Chapter one
Fernet About It
Dried blood caked her fingertips. Unwashed deep brown hair splayed over puffy red eyes until finally spilling down a threadbare, ichor encrusted pillowcase. Occasionally she'd inhale deeply. Her left nostril had been clogged for the better part of six hours, the incessant whistling annoyed her close quarters travel companions with every labored breath. No one thought to wake her, to put a stop to the offending sound. They were all overtired from weeks of terrible sleep and hungover from last night's cheap bottle of tequila in San Francisco, roughly ten hours south of the rusted, old van's current location. Instead, they listened to the low frequency hum of an equally tired engine and the rattling of glass on metal as they traversed the autumnal mountains of Northern Oregon.
Mike, the loyal roadie and drummer for Seattle's homegrown, Paper Dolls, was leading the caravan along with the help of two Five Hour Energy shots and a steel bladder. For the two month duration of this tour the driver's seat had been his throne, well, besides his drum throne. Two long months of interrupted REM cycles, cheap food, and no sex had him itching to get to their next and final show of the tour. Daydreams of slipping into his clean jersey cotton sheets had already halted two bathroom breaks for the crew.
The last tour had been an unbearable four months driving from the west coast, to the east coast, and finally back again with absolutely zero cash to spend or stash away to pay rent. He'd sworn he was done. His fiancee, Jessica, had made him do a silly pinky swear to resign from Paper Dolls within twenty minutes of settling into their one bedroom Los Angeles apartment. She retracted her pinky swear when the label countered his original monthly stipend with an incredibly convincing number, one that allowed her a small per diem. With his first check she'd gone out and bought a designer handbag. Mike dyed his naturally bleach blond hair a bright blue and quit his shitty bartending job.
Eric, founding member and rhythm guitarist extraordinaire, sat fiddling with his phone in the passenger seat, every so often running a hand through his ink colored hair. Long dead and without a power source in sight, he was in for an excruciatingly phone-less four hour drive. Every couple of minutes he'd sigh or tout something political or nihilistic. Mike tuned it out for the most part. "Bells, are you dead? It's three in the fuckin afternoon."
The brunette woman stirred in the back of the van, slamming a paper concert bracelet filled wrist against her ancient bass cabinet. Mike and Eric were unfazed by the minor display of aggression, chuckling softly to themselves about their sleepy comrade.
Bella Swan was the true lifeblood of Paper Dolls. She was a regular player in the DIY LA music scene, hosted hundreds of house shows, booked some of the best bills her generation didn't know they wanted, and had a 'dude' for any kind of illegal substance money could buy. All before the tender age of twenty four. She was a blooming starlet in a sea of cigarettes and cocaine, a genuine Pacific Northwest diamond in the Hollywood rough. Their culty, Berkeley-based macro label, Riot Records, originally found Bella touring with LA punk band, The Topo Chicas. Riot offered a three album deal that night, but Bella declined due to her allegiance to the three piece project of her heart: Paper Dolls.
"I told you to wake me up at noon, dude," she grumbled from the back, resting her chin on the bench seat separating the bandmates. She swung her arms over the top as well.
"We tried, but you've got a mean right hook," he chuckled, miming a dramatic punch to the face.
Bella glanced down at her bloodied right hand. There were no visible cuts or scrapes that would've caused such heavy hemorrhaging. She investigated further, even going as far as to make sure she hadn't started her period in the night. "This better be ketchup, guys." She touched the tip of her tongue to her knuckle, the tangy & metallic taste that followed caused her further panic.
"You should probably lay off the blow, idiot. That's the third gusher this week, I don't even know how many this month" Mike chastised, inhaling deeply despite his own post nasal drip and sore throat. Bella pressed the pads of her fingers to her nose only to find more dried blood. "At least wait until the third album to get all hardcore and addicted on us."
The van shook with laughter, but Mike and Eric shared a poignant glance, confirming unspoken fears for their beloved bass player and front-woman. Bella's LA boyfriend, Jacob Black, had ended their year long fling upon hearing news of the latest band excursion. West Coast All American, good time gal had slowly morphed into an anxious shell of a woman after that fateful date.
When it came to discussing action regarding the post-breakup madness, Mike and Eric felt compelled to postpone any drastic measures for fear of ruining their enjoyment of the tour. They kept it a lighthearted most days; crossing their fingers while railing lines, sarcastically mentioning funeral arrangements and last wishes as a sort of macabre toast before shots. The three friends frequently joked about how perfect Jake's timing had been, having finished the record three days prior. Bella had failed to write any new material since and she acknowledged and found humor in this fact daily.
