Free Night Of The Beast by Harry Shannon Page A

the long-term effects of a complex narcotic agent like rainbow. We don't know exactly what it does to the brain."
    "Easy," Rourke said. "It fries your wiring, probably for good."
    Silverman shrugged. "Maybe. It seems to have left you with a lot of grandiose illusions about having psychic abilities, even some false memories from childhood."
    False? If you say so , Rourke thought. Whatever gets me the fuck out of here.
    "Look, I know I can't touch the stuff again, or anything else for that matter. I realize what it did to me."
    "I hope you do. Because although there is no doubt seeing Dee's body triggered that terrible meltdown experience, I feel certain the severity of the psychosis was directly linked to drug abuse."
    "No argument here."
    "And it could happen again."
    A heavy pause. The curly-haired psychologist tapped the metal ashtray with his fingers. He has too many nervous habits, Rourke thought. The man's under stress. Jesus, I'm starting to think like him.
    Silverman: "This problem owns you, Peter. For the rest of your life you'll have to worry when you take an aspirin tablet. Understand?"
    Rourke nodded. "I understand." He had endured weeks of private counseling, A.A. and group therapy, plus voluntary hospitalization to get to this point. He wasn't about to blow it. "Noah, I've had enough. I mean that."
    "I hope you do," Silverman said. Tap, tap. "You're exhausted, hyper-tense and dangerously fragile. Another experience like that could kill you."
    "I believe you."
    "Have the police made any progress?"
    Rourke shrugged. "Some demented fan," he sad, sadly. "At least I think they're still operating under that assumption."
    "They'll get him eventually."
    "I hope so."
    "We do have some more tests that we'd like to run. Are you certain it's not possible for you to return from time to time, just to cooperate with the program?"
    Peter shook his head. "Sorry." Psychological testing made him extremely uncomfortable. One of the highly-trained specialists, given enough time, might stumble upon the truth, uncover his talent. He couldn't allow that.
    "What will you do now, go home to Nevada?"
    "Maybe. I'm not sure. Not right away."
    "Well, I hope I never see you again." Silverman winked.
    "The feeling's mutual, Noah."
    The two men shook hands and it was over.
    Peter Rourke had spent nearly three months at Templeton Hospital under close observation. He hadn't seen the outside world since discovering Dee Jenning's butchered corpse, but now he was a free man. Free of everything, that is, except himself.
    Within days of his release, Peter moved into a cheap apartment complex and changed his phone number. He swapped his fancy car for a plain green Nova and some cash. He had royalties to live on, but no job; Gordie Easton had seen to that. The two men hadn't spoken. It would have been far too painful for them both.
    All Rourke wanted was time to relax, think and decide what to do with the rest of his life. And to put Dee out of his mind. Meanwhile, the band members found a new producer. Bryan Friedheim just drifted away. The little engineer left Music Works for a better gig with EMI, and after a few well-intentioned but lame telephone conversations he simply stopped calling. There was nothing else to say.
    Peter slept a great deal, as instructed. He stayed clear of alcohol or drugs of any kind. Time passed, without a single craving for alcohol or drugs, but the numb ache remained. He had anticipated violence — could he have done something to prevent it? That part of the pain was private; Rourke had to carry it alone, along with a stack of other guilts. He exercised relentlessly, read voraciously and tried to heal.
    Sour Candy continued to record, but without Dee Jennings they were just another band. The group was destined to collapse after one turbulent tour. Meanwhile, Peter Rourke saw a new face in the mirror each morning, a troubled young man haunted by old ghosts and unanswered questions. At times he saw his Uncle Jeremy's stern