Six Feet Under the Stars

Carrying a box of microphone equipment from the third tour bus, I opened the door with my elbow, managing to hold onto the cardboard cube all the while. A muscled arm shot across the doorway blocking my way like a fallen tree limb.

"Dorian."

He stepped up, filling the doorway with his frame. Looming over me, a sweet smile was plastered to his face. It was too staged, too perfect. Each pearl tooth was mocking me.

Stumbling backwards in fright, I managed to keep a grasp on the items in my arms.

"Are you okay?" I asked carefully, setting the box down on an empty space on the floor.

The smile had now morphed into a stern, angry expression. "Not really, to be honest."

I stood rigid and didn't speak. One wrong move on my part and I would end up with a blackened eye and a busted rib to match. There were endless possibilities as to what had set him off this time. It could have been anything with the amount of stress he was under.

"You talked to Alex."

That caught me off-gaurd. "Yes." I replied, cautiously.

There was no point in denying it. The whole tour crew had seen Alex and I talking earlier. Someone must have mentioned it to Dorian in passing, not realizing the jealous rage always rumbling inside him.

"Was that it?" He questioned, abolutely controlled.

"Yeah, he was asking about how I got involved with the tour, and how I learned about all the equipment. He was just curious about how it all worked, that's all. You don't have to worry about it when--."

Unexpectantly, Dorian shoved me backwards. The force sent me falling into the box I had placed so carefully on the ground. I landed on the fragile contents, and knicked my head on the edge of an amp.

"I don't like that, Mel."

And just as easily, Dorian left me there and walked back out into the sunshine.

Running on autopilot, I quickly did damage assessment: There was going to be bruises on my back and arms. The throbbing in my skull seemed like a more pressing matter. I hoped I didn't have a concussion.

The damage on the equipment was easier to gauge. The wires were in decent shape. A microphone at the bottom of everything was in several pieces. It was beyond repair.

Hauling my ass off the ground, I dusted myself off with shaky fingers. Clutching the now-broken cardboard against me, I quickly left the scene with the damaged goods.

"Hey Chuck."

A man in his mid-fifties turned, face smiling.

"What can I help you with, Melanie?"

"This equipment is pretty beat up. It looks like someone must have dropped it." I held the feeble looking materials out to him. It was scary how well I was becoming at lying these days. "Maybe an amp tipped over on it or something."

He let out a long whistle. "That looks rough."

"Maybe there's a second microphone. This one got the brunt of the damage."

"We'll have to check that out."

"What should I do about it?"

Chuck clapped a friendly hand onto my back. "Don't worry about it. Things like this happen all the time on the road. When I was on tour with the Stones in, oh, must have been around '73, a whole set of electrical wire vanished. Never did find it either."

Before my eyes had a chance to water, I cleared the thickness from my throat, "Well, I better get going."

"Here let me worry about this." Kindly, he took the box. "You just worry about that mic."

The pain in my head only grew as I trudged away. Cutting in between two buses, I pressed my hand to the wound and could already feel a bump growing there.

"Headache?"

I turned quickly and saw Jack standing there. "Oh, hey. I didn't see you."

"You seem a little skittish."

"I'm not." I said defensively. Much too late I realized his last comment was only a joke.

Now Jack's easy smile faded, "Are you okay?"

"Just bumped my head a little." Hoping to numb the pain, I pushed hard against my skull.

He spoke, concerned. "Do you need an Advil or something for that?"

The bus door next to Jack opened and I saw Alex walk out. My eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. The blood in my system seemed to drain out, leaving me with a faint feeling.

"She looks so white."

"Caucasian." Alex corrected.

Jack snorted with laughter. "You know what I mean. But really, I think the girl needs some help. It looks like she might faint. Maybe we should bring her a chair or something."

The hand to my head added more pressure, "I'm fine."

"Melanie, I really think you should--."

"Please, don't talk to me, Alex."

The shock and hurt on his face was clearly visible until he masked it with a hard, neutral expression.

Jack looked between the two of us. "Something I should know about?"

Alex said something, but his reply was muffled to my ears. The scene around me started to become a mixture of white and black, like it was playing on an old television screen. The gray fuzz quickly overwhelmed my senses and I couldn't hang onto reality.

Much too gladly, I welcomed the black abyss that overtook me.