The nasty split and Bella's subsequent drug use prompted the band to hastily end all leases, pack up the van, complete Riot Record's two month tour contract, and finally return home to Seattle. For good. That was as big as their plan had grown. Rehab centers were not being researched, therapists seemed pricey and unlikely when two-thirds of the crew lacked health insurance. The boys knew that with their return to normal life in Seattle, their drug use would subside. It would become a thing of the past, it had become a way to pass time on the road. Not to mention their girlfriends were adamantly opposed to anything that wasn't grappa. Bella had no one truly meaningful outside her bandmates. Renee & Charlie Swan has long disowned their daughter for her bohemian attitude. Jacob was clearly out of the picture, although he had always been more of an enabler than a caretaker. Eric and Mike preferred to remain positive, however. Hopeful that some cool Seattle air, a change of scenery, and a close proximity to her small hometown would straighten Bella out. Naive to the fact that such circumstances hardly ever sorted themselves.
Bella's spiral into depression mode had been gradual. She knew her relationship with Jake was fucked from the start, but she'd always felt that was true in a charming, forbidden love kind of way. The self obsessed loser timed their breakup to coincide with her departure. One week before the start of the biggest, riskiest career move she'd made since dropping out of University of Washington with a solid 4.0. The resulting mental anguish outweighed any level of grief she'd experienced before.
"Are those pretzels still in the glove compartment?" Bella croaked, gently clearing her throat a few times.
"No, we smoked this morning and ate them. Sorry dude, but you were out cold. We can stop at the next gas station and grab shit," Eric replied, tapping the windows as they passed an exit hospitality sign. He glared at his black phone screen. "I haven't spoken to Angie in three days, Bella. Have you heard anything from her?"
Bella smiled thinking of her former college roommate, Angela Weber. "Nope." She sat up and looked Eric directly in the eye. "I flushed my phone down the toilet in Albuquerque last week," the grin that followed was genuine, maybe a little proud. She couldn't remember the exact moment that her rage sparked, all she knew was that Jake had tried to call her at some point in the night and the nearest trash receptacle was to the right of the toilet. Her aim had always been poor, she mused.
"That's fuckin brilliant, Bells," Mike chuckled, sarcastically. His smiling blue eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. "Want to text her from my phone?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind." Eric didn't wait for a response before snatching Mike's smartphone from the center cup holders.
A peaceful silence had fallen over the van forty-five minutes out from Seattle. The valiant heroes returning home from war, the team's first home game in almost a year. There was so much energy buzzing throughout the van, Bella didn't dare say a word and interrupt it. They hit mild traffic entering the densely populated University District, but that was to be expected at 7pm on a Friday night.
"What's the place look like?" Eric asked. The electricity was gone, Bella snapped back to reality and suddenly felt claustrophobic being minutes from her old neighborhood.
"I don't know. Jasper sent me a blurry picture last week. Looked like shit, but I can't blame the fucker for being proud," Mike said, briefly peeling his eyes from the row of dark buildings to their left.
"It's supposed to look like shit, shithead," Eric quipped.
Jasper Whitlock was Mike's best friend from high school back in Austin, Texas. They moved to Seattle upon graduation to attend University of Washington's music school, but promptly dropped out to pursue more practical, kinesthetic forms of their chosen path. The House of Dirt became their brainchild. An all inclusive, punk as fuck you, cash only DIY venue that recently relocated to acquire a legitimate business and liquor license. Paper Dolls had been fortunate enough to play the first incarnation of HoD, though Bella heard insane stories about the new space from other touring bands. Apparently it was always packed and only slightly more law abiding since the change over.
Mike gave up on locating the bar after circling the same block three times. He instead settled for a well lit parking space five minutes away from the camouflaged venue. At least, that's what Google Maps estimated. He expertly parallel parked the van and made a grand gesture of hitting the unlock switch. Bella threw the back door open and immediately jumped out to stretch her legs.
The minute her well worn Dr Martins hit the damp pavement, she felt slightly more at ease. She closed her eyes and inhaled as deeply as her clogged sinuses would allow. "Smells like-"
"- you need to shower," Mike snorted, lifting a lock of her shoulder length hair to his nose. She playfully swatted him away and lifted her arm to expose an un-showered armpit. Mike eluded her gesture by bouncing around to the back of the van to immediately begin load in procedure. Eric and Bella followed suit. They had their routine down to a mere fifteen minutes.
