Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (11 page)

REVOLVER CONCERT

Spencer Carvalho

A
long line of people wait outside, hoping not to die tonight. 

Lucy Cooper huddles close to her fiancé, James. She inhales cold air and exhales steam. Further up the line, above the concert hall entrance, she can see the marquee lights showing the words DAVID WILDE and below that in smaller letters REVOLVER CONCERT TONIGHT ONLY.

A reporter and cameraman are interviewing people. A man in a black security jacket, wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, is going down the line talking to people. Lucy is unable to hear him yet.

James says, “Don’t worry. We’ll be in soon.”

The man in the black security jacket finishes talking, moves to where Lucy can hear him, and starts again. “All right, the show’s going to be starting soon, so I’m going to explain a few things and then get you guys inside as soon as possible.”

The crowd cheers.

“For most of you, this is probably your first Revolver Concert. What you’re gonna do is once they let you inside is, you’re gonna proceed to the security checkpoint. There, they’re gonna check your ID to make sure you’re at least eighteen. Then you’re gonna sign the life waiver and then they’ll let you into the main hall. Any questions?”

No one says anything.

“All right. Good.” He moves forty feet further down the line and starts talking to them, same spiel.

Lucy looks to James. “Life waiver?”

“Yeah, it’s just some legal thing so no one goes to jail.”

“I’m still not sure what’s going on here.”

The guy and girl in line in front of them turn around. The guy has his arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulder.

The girl smiles at Lucy and says, “I’ve been to a Revolver Concert before. You wanna hear about it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, my name’s Joan. My boyfriend’s Ted.”

“Hey,” says Ted.

“Hi,” says Lucy.

“Before the show starts,” Joan continues, “this guy in a black suit comes out carrying an old wooden table about two feet wide and places it by the microphone stand. Then he opens the drawer of the table and removes the revolver.” She smiles wider upon saying the word
revolver
. “He places the revolver on the table, closes the drawer, and walks away. Then later, David Wilde comes out. At random points during the show, he fires the gun into the audience.”

“So at every show six people die?” asks Lucy.

“It’s not always six,” Ted says. “Sometimes a bullet goes through someone and he gets more than six. Or sometimes people only get wounded.” He laughs. “And this one time, Justin Carter, the leader of the boy band
Back Degrees,
went to a show and David Wilde comes out, sees him and just shoots the guy six times. It was great.”

Lucy looks to James again and asks, “So, we could die tonight?”

He grins and says, “Babe, it’s like a six in ten thousand chance.”

Joan chimes in, “Hey, I look at it like fate. If it happens then it’s meant to be.”

Lucy ignores her comments. “Six in ten thousand, but there’s still a chance we could die?”

James shrugs. “Sometimes you have to take chances in life.”

Lucy looks down and is still pondering this idea in silence when the line begins moving forward.

“Finally,” James says. He cranes his neck up as they pass under the lighted marquee.

The line moves quickly as people start filling the concert hall. As soon as Lucy enters the two large double doors to the building, the heat hits her. They continue to the security checkpoint. She hands a guard her ID, which he swipes through a machine. A green light flashes and she is allowed to pass to the next station. James goes through a metal detector and she follows. Then they approach a desk. Joan and Ted sign the forms and then pass through.

Lucy and James both approach the desk. He quickly signs his form while she starts reading hers.

“Um, excuse me?” she asks one of the guards.

“Yeah?” the guard says.

“What does this mean when it says the participant forfeits his or her life for the duration of the concert?”

“It’s just legal stuff.”

“Yeah, but what does it mean?”

James, impatient, says, “Just sign it, okay.”

She looks at him for a few seconds and then picks up a pen, and signs her name. The blood-red ink disturbs her. She puts down the pen and James grabs her hand as they move past the security barrier.

Around them are various concession stands and merchandise booths. She sees Joan and Ted looking at shirts and posters. Behind her she hears someone talking really loudly, and turns to see that the cameraman and reporter from outside are now inside interviewing people. James also turns around to watch them.

A young, smiling girl wearing a David Wilde shirt says to the camera, “He’s just so handsome! He’s really great!”

“Yes, but what about the fact that he kills people at all his shows?” asks the reporter.

