                
                                  Beckon


     I went with Johnny Rose to get his new tattoo tonight-- his
sixth one, this one etched into the skin on his left forearm.  I
sat in the corner
     (alone)
     while he lit a cigarette and took off his shirt.  I watched
as the hazy lighting rippled along his biceps.  His shirt was
sleeveless; William could have worked around it-- if Johnny had
wanted it that way.  
     Johnny sat back and relaxed his left arm as William put the
vibrating needle to the skin on his forearm.  Johnny didn't even
flinch.  "Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?" William 
asked.  
     Johnny laughed.  "My dreams."  
     William raised an eyebrow.  "Oh yeah?  You get all your
tattoos from your dreams?" He glanced at the half-naked blonde
Johnny had tattooed near his shoulder, then glanced
surreptitiously at me.    
     "No, not her.  She's real," Johnny said, half-turning to
stare at me and taking a drag from his cigarette.  "You okay over
there?"
     I nodded and he turned back watch William work.  
     "Uh-huh," William said.  "No, seriously.  This one is weird,
Johnny.  Kind of... I don't know.  It bothers me.  When did you
draw it?"
     Johnny shrugged.  "Last night.  I couldn't go back to
sleep."
     "I can see why."
     Johnny hadn't let me see his drawing.  He'd wanted me to
wait until it was an official part of his body decor.  We sat in
silence, through long, dark hours in which my mind drifted away
from me.  I might have slept.
     Finally, William took away the needle.  "The outline looks
good," Johnny said, lightly pressing a towel to his bleeding arm. 
"You'll have to put color to it tomorrow.  I gotta get out of
here.  I have a show to do."
     "Good luck, Johnny.  See you tomorrow," William said.
     Johnny stood up and grabbed his shirt, ogling the fresh
carving in his arm.  "Look here," he said to me, gloating.  I
peered at the new illustration on his arm.
     (cringe)
     It was a horrid thing really, a beast in dripping detail,
with seven snarling heads, a dark-spotted abdomen, nearly a dozen
protrusions that could be horns, and teeth that, if the creature
were sized proportionately to Johnny, would more than double the
length of his head from eyebrow to chin.  
     "Well?" Johnny said.
     "It's.. it's great, Johnny," I said, tonelessly.
     "Great?" he sneered.  "It's more than great.  And it's going
to be fabulous when it gets color put to it."
     I nodded, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the ugly
tattoo.

     We're sitting around my living room.  His drummer, Teddy, is
zoning out in the middle of the floor, lying flat on his back
with his eyes half-closed.  He hasn't said anything now for about
an hour and a half.
     Johnny begins telling me that Teddy had just given himself
the biggest fix of heroin he'd ever done, as far as he could
tell.  I ask Johnny if he has any, and he says yeah, to bring him
a spoon and a lighter.
     I go to get them
     (obediently)
     and when I come back, the stereo is off.  Johnny has turned
on the TV.  News.  Hostages in Somalia.  I think they said
Somalia, anyway.  Time passes.  I reach for the remote control. 
Johnny sits up straight, startling me.

     "Dammit!" he says.  The syringe falls to the floor.  "Isn't
there something else on TV?"
     He looks at me when I shiver.  "You're cold."  He rubs his
hand up and down my arm.
     "Not too cold," I mumble.
     "I've got something that will warm you up," he says.  I look
down at the syringe.
     "No more."
     "Right.  No more," he says, and I don't believe him. 
"Something else."
     I don't look at him.  "And what would that be?"
     He never answers me.  It doesn't matter.  He begins
unzipping my jeans, so I begin to unzip his.