Bella hauled her cab out of the van and began the trek to the House of Dirt. To the band's surprise, Jasper familiar face and messy blonde hair met them at the corner behind the bar.
"Hey, could I have y'all bring that shit through the back? It should be open." he said, slapping Eric on the back and pointing towards a poorly lit alley one lot in from the corner. "I can lend a hand, doors aren't till nine."
Once inside and completely loaded in, Paper Doll's equipment placed carefully in the back behind the other band's gear, Jasper slid a few PBRs and shots of well whisky to his friends. He raised his two ounce glass in a toast, "To your first show at House of Dirt: version 2.0." The band tossed their shots back without hesitation, although Bella instantly regretted the decision, as she hadn't eaten a square meal that day. She excused herself to the restroom to expunge the well liquor. "What? Can't hold your liquor, Bells?" Jasper shouted from behind the bar.
The sound of their laughter faded when she slammed the ladies room door and began retching into the dirty commode . Her eyes watered and he nose burned for nearly five minutes. "Fuckin Whitlock," she sighed, wiping her mouth across the back of her hand. She leaned back against the poster covered walls, tattooed legs stretched out in front of her. She'd felt like death for weeks, but refused to visit a doctor or even confide in her bandmates. Each night she'd hide her deficits with amphetamines or alcohol. It was always a shame when the locale they booked couldn't provide her self prescribed medication. Tonight; however, that particular worry was not on the list.
Bella reached into her pocket and pulled out a torn plastic bag twisted around fifty dollars worth of cocaine. She always kept a personal stash hidden from the boys. It wasn't a lot, but it was meant to never be shared.
She carefully unwound the bag and dipped a long, silver key into the powder. Three small bumps later, Bella emerged from the bathroom in high spirits.
"You alright, lady?" Jasper questioned. The mood amongst the boys was somber. Had she interrupted a serious discussion? No, the boys didn't do serious on the fly.
She approached them, slightly worried her perception was off. That paranoia had already settled in at eight on a Friday. That was more of a 4am, after hours sort of feeling. Instead of giving into her insecurities, Bella swallowed them, straddled the barstool, and slammed her palm down on the bar. "Four shots of Fernet, asshole."
"Branca or Menthe?" Jasper retorted, followed by a hearty chuckle.
The opener was scheduled to go on at ten, so naturally the locally popular four piece, Reno, stumbled onto the stage at quarter past eleven. The room hadn't totally filled out yet, though most patrons waited for the headliner to vacate the bar. Bella and the boys were in the dark green room, lazing on dingy couches away from the crowd. They feigned interest in the garage group for about fifteen minutes before the set started to resemble four young white dudes beating a dead horse with a stick. The crowd seemed to maintain their enthusiasm.
Jasper carefully divided up eight lines of cocaine, taking one for himself and passing the small mirror to Eric. "Nose beer?"
"Ten minutes," came a small voice from the doorway. Eric looked up from the task at hand to see the sound girl, Tanya peeking her strawberry blonde head in. "Just thought I'd let you guys know." She was gone as quickly as she came.
"Be careful with that one," Jasper warned, taking a swig of his beer. "Precocious and unashamed. Not that she needs to be, just be sure she know you guys are not interested. I've caught her in here with more band boys than I care to admit."
"How old is she?" Bella asked, tightening Eric's rolled up one dollar bill.
"Nineteen," Jasper said. "She has her class 13 servers permit and is studying sound at the university." He sipped his beer again. "And she works for cheap, what can I say?" the group chuckled and finished passing around the mirror just as a thunderous applause began in the venue.
The Reno boys bounded into the green room with big smiles on their faces. "Did you see that crowd? Did anyone see that girl with the black hair off to the side? Babe city." the drummer said, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the door. "Anyone need a cold one?"
"Me," Bella said, extending her arms to catch the can he promptly threw her way. Everyone else besides the remaining members of Reno declined, fully aware too many shots had been consumed early in the evening. She shook a stray ice cube from the top and opened the beverage, immediately chugging most of it. It this was the last show of tour, she'd be having her cake and eating it too. The room cheered her attempt, high fives of solidarity and well wishes were shared between bands. "Okay, let's get this fuckin show on the road," she slurred.
Eric clapped his hands together in excitement and stood, grabbing the hands of his beloved friends and pulling them to their feet as well. Jasper followed them out of the room, a wide grin on his face.