“Well, it’s kind of like a spiritual experience because there’s all this like life all around you and when someone in the audience dies it’s like, like their life leaves their body and like spreads out into the other people in the crowd. It’s really amazing!”

“What do you say to the people that say that David Wilde is only doing this because he can? That he’s using his celebrity status to legally kill people?”

“Well, they don’t understand him the way I do. He wouldn’t do that.”

A guy wearing another David Wilde shirt walking by stops and yells at the camera, “David Wilde rules!”

The reporter quickly moves from the girl to the new guy. “Excuse me, but why are you a fan?”

“Because he rocks!”

“Are you worried about getting shot tonight?”

“No way. My friend, who’s like really good at math told me that, like, David Wilde usually shoots people towards the front, so like, if you’re in the back then you’re fine and there’s a less than one percent chance of being shot and I’m in the very last row.”

Lucy tugs on James’s arm and says, nervously, “We have seats up front.”

“Of course. I’m not going to a David Wilde show to sit in the back. Besides, the seats up front are cheaper.”

“James, I’m not so sure about this.”

“Babe, we’ve been through this already. If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together we need to share our interests. You’ll see. You’ll love the concert.” He goes back to watching all the different people moving around the crowd.

Lucy looks at the reporter, who is talking to another person now.

“What is your name and what is your favorite David Wilde song?”

“My name is Gene, and I love the song
Try It
.”

“And why is that?”

“Uh, well, ‘cause I’ve got my own band called
Violent Thunder
and I’m the guitarist so I like
Try
It
because it’s the ultimate guitar song.”

The reporter faces the camera and says, “For those viewers at home who don’t know,
Try It
is an entirely instrumental song. It’s supposed to be the hardest electric guitar song in the world. In fact, David Wilde has said that the first person to be able to play it properly will get a million dollars.” The reporter glances from the camera to Gene. “And how are you at the song?”

“Well, I can play it but it takes me too long. The song is three minutes, so, to get the money you have to play the song in three minutes or less. I’m down to twenty-seven minutes. But I’m getting there.”

The reporter turns to the camera again. “A testament to how fast David Wilde truly is.”

An announcement blares over the loud speakers: “You may enter into the main hall now. The show will be beginning shortly.”

“I’ll take that as my cue,” says the reporter. “From KIS news, this is Bonnie Benatar reporting, live, at the David Wilde Revolver Concert.”

“And we are out,” says the cameraman.

Lucy gives James a worried look.

“Come on!” he says as he pulls her with him into the main hall.

They get to their seats, which are very close to the stage. She feels her pulse pick up frantically as all the other seats get filled.

A man in a black suit appears on stage carrying an old wooden table. Upon sight of him, the crowd begins cheering. The man is wearing white gloves that match his white hair. He places the table by the microphone stand. He opens the drawer and removes an object, which he places on the table. The crowd cheers again. Lucy is unable to see it but knows that it is the revolver. He then closes the drawer and walks off stage.

The stage lights dim and out comes David Wilde. The audience screams with joy. His long hair partially obscures his face. He has an electric guitar with a strap around his neck and holds an acoustic guitar in his right hand. He leans the acoustic guitar against the old wooden table and adjusts the strap of his electric guitar. The crowd continues their cheering.

David Wilde carefully looks out at them. His gaze scans over the different people ready for his music. His eyes lock briefly with Lucy’s, and he smiles.

He then leans toward the microphone and says, “Let’s start this show with a bang!”

Picking up the revolver, he fires once out into the crowd. If anyone screams with pain or horror, it’s drowned out by the cheers.

“Now who’s ready for some music?” The crowd cheers even louder.

David Wilde gives the greatest musical performance Lucy Cooper has ever seen.

The sad songs make people openly weep. The uplifting songs make Lucy feel as if she’s riding a roller coaster. He switches from electric to acoustic guitar depending on the song. One, called
Different Ways,
is first played electrically and then acoustically. Lucy loves it each time and has trouble deciding which one is better.

Despite her enjoyment, she is distracted by trying to keep track of the number of times David Wilde shoots out into the audience during the show. When he plays
Try It
she sees his hands move faster than she thought was possible. The song finishes and she cheers as excitedly as anyone.

