to do. It was whining now, and Johnny took a grim joy in that. Maybe it couldn't read his thoughts exactly, but it picked up on his emotions. Why would you want to hurt me, John? We're good together. We've done so much. Together.

"You okay?" Danny asked him as they got out of the van.

"I'm good," Johnny said, though he could feel the strain in his face, his neck, and his back. The constant wheedling and the endless stream of entreaties were wearing him down, and "Johnny" kept getting louder and louder.

Sound check was awful. Singing was a tremendous amount of work with all that racket in his head. The band started running through "Burn" and the voice started up again, more insistent than ever.

Please, John? Don't leave me alone in here.

"G.o.ddammit, will you shut up?" Johnny snapped into the mic, right in the middle of the song. Everybody stopped playing, and he could feel the others looking at him.

"Pardon?" the sound guy said through the monitors.

"Sorry. Sorry. Can we take it from the beginning?"

He made it through with nothing more than raw, b.l.o.o.d.y-minded effort, but wasn't pretty.

"You okay?" Danny asked him again after they wrapped up sound check. "You don't sound too good."

"I know how I sound, okay?" Johnny said. "I'll get it together."

"I didn't mean that," Danny said, though it was obvious that that was exactly what he'd meant. "I mean, you seem like you might be getting sick or something."

He's right, the thing said. You don't sound too good. It will be all right, though. I can help. Let me help you.

Johnny gritted his teeth and ignored it.

He had to clench his fists to keep from shaking by the time they took the stage.

"You okay?" Danny asked him for the third time. Johnny was ready to hit him. "We can call this off if you're too sick to go on."

"f.u.c.k that," Johnny said, a trace of fire in his voice. "We came here to make some noise, so let's rock this motherf.u.c.ker." That sounded good-he wished he felt it.