The Truth About Heaven
One
“Hey Steve!” she called as she walked past the security guard at the Backstage door.
“Good evening Sarah. There’s a band back there tonight you know?” he replied.
Sarah stopped in her tracks, her bottled brown hair framing her small slender face as it hung around her shoulders.
“Oh. I thought that it was empty tonight?” she asked in confusion.
Steve tried not to stare at this slender eighteen year olds trim figure. He concentrated on staring straight into her eyes, but the startling green caught him off guard and he stood dumbfounded for a second, trying to regain his thoughts.
“They moved it forward a day. Something about one of their guitarists had to get home, ‘cause of some legal issue. Jordan is already here though. I let her in.”
Sarah cursed herself for not making sure the venue was unoccupied tonight. She had been planning a “party” of sorts and now everything was ruined. And her best friend Jordan had already ventured in. That was not good. She would be all over the band.
“Thanks Steve. I’ll see you later. Tell the wife I said hello.” And with a swift flick of her hand she vanished inside. Steve had to restrain himself from snorting. As if Sarah Cahill, the young, fashionable, attractive daughter of the most notorious nightclub owner in California really cared about her father’s security guard’s wife. Steve shook the image of Sarah’s stunning form from his head, and tried to straighten his clothes, in an attempt to regain composure.
***
Sarah stormed into the personal backstage area of the band. Anger radiated from her body, and everyone in the room before her cold feel it, as if it was a heater on a freezing winter day.
She looked around the room crowded with Tattooed musicians and bleached “Alterna Chicks”. Looking away in disgust, she found Jordan sitting on some guy’s lap, who looked like he was half dead.
“Sarahhhhhh!" she called drunkenly, as she swayed on the corpse’s lap. ‘Come meet my new friend Gerard. He’s in a band ya’ know?”
Sarah walked over there stiffly.
“Hey.’ she said, as she looked the so-called ‘Gerard’ up and down with disdain. What kind of name was that anyway? ‘So, you’re the surprise act at my father’s club tonight huh?”
“This is your father’s club hey? No wonder you just waltzed in here, acting like you owned the place.” he replied curtly. Sarah stared down at him into his dark hazel eyes, daring him to break the eye contact. Jordan grabbed a fist-full of his black hair and turned his face to meet hers, yet he never took his eyes off Sarah.
Even as Jordan embraced him in a passionate kiss, he remained staring at Sarah.
“Urgh, freak.’ Sarah muttered, as she turned away, disgusted by her friend’s choice of friend. ‘Jordan, are we going to go out and get high, or are you going to sit perched on this weirdo’s balls all night?”
Sarah watched, as Gerard lent down, and whispered god knows what into her ear. But it certainly got her giggling. And at that point, Sarah knew there was no way she was getting out of that sweat smelling backstage area tonight. She sighed dejectedly, and sank into the nearest chair.
“Night not turning out how you planned?” she heard someone from behind her ask.
Sarah turned to face the voice. The man standing before her was taller than her (Not surprisingly) but only just slightly. He had black hair and each ear was pierced and stretched to an abnormal size. She recoiled as she realized she could see through his earlobes, and noticed the tattoos crawling up his arms, and one peeking out the top of his tee shirt.
“Not exactly.” she managed to whisper back through her distaste.
He held out his hand. “I’m Frank. I’m one of the Rhythm Guitarists for the band My Chemical Romance.”
Sarah reluctantly took his hand in hers, but couldn’t help but stare at his black painted nails. They were chipped and dirty. A far cry from her perfectly manicured set.
As he recognized the horror on her face he smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be an uptight bitch would you?” He asked sweetly.
“Me? Never. I was just thinking ‘Wow. You’re exactly the kind of man I’d love to bring home to meet my parents. You seem like such an upstanding citizen.’”
“Yeah? Well at least I’ve got some manners, unlike you, you stuck up whore.”
***
Frank could’ve kicked himself as he watched the tears in the girls eyes well up, and as she kicked back her chair and rushed out the door, he cursed his uncontrollable temper.