He looks across the audience again. His eyes linger on Lucy as he says, “One more song.”

The crowd collectively says, “Awww.”

Wilde plays the song
Farewell
. When he finishes, they give him a roaring standing ovation. Lucy stands and roars with the crowd. He removes his guitar and places it by the old wooden table.

“That was amazing!” says James, clapping like crazy.

As the applause continues David Wilde locks eyes with Lucy. He maintains the gaze until the applause dies down. She is mesmerized by him. The applause eventually stops completely, with David Wilde still standing by the old wooden table.

The crowd just stares at him, as if expecting something more to happen. Encore? But he just stands there quietly staring at Lucy.

Lucy hears a guy behind her say, “Weird. I only counted five shots.”

David Wilde picks up the revolver, points it in her direction, and fires.

James’s entire chest seems to explode as the bullet hits him. The crowd starts cheering again. Now the show is truly over.

Lucy hovers over James’s bleeding body. The concert hall starts emptying. She yells for help as the people leave. Most of them ignore her. Some take pictures with their cell phones. No one helps her. The concert hall empties except for Lucy and James.

“James, I’ll go get someone, okay? Okay? James!”

His eyes are lifeless. A strange smile is permanently left on his face.

From behind her, a soft voice says, “Miss?”

She turns around and sees the man in the black suit with white gloves.

He calmly hands her a red rose.

“David Wilde was wondering if you would like to accompany him for dinner tonight.”

THICK

Melanie-Jo Lee

During the three hour drive to Fossil Lake, Lana and Marcella did nothing but argue. At points heartfelt and loving, at others hurtful and bitter, both women refused to back down.

“I want to be married in my parents’ back yard, Marce. You know this, you’ve always known this!” From their first date, Lana had been describing her dream wedding. It should not have been a surprise.

“I’d rather it just be us and James and Daniel at the JP’s office, but when it comes down to it, that isn’t the problem, Lana, and you know it.”  Marcella’s hands gripped the wheel so tightly, the blood all but drained from her fingertips.

Lana did, but she tried anyway. “Your father seems to like me –”

“Like to watch you and Alexa go at it, probably in green Jell-O.”

“She’s your brother’s wife!”

“She’s that two-bit hooker my brother married, and ever since their wedding, my pig of a father’s been undressing her with his mind.”

Lana gagged. Sure, Alexa had worn a dress so short guests could see her underwear as she walked up the aisle, and so tight her generous chest all but spilled out. Hell, in one of the pictures, Marcella and Lana actually had spied nipple.

But would Marce’s dad actually be thinking…?

She had to admit, shuddering and swearing never to eat green Jell-O again, he probably was.

“I don’t want my family involved,” Marcella said. “They’re vicious, manipulative and toxic. My mother calls
you
all sorts of horrible things, but she’s fine with Grant and Alexa. Why? Because they’re straight, that’s why.”

Lana remained silent.

“I know what you want, Lala,” Marcella continued, using her pet name. “It’s not that I don’t, or that I don’t care. We can have at it in your parent’s back yard, with the barbeque and all your family if you want. I just do not want my family involved. They won’t accept us, they won’t accept you, and they certainly won’t accept any marriage of mine unless it’s done in front of Father Anthony at St. Michael’s … and to a
man
.”

*     *     *

In silence, they unpacked the car, shouldered their backpacks, grabbed a cooler each, and headed down the trail to their campsite.

Marcella’s mind and emotions were in overdrive. She knew how Lana felt; Lana knew how
she
felt. She’d told Lana all about her parents, about how Father Anthony condemned her to hell when, at fifteen, she’d announced her interest in witchcraft … and again at eighteen when she stepped out of the closet in jeans, hiking boots and a flannel jacket.

Quite the butch you were, Marcella. And now you’re quite the bitch.
She sighed.

As they set up the tent, she attempted to start a conversation, but the fire-laced glare she was rewarded with shut her down. Deciding to let Lana stew in her own juices a while, she made some cursory excuse and headed down to the lake with her fishing gear.

