Free In the Dead of Night by Aiden James Page A

among the living, if you ask me,” Justin mumbled, out of direct earshot of Tom. Not so sure about Nathaniel’s.
    Angie and Jackie began picking up the pots, pans, and utensils. I stood ready with the broom and dustpan. Already thinking of an excuse to tell the band, there was no way in hell I’d make it to rehearsal on time. It was damn near nine o’clock.
    “I think Nathaniel feels threatened for what might happen to you, Tom,” said Fiona, finally, after wandering around the kitchen and acting as if she were listening intently to a conversation that was undetectable to the rest of us. She took the dustpan and motioned for me to help her clean up the rest of the debris on the floor. “To be honest, I feel the same thing….threatened. For all of us here tonight.”
    A large crystal bowl sitting atop the refrigerator began to vibrate, wobbling as if it might fall off. It gave my wife quite a start, since she stood in front of the fridge. When the bowl stopped vibrating, a soft ringing sound emanated from it that lasted more than a minute before it gradually died away.
    Creepy, man… very creepy.
    “Who’s with me on taking a little trip?” she asked.
    Everyone eagerly voted for it, once they learned she intended to revisit Johnny’s place that night. Despite being taped off by the police, Fiona has a knack for finding her way around such deterrents. Who knows? Maybe another message will come through from beyond the veil that separates the living from the dead, this time for her specifically.
    A message from Candi? If so, hopefully something to help bring a quick end to the craziness that’d started last night. Too bad I couldn’t be there. I had four ticked off music buddies to worry about.
    It’s the last thing I thought about before peeling out of Tom’s carport on the way to east Nashville.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    East Nashville is a scary place, man. Lots of crime, seedy motels, and run-down neighborhoods. However, like any other metropolitan area, it has its good streets and a few upscale neighborhoods that border the less desirable locations.
    It might seem logical that our band would keep its rehearsal hangout in one of the nicer venues, maybe in the better sections of Madison and not nearby Inglewood. Especially with all of the expensive equipment involved…it would be risky otherwise.
    Well, the location is in Madison. But no, the building where my heavy metal band, Quagmire, rehearses is an old warehouse just off Gallatin Road. Anyone local would cringe a little, since the liabilities listed above surround us in abundance.
    So, why do we do it here? There are lots of good reasons, actually. Like the fact we can play as frigging loud and long as we like. And though the building looks really run down from outside, it’s pretty nice inside. The ac and heat work well, and the owners have let us build a soundstage and lay down some plush carpeting from where one of my band mates works in the daytime. Not to mention the place is really secure, and would take the skills of a Navy Seal or some other special operative to break in.
    “You’re lucky we heard the phone, Jimmy, or we would’ve gone ahead without your late ass!”
    Ricky Chamberlain, or better known as ‘RC’ in our little music world, was the first one to greet me. Co-founder of the band with me six years ago, he hails from Atlanta. Why in the hell he chose Nashville over L.A., Seattle, Phoenix, or even the Big Apple has always been a mystery to me. But I’m damned grateful he and I crossed paths.
    Yeah, he’s a little pissed with me, but he’ll get over it. He always does, and it’s not like he’s a little late now and then. 9:13 p.m., which ain’t bad considering I didn’t get out of south Nashville until almost nine o’clock. At least I called ahead to let em’ know.
    “Is everybody here?” I asked, grabbing my bass out of the back seat before running after Ricky as he disappeared into the