He figured he would apologize to her when she walked back out of the adjoining room. He would be civil and apologetic, but nothing more. And as he sat there, waiting for the stunningly beautiful girl to emerge through the door, he started to worry a little. Five minutes turned into ten, and then ten into twenty. After thirty minutes of watching the door, and ignore the other patrons in the party, he worked up the guts and walked over to the door, pushing it open ever so slightly.
The door opened into a luxury bathroom, complete with foot stooled bath and antique showerhead. He looked around looking for the girl, when he saw a hand sitting on the edge of the bath.
He walked up to the bath to be met with a horrendous sight. The girl from before was lying on her side, her body cold and limp. Vomit surrounded her, and chunks of what he assumed was her dinner were caught in her hair. Panicking, he jumped in the bath and tried to sit her up, and slapped her rolling, lifeless head a little, trying to gather a little bit of a reaction.
He was met with nothing.
He felt desperately for a pulse in her neck, and felt a slight, weak beating.
“HELP!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘Help!”
Wrought by guilt, his body started to shake with violent sobs as he tried to pull the girl out of the bathtub. He heard someone enter and then run out, but he took no notice of what was happening around him. He just sank to the ground in shock, and stared at the girl’s body, praying she’d be all right.
As the paramedics that were still around from the concert ran into the bathroom, and lifted her onto a stretcher, he saw a small silver necklace drop from her hand.
Frank picked it up and examined it. It was a beautifully carved silver locket on a fine silver chain. He opened the locket to find a picture of a young boy fall out. Frank picked up the small picture, and studied the young man’s face. He looked so happy, so young, and so vibrant.
He seemed to symbolize the idealistic son. The idealistic life. He reminded Frank of all the poster boys in the advertisements, implying that is you buy this certain perfume, you’d find all the happiness in the entire world.
On any given night, Frank would’ve assumed the picture was of the girls trust fund, CK wearing, boyfriend.
But there was something different about this picture.
Something tragic.
“Good evening Sarah. There’s a band back there tonight you know?” he replied.
Sarah stopped in her tracks, her bottled brown hair framing her small slender face as it hung around her shoulders.
“Oh. I thought that it was empty tonight?” she asked in confusion.
Steve tried not to stare at this slender eighteen year olds trim figure. He concentrated on staring straight into her eyes, but the startling green caught him off guard and he stood dumbfounded for a second, trying to regain his thoughts.
“They moved it forward a day. Something about one of their guitarists had to get home, ‘cause of some legal issue. Jordan is already here though. I let her in.”
Sarah cursed herself for not making sure the venue was unoccupied tonight. She had been planning a “party” of sorts and now everything was ruined. And her best friend Jordan had already ventured in. That was not good. She would be all over the band.
“Thanks Steve. I’ll see you later. Tell the wife I said hello.” And with a swift flick of her hand she vanished inside. Steve had to restrain himself from snorting. As if Sarah Cahill, the young, fashionable, attractive daughter of the most notorious nightclub owner in California really cared about her father’s security guard’s wife. Steve shook the image of Sarah’s stunning form from his head, and tried to straighten his clothes, in an attempt to regain composure.
***
Sarah stormed into the personal backstage area of the band. Anger radiated from her body, and everyone in the room before her cold feel it, as if it was a heater on a freezing winter day.
She looked around the room crowded with Tattooed musicians and bleached “Alterna Chicks”. Looking away in disgust, she found Jordan sitting on some guy’s lap, who looked like he was half dead.
“Sarahhhhhh!" she called drunkenly, as she swayed on the corpse’s lap. ‘Come meet my new friend Gerard. He’s in a band ya’ know?”
Sarah walked over there stiffly.
“Hey.’ she said, as she looked the so-called ‘Gerard’ up and down with disdain. What kind of name was that anyway? ‘So, you’re the surprise act at my father’s club tonight huh?”