The canoe was exactly where the ranger had said it would be. The water was calm, and the setting sun lingered just above the ridge. Good time to fish in peace, catch some dinner. Even the loon calling across the lake didn’t break her concentration as she rowed to the center of the lake, fixed a lure to the line, and cast out.

*     *     *

Lana unrolled the sleeping bags and zipped them together. When she’d spread them on the floor of the tent, she paused, rocking back on her heels. Changing her mind, she unzipped the bags, and closed them up separately.

Even if we zip ‘em back together later, for now this’ll show her I mean business.

Knowing full well she was being childish, Lana finished prepping the tent. She grabbed the small cooler, and climbed the tree-ladder to the shelf built across a heavy branch. Similar shelves dotted the campground; safe places to put coolers or other valuables that campers didn’t want wildlife scrounging through.

A glance at the lake showed her Marcella out there, sitting in the canoe. A twinge of guilt tightened her chest, but only briefly. She was right, and Marcella had to know that.

After a handful of tries, she got the fire going, thankful that the ranger had provided them with several nights worth of dry firewood. Lana hated chopping wood; that was more Marcella’s thing. Just like fishing, camping, hunting …

… and the lack of real wedding plans …

Twigs snapped. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and not just because the French-braid exposed them to the air.
Something
was behind her. She rose, spinning around to see … nothing. All she heard was insect chitter, the sound of the fire crackling, and an occasional bird call.

Chiding herself, she turned back to the fire. Soon she had two foil-wrapped potatoes slow-baking in the coals, perfect to have with whatever fish Marce brought from the lake.

She had been out there an awfully long time, though, and Lana felt a bit of worry crawl up from under her anger.

What’s taking her so long? I’m starving…

SNAP.

She spun around again, this time catching a glimpse of a dark figure ducking behind a tree.

“Hello? Who’s there, who are you?” At her feet was a stout length of firewood. She leaned over to pick it up, losing sight of the tree for a moment. When she straightened, she gasped, startled.

A man stood there, a man with long, stringy black hair and a dirty goatee. His eyes glittered with something that made Lana’s skin crawl. His smile looked deranged. When he spoke, his voice was whiny and high-pitched, the words coming so fast they tumbled over each other.

“Hi. I’m Nick. I’m sleeping a couple campsites over. What are you doing?” He stepped forward, holding out his hand like he wanted to shake.

She took it, not able to control a shudder when his stubby fingers wrapped around hers. Rage flittered in his eyes, though he maintained his smile.

“Lana. I’m camping here with my fiancé.” She eased back, trying to distance herself from his smell.
Has he ever showered? He smells like the guys’ locker-room at work.

“Oh. Where is he? Where’s your food, you gonna just eat fish out here? There’s nothing in that lake ya know, except monsters. You got anything to drink? I could kill a beer.” The giggle that snorted from his nose was as bad as his voice.

“We didn’t bring any alcohol. Marcella’s out in the canoe, I’m sure she’ll be back soon. You should probably go.” Lana gripped the branch, pretending to lean on it like a walking stick.

“Wait, what did you say? Did you say
she
? What the fuck, you a fucking dykecunt?”

Lana backed up, stumbling over an exposed root. “Y-yes. No. No. I’m a lesbian.”

“You
are
a fucking dykecuntqueer bitch! Well, I’ll fucking be.” He took another step toward her. When she raised the piece of wood as a threat, it only brought another gurgling giggle from the grimy man in front of her.

“You get away from here!” she cried. “
Now!
I’ve got a Sat-phone, I’ll call the ranger and have you ejected from the park!”

“I was just being friendly, you bitch cuntlicker. Freak of nature, sinning whore. How dare you come here and ruin my place with your filthy sin? God’s gonna smite you, bitch, if I don’t first!” With that, he turned and fled back into the brush where he’d come from.

Lana stood, open-mouthed, until she heard the canoe scrape on rocks. Moments later, she caught sight of Marcella coming up the path.

“What the hell, Lana? What happened?”

Relating the incident brought on the shudders again. It took ten minutes for her to calm down, her arms wrapped around Marce’s waist, finally feeling safe. 

“He’s gone now, love,” Marcella said. “He’s gone. I’m here. If he comes back, I’ll lay it to him. He won’t bug you again, okay?”