Bella glanced at the crowd before making her way to the stage to pull her bass out of its worn case. Mike had allowed Reno to use his kit, minus the cymbals, so he set to work on replacing the ride and crash before adjusting the toms. Eric's Fender Strat played once through his amp before Tanya turned up the sound, causing the usual feedback and reverb. Bella turned her amp up a few notches and tested the first few chords from their opening song, Andy, as a teaser for the crowd. They quieted slightly, but returned their attention to their loud individual conversations.
Bella took a moment to size the crowd up once again. A short girl with pale skin, inky hair and a strange glare caught her eye. She stared for a moment before Eric tapped her shoulder, offering an excited smile and a thumbs up. The familiar cue they'd worked out years ago. Completely forgetting the girl, she grinned in response, nodding her head
Bella stepped up the the microphone and took a deep, sultry breath allowing her hair to hang over her face, "We're Paper Dolls and we sound like this," her voice trailed off as she allowed muscle memory to take over.
Shots were passed to the stage when she asked between songs, her punk prowess overtaking the crowd the only way Bella Swan knew how to. The band had presence, tunes that nearly rivaled The Clash, the hottest front woman of the year, and most surprisingly: tender love songs that broke hearts, even those deeply devoted or usually unaffected. Once or twice while singing Love Will Stone You, Bella imagined that Jacob was hiding in the crowd. Near the back, sipping a Tecate with lime, waiting for her to finish so he could rush the stage and show everyone just who she belonged to. But she didn't belong to him. Not anymore.
The crowd immediately demanded an encore, a chant started by Jasper in the back, no doubt. The trio happily obliged by playing their most recent single released by Riot, Long Time No See. With a final cymbal hit, Mike started packing up his gear, Bella and Eric followed suit. Load out commenced while the venue patrons continued their party closer to the bar.
Thankful for the space and a chance to sit, Bella sat down on the lip of the stage, her feet dangling just an inch above the door. She hadn't kept track of how long she sat there with her ankles crossed, Eric and Mike had long disappeared. Probably to locate the van. Her vision started to blur a bit, but that was a feeling she was used to. She felt wild, proud, slightly unsteady, invincible, but mostly happy.
Out of the corner of her eye, Bella witnessed a black haired, greaser type head toward the load out door. She instinctively stood, assuming the mysterious man was Jacob come to make her whole again. He always wore the same vintage leather jacket and black Levis with a hole in the left knee. His tan complexion stuck out like a sore thumb in Seattle. It had to be Jacob.
Before darting into the alley, Bella locked eyes with Jasper waiting for the restroom. The same worry from earlier overtaking his features. He must have seen Jacob exit the building as well. She held a hand up, silently telling him to stay put, that she'd deal with Jacob like an adult.
Bella stumbled into the dimly lit alleyway connected to the House of Dirt. The thirty foot expanse smelled of rain and a few weeks worth of beer bottles, but was empty and relatively clean overall. She could've sworn Jacob had ducked through this exit only moments prior. Bella Swan wasn't crazy. Au contraire, she had always been sharp as a tack and stubborn as all hell. A true skeptic of the paranormal and an avid zodiac denouncer.
Bella chugged the rest of her warm beer and threw the empty can to her feet. She kept her gaze low and let her sweaty locks fall forward, collecting herself. From the outside she looked deep in mediation, but the reality of the situation was incredibly different. Her breathing was erratic and she craved something to dull the pain of Jacob's memory and her weakness.
Bella's dark brown eyes were stuck admiring the colorful swirls of an iridescent oil slick when a sudden movement down the alleyway focused her attention upward. She locked eyes with a tall stranger.
"Jacob?" she called out, hoping the low light wasn't playing tricks. Her voice echoed eerily down the alley. She noticed his graceful stride. Definitely not Jake, she mused, remembering his muscular gait. This man's pale complexion belonged alongside marble busts in the Greek history museum. Devastatingly handsome and no doubt headed towards her, he appeared concerned, the same look Jasper had given her. Her center of gravity felt off suddenly, she rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet. His right arm raised slowly until his fingertips were pressing Bella's shoulder into the brick wall behind her, preventing the full on face-plant that would've occurred otherwise. "Thanks," she slurred, taking note that he was careful not to invade her direct personal space. He wore black leather gloves which provided yet another layer between his touch and her naked shoulder. Usually men couldn't wait to lay a hand on her. She appreciated the distance.
"Miss, are you okay?" his voice was deep and reminded her of every fifties crooner she'd ever swooned over growing up. He had her full attention.
"Yeah," she slurred, placing her palms on the bricks. She smirked, but the expression faded quickly when she remembered exactly why she'd left the cozy venue. "I'm just looking for a buddy of mine. He has black hair and-" she hiccuped. "I think I might, uh, I'm crazy," Bella lamented, finally recognizing the pity and curiosity in his jade colored eyes.