“This is your father’s club hey? No wonder you just waltzed in here, acting like you owned the place.” he replied curtly. Sarah stared down at him into his dark hazel eyes, daring him to break the eye contact. Jordan grabbed a fist-full of his black hair and turned his face to meet hers, yet he never took his eyes off Sarah.
Even as Jordan embraced him in a passionate kiss, he remained staring at Sarah.
“Urgh, freak.’ Sarah muttered, as she turned away, disgusted by her friend’s choice of friend. ‘Jordan, are we going to go out and get high, or are you going to sit perched on this weirdo’s balls all night?”
Sarah watched, as Gerard lent down, and whispered god knows what into her ear. But it certainly got her giggling. And at that point, Sarah knew there was no way she was getting out of that sweat smelling backstage area tonight. She sighed dejectedly, and sank into the nearest chair.
“Night not turning out how you planned?” she heard someone from behind her ask.
Sarah turned to face the voice. The man standing before her was taller than her (Not surprisingly) but only just slightly. He had black hair and each ear was pierced and stretched to an abnormal size. She recoiled as she realized she could see through his earlobes, and noticed the tattoos crawling up his arms, and one peeking out the top of his tee shirt.
“Not exactly.” she managed to whisper back through her distaste.
He held out his hand. “I’m Frank. I’m one of the Rhythm Guitarists for the band My Chemical Romance.”
Sarah reluctantly took his hand in hers, but couldn’t help but stare at his black painted nails. They were chipped and dirty. A far cry from her perfectly manicured set.
As he recognized the horror on her face he smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be an uptight bitch would you?” He asked sweetly.
“Me? Never. I was just thinking ‘Wow. You’re exactly the kind of man I’d love to bring home to meet my parents. You seem like such an upstanding citizen.’”
“Yeah? Well at least I’ve got some manners, unlike you, you stuck up whore.”
***
Frank could’ve kicked himself as he watched the tears in the girls eyes well up, and as she kicked back her chair and rushed out the door, he cursed his uncontrollable temper.
He figured he would apologize to her when she walked back out of the adjoining room. He would be civil and apologetic, but nothing more. And as he sat there, waiting for the stunningly beautiful girl to emerge through the door, he started to worry a little. Five minutes turned into ten, and then ten into twenty. After thirty minutes of watching the door, and ignore the other patrons in the party, he worked up the guts and walked over to the door, pushing it open ever so slightly.
The door opened into a luxury bathroom, complete with foot stooled bath and antique showerhead. He looked around looking for the girl, when he saw a hand sitting on the edge of the bath.
He walked up to the bath to be met with a horrendous sight. The girl from before was lying on her side, her body cold and limp. Vomit surrounded her, and chunks of what he assumed was her dinner were caught in her hair. Panicking, he jumped in the bath and tried to sit her up, and slapped her rolling, lifeless head a little, trying to gather a little bit of a reaction.
He was met with nothing.
He felt desperately for a pulse in her neck, and felt a slight, weak beating.
“HELP!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘Help!”
Wrought by guilt, his body started to shake with violent sobs as he tried to pull the girl out of the bathtub. He heard someone enter and then run out, but he took no notice of what was happening around him. He just sank to the ground in shock, and stared at the girl’s body, praying she’d be all right.
As the paramedics that were still around from the concert ran into the bathroom, and lifted her onto a stretcher, he saw a small silver necklace drop from her hand.
Frank picked it up and examined it. It was a beautifully carved silver locket on a fine silver chain. He opened the locket to find a picture of a young boy fall out. Frank picked up the small picture, and studied the young man’s face. He looked so happy, so young, and so vibrant.
He seemed to symbolize the idealistic son. The idealistic life. He reminded Frank of all the poster boys in the advertisements, implying that is you buy this certain perfume, you’d find all the happiness in the entire world.
On any given night, Frank would’ve assumed the picture was of the girls trust fund, CK wearing, boyfriend.
But there was something different about this picture.
Something tragic.