     I stood in the crowd, waiting for a glimpse of Johnny.  The
faded black curtain allowed me an occasional glimpse of one of
the guys in Johnny's band, Belligerence, moving backstage.  Erick
was plucking a string on his bass every so often; low E resounded
menacingly off the tops of Teddy's snare drums.  The crowd around
me waited in an almost sensual anticipation.
     The lights went down and the curtain opened.  Everyone
around me erupted into screams and cheers of excitement.  Johnny
emerged from the darkness into the circle of light in front of
the microphone.  I felt his delirious stage-rush wash over him,
as if it were me up there, and I smiled.
     "How's everyone out there doing tonight?" Johnny said into
the microphone.  The crowd screamed loudly in response. 
"Everyone feeling a little belligerent?" 
     There was something else.
     He was too pale, too far gone.  There was too much sweat on
his face.
     And his arm was bleeding.  His left forearm.
     Johnny looked down at me and winked, but still I smelled the
tension in the air, something that was like the acrid, mouth-
watering scent of citrus after someone slips a knife into the
skin of an orange.  
     "Tonight, we're going to try something a little different."
     (death)
     Behind him, his guitarist, David, exchanged glances with
Erick.  Johnny turned to them, away from the microphone. 
"Horsemen, guys."
     David tossed his blonde bangs out of his eyes defiantly.   
"Johnny," he hissed. "That's not our song.  We don't do
covers..."
     "Tonight, we do this cover."
     David shook his head and glanced a third time at the others. 
Then the band went into a heavy rendition of The Four Horsemen, a
song by one of their mentors, a veteran metal band.  The song
could have been played by the original band, they were so
meticulous. 
     Except when the lyrics came in, Johnny changed them a
little.  I doubt anyone noticed but me.  "A pale horse named
Death, and Hell followed with him; the seas and waters turned to
red; martyrs cry for revenge on the day of wrath, and Hell
delivered up the dead..." 
     I watched his face move from dangerously ecstatic to a
fierce contempt and back again in seconds.  He'd gone too far
again, done too much.
     The music changed suddenly, and Johnny stopped singing when
he realized what was wrong.  There was no guitar; David had
stopped playing.  Erick followed David's cue, slowed and stopped
mid-riff.  Teddy, confused, stopped playing, threw down his
drumsticks and stood up.  David unstrapped his guitar and pulled
it around his neck.  
     Johnny grabbed his arm.  "What are you doing?"
     David glared at him.  "The next time you want to go changing
things like that, you might want to consult us first."
     "I told you--"
     "This is not your band.  You're making us all look like
idiots spouting off all that bullshit over there.  What the hell
is wrong with you?"
     Johnny stared him down.  
     "Look at you!  You look like shit, Johnny.  If you can't
leave your drugs at home, then you need to find a new place to
play."
     Johnny let go of him and turned away.  Excited chattering
circulated among the crowd.  Johnny looked at Erick.  
     "We don't need him." 
     In response, Erick pulled his bass around his neck and
followed David off the stage.  Johnny's face changed again,
turned hideous, snarling.  But this time it didn't change back. 
Teddy walked around his drum kit to stand Johnny's side.
     Johnny pointed at David and Erick, shapes weaving in and out
of the darkness the back, towards the exit.  "Fuck you!"  
     The crowd screamed deliriously, smelling the static in the
air.  "No show tonight, guys.  Sorry."
     He reached down and grabbed my arm, pulling me on-stage.
     "Johnny, what--"
     I didn't get a chance to finish.  He dragged me hurriedly to
the stage exit, where the bands load and unload their equipment,
Teddy right behind us.

     It doesn't last long.
     Teddy never even moves from his place on the floor.  I don't
think he even knows we're still here.
     I am still cold when Johnny gets off of me.
     He leans back, pulling out a cigarette.  He doesn't light
it, but sits there staring at his tattoo intently.
     "What are you doing?" I finally ask.
     "Thinking."
     "What about?"
     He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and lights it.  "This
tattoo.. it's just amazing..."
     (blink)
     I try, but I can't look away from it.  The colors are
brilliant, captivating.  When had William put the color to it?  I
can't remember it having color in it before.  