She nodded, turning her face up for a kiss. Moments later, Marcella was filleting a nice pike she’d pulled from the lake, and Lana was checking the potatoes. By the time they’d cleaned up, stoked the fire for the night, and gone to bed, the incident was well out of their minds.

Especially
after
they’d zipped the sleeping bags together again.

*     *     *

Outside of the campsite circle, hidden in a particularly thick patch of underbrush, Nick crouched, watching, as the silhouettes of the two women in the tent moved against each other.

His right hand went into his pants, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing .. until his breath caught in his throat and he grunted.

He’d made a mess in his pants.
Goddamn cuntlicking dykewhores will pay for that!

He slunk away while their cries of pleasure echoed across the water.

*     *     *

Marcella was gone when Lana woke up, having left a note on the tent flap to tell her she’d headed out fishing again, hoping to get a walleye for breakfast. That made Lana laugh out loud.

A walleye? What kind of name is that for a fish?

Deciding a fresh start was in order for the day, she pulled her hair into a ponytail, grabbed the nature-friendly soap and her towel, and walked down to the private beach in her swimsuit. She fought the urge to squeal until she was shoulder deep in water so cold it made her teeth chatter, and pulled the straps of her suit to her waist for a quick wash.

It shouldn’t be so hard to plan the wedding
, she thought as she scrubbed.
I just really want her family there.

But Lana knew she’d give in eventually. She always did.

The cold had either numbed her body or she’d become used to it, so she ducked under to rinse herself off, then swam out a little way.

When she surfaced and brushed the water from her eyes,
he
was there.

The grimy man from the night before stood on the edge of the water, staring out at her. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was grinning far more widely than a human should be able to. And he had his hand down his pants.

Her heart skipped a beat. Paddling in a frantic circle, she looked across the lake, but didn’t see the canoe. She panicked. “
MARCELLA!?
”

As she splashed back around to face the shore, Lana saw he was gone. She stayed out in the water what had to be another twenty minutes anyway, until she was shivering so violently she didn’t think she could swim, let alone walk. Finally, she made her way to shore. Wrapping her towel around her waist, she ran up the path to the tent.

She stripped out of the wet swimsuit, threw on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and slid into the sleeping bag to wait safe inside until Marcella returned.

“Babe …” said Marcella, finding her there a short time later.

Lana tried to talk, but fell apart. Marcella crawled into the sleeping bag with her and held her while she waited for Lana to calm the emotional storm and tell her what had happened. 

Marcella held her a few minutes more, then rose to leave the tent. “You need something warm inside to help with the cold. I’ll leave the flaps open and be right outside at the fire, okay?”

Lana nodded, curling on her side to watch as Marcella prepared breakfast. Soon, she was presented with a bowl of hot oatmeal and a mug of steaming coffee, which she took gratefully.

“Maybe we should call the ranger?” Lana asked, after she’d warmed through and calmed down. “I know it was stupid, going down there on my own, but I … I guess I just forgot. We’ve never had a problem here before.”

“Honey, we’re supposed to be alone out on this side of the lake. The ranger said there was no one else out here. I’m going to call him, yes, if only to bitch him out about that. But, I don’t think this guy is here legally. I think he’s one of those what do you call ‘ems… squatters. Crazy homeless shits that live in the forest until reality finally catches them and throws them in the looneybin.”

Lana nodded, sipping the coffee held tight between her hands. “I just want him to go away. This was supposed to be our vacation, our stress-free getaway. A no crazies time.” She smiled weakly. “Hot sex in the woods time.”

Marcella winked. “I think we had that covered last night, but I might need a refresher …”

Tempting as it was, Lana shook her head, her smile stronger now. “Later, lover. I want to go on that hike today, get some more photos, remember? I need twenty more for my last assignment, and then I’m done!”

Next year at this time, she would have her own show at the gallery in the city. Inspired by that, Lana stood, stooped, and ducked out of the tent. Her stomach fluttered when she thought she saw a familiar dark shape in the woods, but she realized it was just a shadow.

Play of light. Just like my show will be.

She was determined to push all thoughts of Icky-Nicky out of her mind. She would not allow some stranger, some creepy twit, to ruin her weekend with Marcella.