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DEAD TWIN SISTER
Die So Fluid Series
BY JACK WALLEN
Die So Fluid is back from The Dark Seduction.
Reeling from the loss of a dear friend—and working with a new manager—their special blend of rock must continue on. While recording their latest album, “One Bullet From Paradise”, a spirit from the Seduction has latched onto Grog, intent on wreaking havoc. With each recorded song the spirit gains more power until Grog’s dead twin sister is unleashed.
With the help of some powerful hand magic and the lasting spirit of her departed friend, Grog must fight back the spectral force and save the human race from damnation.
DEAD TWIN SISTER
Die So Fluid Series
BY JACK WALLEN
You could sleepwalk all your life and never learn how to run
Don’t say tomorrow. Tomorrow doesn’t always come.
The headphones were tight over my ears; the metal studs through cartilage pressing into my skull served to keep me grounded by way of a nagging irritation. The sound of Drew’s guitar track had everyone in the studio caught in a brilliant fog, our heads banging now and again in a show of rock and roll solidarity. When the last note rang out, cheers exploded against the studio walls, easily invoking visions of concert halls.
Drew sat at the console, a knowing grin spread wide across his lips. There could be no doubt this was some of his best work. It all made perfect sense; Drew and I were driven by the same muse, one that threatened to punish us with a never-ending stream of heart-breaking memories, should we not deliver the goods.
That Drew delivered, there was no arguing. He’d been in rare form lately, playing as if he’d been possessed by the spirit of Ronson and McGeoch. I knew the truth to that fiction. A certain specter whispered in his ear as he played, pushing him toward some heretofore unknown perfection.
Or such was the story playing back in the cinema of my mind.
“That was bloody awful,” Drew shouted, his headphones still covering his ears, so he had no idea he’d voiced the opinion to everyone within earshot. All in attendance knew the guitarist was f*&king around. A good sign, that; Drew’s sense of humor was irrevocably tied to his ego. I knew the trick of this riddle; the more he mocked himself, the more confidence he held in his work.
I tossed the man a devil horn salute. “Bloody well botched that whole number up. How in the hell am I supposed to sing to that shit?”
Drew kissed the tip of his middle finger and flew it my way. “You always find a way to make me sound like I know what I’m doing. We, of course, know better.” A wicked grin slowly ate its way across Drew’s mouth. “Your turn, princess.”
“That’s Queen to you, commoner,” I tossed my head back and shot my nose into the air. “You may kiss my ring or lick my boot; one or the other, not both.”
“You would deprive me of my only joy?” Drew winked and nodded for me to step to the other side of the glass.
It was go time.
I entered the small room, placed the headphones over my ears, stepped up to the mic, and waited to be prompted for a soundcheck. With the door to the room closed, the sensation before the music began to play was disconcerting at best—absolute silence was absolutely deafening.
Given last night’s dream, it was a gift of grand irony that we were recording ‘Tomorrow Doesn’t Always Come.’ Al’s visit could have been a premonition of things to come while standing behind the mic.
The thought of Al brought a smile to my face and a tightness in my chest.
“Ready, doll?” The sound of Drew’s voice shattered my sorrowful reverie.
I took a quick sip of water, swallowed, and offered a thumbs-up to those at the console. Shortly after, the click track kicked in, followed by Drew’s masterful intro. I’d already laid down my bass track, so I was able to sing against a wall of very Die So Fluid sound. Intro complete, I took in a deep breath and sang.
“I once told you I’m yours till the end of time but how long is that anyway? Tonight we could go down in a hail of comets, like a cosmic sundance. To the last I’ll stay. You could sleepwalk all your life and never learn how to run. Don’t say tomorrow, tomorrow doesn’t always come. Give me all you’ve got tonight. Don’t hold out for the morning sun. Don’t say tomorrow, tomorrow doesn’t always come.”
I waved my hand in the air, to cut the track short.
“Sounding glorious,” Drew announced. “You okay?”
“Sure. I just…” My voice faded to silence.
“What is it?” Drew insisted.
“Nothing, nothing. Wasn’t feeling it is all. Let’s give it another go.”
Once again, the click track led me into the number. The melody poured from my mouth, this time in perfect sync with an emotion-flooded heart.
We will wreak havoc on the world.
The track continued on without me.
“Did you hear that?” I called out into the mic.
Drew leaned into the console mic and responded. “Hear what?”
“Yeah I did. Yours. Should I have heard something else?”
I tapped my headphones. “Could you play that back for me?”
Another thumbs-up from Drew and the track, including my vocals, filled my head with song. There was no other voice. I gathered my wits and responded, “Did anyone in there speak into my monitor while I was recording my track?”
All heads shook, leaving me confounded. I was certain the voice had been there and the words perfectly clear. Drew whispered in my ears, “You need to take a break?”
“I’m fine. Had another dream last night, so it’s probably nothing more than the after-effects of that.”
“Al?” Drew hesitantly asked.
I nodded to confirm his assumption.
“I’m sorry, Grogins. I miss him too.”
“Let me give this another go.”
The click track returned. I wanted to sing to the stars, that I’d finally made it through the number without f&#king up or hearing voices rattling my addled brain.
As soon as the final note of the song faded to silence, everyone in the booth went wild. It took a moment, but Drew finally chimed in. “Oh, f*#k yeah, Grog; you’ve never sounded that good. It was absolute perfection. Brava.”
“Playback,” I requested.
The melody rose in perfect counterpoint to Drew’s fretwork. As I reached the first chorus, the voice returned, this time with a bit more menace to its tone.
I’ll cut you and gut you, my sister.
Jack Wallen is what happens when a Gen Xer mind-melds with present day snark. Jack is a seeker of truth and a writer of words with a quantum mechanical pencil and a disjointed beat of sound and soul. Although he resides in the unlikely city of Louisville, Kentucky, Jack likes to think of himself more as an interplanetary traveler, on the lookout for the Satellite of Love and a perpetual movie sign…or so he tells the reflection in the mirror (some times in 3rd person). Jack is the author of numerous tales of dark, twisty fiction including the I Zombie series, the Reapers series (published by Devil Dog Press), the Suicide series, the Klockwerk Movement, the Fringe Killer series, Shero, The Nameless Saga, and much more.
Links to Jack’s website, blog, books, etc.
Thanks, Jack, for sharing your book with us!
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