     Speed.  I like speed.
     As Teddy raced along I-35 in his light blue van at 85 miles
an hour, I dug through his glove box.
     "What are you looking for?" Teddy asked.
     "An ink pen."
     At that moment, I ran across one that had what I needed.  I
slapped the dashboard in triumph.  
     "Hey, watch it!" Teddy teased.  I grinned and kissed him on
the cheek.
     I joined Johnny on the floor in the back, watching him
hacking up the White Crosses for a moment.   
     "Did you find one?" Johnny asked.
     I held up the pen.  
     "Well what are you waiting for?  Get it ready."
     I blinked and looked down at the pen, feeling like an L.A.
awards show put on a seven-second delay.  I took the cap off and
threw it away, dug the tip out with my fingernail and pulled out
the ink capsule.  All that was left was a white plastic tube.
     Johnny snatched it out of my hands.  He put one end to one
of the little white lines he had just arranged and the other end
to his nose.  The powder disappeared up the tube.
     Johnny sat up and sniffed, satisfied.  "Killer."
     He pulled out a syringe and uncapped it.
     
     Teddy screams.
     Johnny hardly flinches, but I jump up off the couch and
hurry to Teddy's side.
     "See, I told you he's not all right!"
     Teddy is shaking, convulsing, gasping.
     (killer)
     I turn to Johnny, who is still sitting with his feet propped
up on the coffee table.
     "Help me, goddammit!"
     Johnny shrugs and laughs, taking a drag from his cigarette. 
"He'll be okay.  This happens all the time."
     
     The van suddenly swerved across the road, veering severely
to the right.  My reflexes were slow, and I slammed hard into
Johnny.
     "Watch it!  You're making me spill it!"
     (cringe)
     "Teddy?" I called out, as Johnny pushed me away.  
     There was no answer from the front of the van.

     I look down at Teddy on my floor.  His eyes open and close. 
He whispers something that I don't quite catch.  
     "What?  What is it?"
     He opens his mouth to try again.


     "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," I said to Johnny.  "I
didn't mean to spill your precious poison."
     Johnny ignored me, hurriedly scooping the rest of the speed
into a plastic bag.  "What the hell is he doing up there?"
     "Teddy?" I screamed again.
     Before I could even stand up, there was an impact.  A great,
forceful collision of metal and concrete.  My head slammed into
the wall of the van and waves of blackness rolled across my
vision.   
                    
     His eyes settle on my face, lingering this time without
slipping shut.  Behind me, I hear the scrape of Johnny's lighter.
     
     The shrieking of metal contorting into impossible new shapes
jarred me out of my near-unconsciousness.  I imagined it was the
monster embedded into Johnny's arm.

     "You're.." he tries again.  "You're beautiful."  
     His body is suddenly and deathly still.  And then there is
nothing but silence.

     And after the shrieking came the graveyard silence, hissing
it's way into my thoughts, pounding through my bloodstream.  It
was over.  The misery melted away.  

     My head snaps up; it is over.
     I am in a church.
     There is an open coffin in the front of the room, with a
beautiful bouquet of red chrysanthemums garnishing it.
     "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death... " the minister begins.  If he only knew.
     I stand up, drifting to the front of the room.  Someone is
already there, standing with his back to me.   
     He knows I am approaching.  He always does.  So he turns to
look at me.  And there is that look in his eyes again.  What is
it?  Confusion, resignation, admiration, loathing, desire?  Love-
hate?  You're beautiful...
     He moves out of my way.  I step forward. 
     Johnny is lying in the coffin.  A tear falls down my cheek. 
I'd been with him when he died.  I was always there while he did
it, waiting for the time when he'd inject too much, when he'd
create a lethal combination.  He'd known it was a  
     (fantasy)
     risk, and he'd made his own choices.
     He'd been so beautiful.
     Johnny suddenly bolts upright in his coffin, his face a mask
of confusion and fear.  His eyes settle on my face.  He'd never
understood our relationship as well as Teddy had.  
     "No," he whispers.
     I smile, as his eyes begin to plead with me.  But it's too
late.  He opens his mouth to scream.  His tattoo glows,  a
spectrum of colors, vibrant and alive.  The night is always
darkest right before the dawn.  But there is no blood this time. 
Never again.  The
     (seduction)
     is over.  He wouldn't have changed a thing even if he could
go back and try, and he knows it.
     Come... belong to me... I'd whispered.
     And now he did.
                     

@ 1994 by Black Sunshine