"I didn't see anyone, but I'd be happy to bring you back inside. I only stepped out for a smoke. I can help you find him. What's your name?" He removed his hand from her shoulder to see if she could stand on her own. Bella wobbled twice, but regained her balance very quickly.
"Bella," she hiccuped again. "I'm Bella, I play in that band."
The young man smiled and motioned toward the bar door, hoping she'd follow. "I noticed. My sister dragged me out this evening, but I'm quite thrilled she did. She loves your band." Bella attempted a few clumsy steps, her bare knees colliding with the pavement seconds later. She felt the skin there split open on the gravel. "Do you need to sit down for a minute? Should I be locating someone?" he asked, awkwardly fidgeting with his gloves.
"No, no. I'm so sorry. I never get like this." She felt a familiar tickle in her sinuses and inwardly groaned. The kind of tickle that usually resulted in tremendous, unrelenting bloodshed. She raised a trembling hand to her nostril and quickly pulled it away. A single drop of blood had transferred to her index finger. She raised her bloody hand to the man, wordlessly explaining her predicament; hoping he'd have a handkerchief or at the very least, a bandana. Bella's gesture was childlike, her eyes wide and clearly terrified that her life had spiraled so low, but mostly embarrassed that this altruistic stranger was privy to a drug fueled episode. Was she dying? Alone in an alley with a genuine Greek god of a man? It dawned on her that this man was more than likely another figment of her coked out subconscious, just like Jacob had been minutes ago.
"Bella you-" he started to say. His eyes turned pitch black, a feral edge hijacking his once soft features. She blinked rapidly, trying to understand what sort of parlor trick would account for the disappearance of his pupils. She heard an animalistic growl building in his chest. Why would her brain portray this weird delusion? To scare her off the white stuff for good? Paranoia and strangely specific hallucinations of her imminent death would certainly do the trick. Her heart rate doubled, no tripled, involuntary screams bubbled in her throat when the rabid stranger took a step closer. Danger was near, goosebumps appeared across her flesh. "Forgive me." His eyes were tender; however, not matching the ravenous look marring his beautiful face. She stared into the abyss that his pupils had become. For hours or seconds, she wasn't sure.
When his gaze became too much, Bella's closed her eyes, preparing for an aneurysm or heart attack. Whatever was forcing her to trip was obviously biological in nature. A lack of oxygen to the brain, DMT, whatever happened before death. She prayed it would all be over soon.
She squeezed her eyes shut once more, but instead of her head hitting the ground as she'd suspected and braced for, something cold and sharp and seriously painful sliced through the soft skin of her neck. Within seconds a slow burning sensation spread throughout her chest, fading out to her fingertips. Her screams became audible, piercing the stillness of the late hour.
An hour prior she had begun the first song of the most fruitful musical tour of the last five years. Fast forward to now and she was beginning what were surely the last moments of her shitty life. Poor Isabella Swan, left to die alone with her psychosis & drug addiction in an alleyway. Age 23. Eric & Mike would mourn her the longest, but she could see them moving on with their lives seamlessly, the way they'd always envisioned. Mike would probably have a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed baby with Jessica, a commitment that would fill the gap the band would leave behind. Eric would most likely propose to Angela within a few months of Bella's death, free to do as he wished without the band to consider.
Bella, who poured one hundred percent of her heart and soul into Paper Dolls had always been the one to pull the boys together for band related endeavors. She knew they were committed, enough to follow her to California and back again when her life proved too chaotic and unstable to function away from the only home she'd flourished in. She knew Mike and Eric had more than earned their right to personal lives. Homemaker Jessica, deserved the white wedding of her dreams. Angela; her sweet, sweet ex-roommate deserved a present boyfriend, not a series of heart emoticons and a dim phone screen as an unsatisfactory replacement.
Everything seemed to click into place as this beautiful delusion sucked the life from her body. She no longer hated Jacob, nor longed for his presence. She pitied his shallow, near sighted way of life. She pitied his inability to care for someone who thought the world of him, she hated his tendency to use and abuse every substance in sight. She maybe resented him for formally introducing her to Los Angeles's dangerously drugged out garage rock scene a year ago, but even that was water under the bridge. Bella understood she'd rightfully earned her place on death row and now Mike and Eric and Jacob would all be able to move on absolutely scot free.
Her screams quieted as two chocolate brown eyes rolled back. Her limp body hit the gravel once more just as the venue door swung open.