They finally agreed to pull the car over as far as they could and walk the rest of the way. A helicopter touched down nearby, he pointed out the trees swaying. Daryl carried the small tent and lit a joint while Maggie and Beth argued about setting up near Groovy Way or Easy Street. He finally just handed Beth the joint and set the tent up himself not far from the sign. Maggie double checked his knots and barely waved as she left to find her friends.
"I could leave my shit here?"
Beth nods takes a test hit and watches him put his things in the tent, "Why'd you bring a guitar to a concert?"
Daryl looks at her, takes the joint, and a decent hit. "I didn't have anywhere else to keep it."
She raises her eyebrows, "Don't you have house?"
"Would've been sold before I even made it outta town."
He dies out the roach and puts it in his pocket before starting to walk toward the stage. He calls back to her over his shoulder, "Let's go see what's happenin', should be some music soon. Said you wanted to see Sweetwater?"
"They're supposed to be opening," She rushes to catch up to him.
They walk in step with each other for a while.
"Wonder if my brother made it in yet."
"See if you can find him, let him know where you're set up."
Daryl nods, "I ain't letting him near your tent, I'll meet you back there though?"
Beth answers, "Sure, you gonna remember where it is?"
A mostly hidden smile peeks out from behind his greasy hair and he looks around, a hand painted sign post stands out. Someone is selling sandwiches out of their car and joints out of their suitcase. "Half way between Easy Street and Groovy Way. Hard to miss." He can't hide the smile in his voice. The brightness of her eyes stands out against the clouds rolling in the sky, makes him feel light.
He takes a few steps away before turning back. "You gonna be alright? I mean…"
Beth grins and turns to follow her sister's path to a small village of tents popping up along the tree line. She calls to him over her shoulder, "Will you?"
The people keep pouring in, Daryl is sure he saw a fence go down from a distance. There is no way he'll be able to find Merle here. No fucking way. A second helicopter touches down in the next field over. The clouds are rolling, getting darker, it's definitely going to rain. At least there's a tent he can sit in. Daryl starts to make his way to the stage.
He hears the blades of the chopper and heads to the fence that is still standing just in time to see Merle. Damn guy is stepping off the helicopter, turning to wave at at some cop still on board before slinging his bum arm around a young kid carrying a guitar case. He grins like a maniac when his eyes land on Daryl nearby.
"Here you go, baby brother, take a drink." He takes the canteen and watches Merle step away from the helicopter, smiling and waving at two cops that look like they just flew in from Mayberry.
"Hey man, you sure it's okay to give him that?" The guy with the guitar says, still half yelling.
Merle claps him on the back, "Sure, he's a Dixon, he'll be fine. Let's get this movin'!"
Daryl's thought is cut off, he practically forgot the kid was even there. "He came in on a helicopter?"
"Fuckin' did." He pours another glass for each of them, "The kid with the guitar was Arlo Guthrie. Merle met him in a hotel or something. I guess he couldn't get into town on account of the traffic so they flew him in on a chopper, brought Merle along with him." Daryl smiles to himself, "Heard he tells that story when he plays shows now."
The kid is staring at Daryl, eyes wide.
"It was laced, right? The water."
The kid is looking at Daryl like he has the damn holy grail in his hands.
"Yeah it was laced. First and only timed I ever tripped. I was a mess."
The people around him are ebbing and flowing, Sweetwater has finally made it to the stage.
He can see something dark moving behind the speakers.
The thing, he still can't tell what it is, starts to slink and sneak closer, hitching along in the barely there shadows of the rain soaked afternoon crowd.
"Merle! Merle, the hell's going on?" He can feel himself yelling as he wanders through the smiling faces. The thing is following him around. It's beady eyes are in the faces of everyone around him. It's needle sharp teeth are in the rain drops. Panic is taking a hold of him, taking him over. If it's part of everything then it's part of him.
He spends hours trying to evade it, a dark shadow sliding through the raindrops. Silent in the sound of conversations and now sitars. The people around him are fading in and out. A deer bounds towards the trees, golds and greens swirling along behind it, weaving between soaked, half naked, dancing bodies. There's a tent, there's a tent somewhere or maybe he's in the tent?
The voices on the stage have changed out again, isn't he supposed to be paying attention to them? The sounds are skipping and dragging, warped and twisted like the Billie Holiday record he tried to play after the fire. He can't breathe, his shirt and his belt are choking him. It's not much of a struggle before they fall to the ground.
The thing is back, he can see it now. Chupacabra.
Daryl whines, low and panicked. It's nails tear into his back as he turns, fingers searching for a knife or a bow. He comes out with a guitar pick.
"Daryl?"
The claws burn and it's eyes flash in front of his before it morphs and is absorbed into his body. They are stinging and tearing at his insides, burning him down to a dried out husk. Eating away at his insides until he's nothing but a shell doing it's bidding. Merle, where the fuck is Merle? Does it have him too?
He shakes his head, Merle isn't here, he can't be here. There was wind though, heavy, fast blades chopping steadily through the air.
"A helicopter, he just... dropped in from the sky..."
"Daryl?"
A face appears above him, beautiful and framed by a halo of blond hair. He is in a tent. It's not the one he set up. He's laying on a cot.
He sits up and looks at man sitting next to him, "She knows my name."
The man nods, "She does, she your girl, brother?"
"She's... she sings..." The thing is back. A dark quick shadow creeping into the edge of his vision. He turns to follow it and watches it drop into a vat of oatmeal. There are people all around him cooking.
He vaguely hears her talk to the guy, something about their own tent, water. He stands and follows her. She's singing along with the voice from the stage, "Take me back to the place where I first saw the light, to the sweet, sunny South, take me home." His mama used to sing it, he doesn't have a choice but to follow. Her voice is soft but he can hear it clearly, every other sound fading into the background. A pied piper leading him away. His eyes fall closed and his steps slow.
He lags behind her and her voice fades, his eyes snap open and it's there between them. Snarling and foaming like rabid dog, but it's eyes are daggers, driving back and forth. Locked on him, locked on her.
"There…why's he here? Why?" His voice is high pitched.
"What're you talking about?" Her words are quick, "Daryl?"
He lets out a guttural groan, "I don't want it here, I don't want him here." He can feel the tears running into his mouth but they're doing nothing to quench the burn, hundreds of cigarettes fizzling out as they're pressed into his guts. His insides are plotted out in neat lines, the deer diagram hanging in the shed, little black ash marks popping up until he just disintegrates into nothing.
"I'm just gonna hold your hand Daryl." Beth slowly threads her fingers into his, "Hey, I'm here. Me and you, okay?"
The claws slowly retract, the gaping holes in his back knit themselves closed as her grip tightens to match his.
He can feel the rain. Cool and drizzling over his bare torso. His bare feet in the slick grass, what the hell happened to his shoes? Daryl breaths in and can feel every molecule of air in his lungs. It's full of her hair, bright and soft. "Mmm… I…"
"Me and you. Listening to music. You hear it?"
The claws retract, disappearing into the shadows cast by the light of her sun bleached hair that has somehow dismissed the cloud-filled, midnight sky.
She's singing again. Words in perfect time with the faded sounds from the stage,
And let me wrap you in my warm and tender love
I said it'll be alright if you just let me
Let me wrap you in my warm and tender love
Oh baby, come on and let me
He stares out the window. They are both quiet for a long time.
"I read that for you growing up was... well your brother said that it was... Merle told people your fath..."
"That my daddy beat the shit outta me?"
The kid doesn't say anything.
"That my chest was practically an ashtray and my back looks like some drunk played tic tac toe on it with a belt? Ya wanna see it? Is that what y'er gettin' at? Get out yer camera, come on then."
The kid coughs and shifts around in his seat.
"My sob story ain't good enough?" Daryl eyes are fixed in a glare as his fingers hover over the buttons of his flannel. "Come on kid, I ain't shy, I can show pony just like every other washed up rock star."
"I...uh...I don't..."
He pops the top three buttons open in one harsh tug and pulls down the left side of his white undershirt. The skin on his chest is mottled with puckered, pinkish white circles and the four bold letters in delicate script can't help but stand out. His fingers ghost over the B, following the scrolling flourish. He doesn't even look down, the movement is ingrained, memorized through years of repetition.
Daryl's hands are trembling, he drops them below the table.
The kid drops his eyes in suit and reaches for the disappearing bottle between them, he fumbles with the half screwed on cap. "The...the uh... chupacabra... from the trip. It was him, right? I mean, your father?"
He deflates, his shoulders fold in and Daryl brings his right hand to rest over his heart, over her name, "Mhmm, prolly."
He downs the offered drink in one gulp. He thinks about his dreams. The ones he's had for years that leave him lying awake drenched in sweat in the middle of the winter. The ones where he wakes up calling out for her as the thing, the chupacabra, claws into her skull and drags her away leaving him stranded in the darkness. He dreams about Merle, sometimes he can picture what he must've looked like struggling to get her out of the truck with his one good arm, the blades of a helicopter lowering closer and closer.
The kid is still staring, "Uh, Mr. Dix...Daryl?"
He sighs and drags his hand down his face, rubbing at his chin. "She stayed with me. The whole rest of the weekend. Watched every damn band, barely slept."
"What band… who was your favorite set? Do you remember any of them?" The kid smiles at his own half joke.
Beautiful body moving in time to Latin guitars, smiling at his reticence.
Watching the sun set behind her, somewhere up the country where the water tastes like wine.
Heavy blues rock as she lay resting, her head in his lap.
Talking during set breaks and technical problems.
Standing in the dwindling crowd with a bad moon rising.
Sunday morning, her hair down free, and freedom tastes of reality.
Wouldn't he love somebody to love?
She didn't sing out of tune and for the first time in a very long time, it did worry him to be alone.
Forget the piece of his heart, the whole damn thing was hers.
"I remember her." He grabs the bottle and She's the one who remembered all damn set lists."
If you can just get your mind together
Then come on across to me
We'll hold hands an' then we'll watch the sun rise
From the bottom of the sea
But first
Are You Experienced?
Ah! Have you ever been experienced?
Well, I have