Dark Muse (4 page)

“Wait,” Muddy’s voice trembled. “We just need
your help. Just a few minutes of your time. Please. We’re not from
here, we’re a little—”

“I already told you, I don’t know any Satch.
Go away!”

“We never said ‘Satch,’” Muddy called. “His
name’s Satriani.
You
called him Satch.”

Poe squeezed his arm. “Good one, Edgar.
Nailed the mean old creep.”

All was quiet for a minute. Even the dog
didn’t budge.

“Please, we need help. We've heard that you
know all about our problem.”

“What problem? What are you talking about,
boy?” This time, the voice sounded normal, without murderous
overtones.

Muddy swallowed hard, and steadied his
voice.

“The Crossroads
. I need to know all
about them and how
it
works.”

CLICK!
It sounded like someone had
cocked a gun. A big gun like in those lame cop shows.

“You sick sons of demons! Get off my porch
and don’t ever come back.”

Otis and Corey began to run already, but Poe
stuck her ground. So did Muddy, even though he was scared so much
his shoulders shook.

She held both his hands and gave him
strength.

“Sir, I
need
your help. My brother
disappeared there last night. I saw
everything
. I
need
to know how to get Zack back. Please…”

The dog howled as objects smashed inside. It
sounded like the guy was breaking everything in sight. A minute
later, the front door creaked open.

The band stood there, not sure what to
do.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day,
or come inside? If you want to learn how to kill yourselves, come
on in and I’ll show you how.”

Chapter Four

Within the ramshackle house a shrine to blues
music existed—everywhere. Pictures of Jimi Hendrix, B.B. King,
Buddy Guy, Ella Fitzgerald, Albert King, all the greats hung from
the walls. The frames made the room seem almost homey, instead of
homely. Almost. It smelled like something had died in there, long,
long ago. The man who sat in the rocking chair in front of Muddy
seemed familiar—very familiar. Then it dawned on him. This old guy
was in every picture on the walls with the greats of the blues!
Hugging Jimi, jamming with B.B., getting a kiss from Ella; the man
knew all of them.

Geez. This guy, living in this broken down
shack, with his ugly dog over in the corner, half-growling,
half-drooling, he knows, or knew all these famous people. And now,
he lives in the worst part of town? Without a pot to pee in?
Muddy’s mind reeled.

At first, when they saw the man behind the
door, Muddy almost laughed. The older guy looked anything but
threatening. Maybe thirty or forty years ago the man might scare
the group, but not now.

That mongrel that he'd originally thought to
be a demon was only an old beagle. Yet when she howled in this old
house, her little voice echoed through the walls, transforming into
something deeper and darker.

Corey fed her doggie treats from a bowl on
the table, but the dog kept glaring at him. Black eyes locked onto
his even as she chewed away.

The black man ambled over to his rocker,
motioning with a wrinkled hand for all of them to sit wherever they
could find a spot. Piles of old newspapers and old vinyl records
filled most of the space but they managed to find openings on the
floor. Poe snagged a ratty couch covered in beagle hair. It was
probably better, Muddy mused, that her vision wasn’t so sharp.

The guy looked about seventy, but with a
hundred years of wear on the tires. Wearing a moth-eaten wool
blazer and sky blue pants, he looked like he could fit in any
senior citizens home. He was a bald Bill Cosby without all the
smiling. When Muddy finally got a good look at his face, he
winced.

The old man's eyes were mismatched. The right
one was cocoa, but the left was silver! Not icy blue, or one of
those colored contacts that Chelsea or the girls at school would
probably wear to prom—it was shining silver where the color should
be. The teen wondered if the old man could see out of it.

He looked deeper. Yes, those eyes had seen a
lot. The hair stood up on his neck as he held the gaze.

“Seen too much,” said the old man, jarring
Muddy from his stare. “Way too much.”

“What?”

“You in charge of this little posse?” Old
Silver Eye asked him.

Again, Muddy swallowed. “I guess so. Yes,
sir.”

The old man chuckled to himself, coughed then
drank a swig of iced tea. “Yes sir,” he repeated and shook his
head. “Most kids out this way are disrespectful little runts. They
come and spray paint my house, kick my dog, shoot each other,
whatever. I should’ve never come back.” His head dropped a bit.

“From where, Memphis? Chicago? That where
you’re from?”

He shook his head, still dropped. “Nope, not
what I meant at all, but you might find out if you’re unlucky
enough.”

“What do you mean? I just want to find my
brother. Where did he go?”

“Where do you think? You don’t seem like an
idiot to me. Are you?”

Poe, once again, jumped into battle for her
friend. “Relax there, Mr. Music Man. Just because you know all
these famous people,” she swirled with her arms, “doesn’t mean you
can put us down. We’re not stupid. We’re just…different.”

Muddy smiled at the angel of his life,
his
secret angel. Could she really see who was in the
photos? No, he guessed, but she things figured out real fast.

“You don’t say?” he asked, amused at her
reaction. “I can tell. Easily.”

The whole gang tensed up. They'd always had
to deal with that stuff in school. They didn’t need it here, too,
not with Zack missing. Something, or someone, was going to
explode.

Corey stood. “What does
that
mean?”

More laughter erupted from the old guy.
“Relax, relax.” He waved at them to sit down. “I didn’t mean
anything derogatory by it. Look, I just met you. I have no idea
what you’re about. All I meant were two things.”

Muddy felt his muscles untangle a little.
“Oh, yeah?” He still wondered where the old man had stashed the gun
he'd heard click. “And what’re those?”

The man downed the rest of his iced tea then
called Sally over to sit by him. “First, some of you are going to
be surprised at what the crossroads can do to a person. It ain’t
natural—at least to this world.”

“What do you mean?” Corey asked. “There’s no
such thing as supernatural…stuff. And what do you mean by
some
of us? Why not
all
of us? Aren’t we
different
enough?” He’d spent his life labeled as different,
just like all of them. Nothing got under his skin more.

Poe tried to diffuse the stress. “So, you
said there were two things. What’s the second?”

“Hmmm,” the man replied. “You guys have no
idea what music
really
is all about.”

“You old dog!” Otis was never one to mince
words.

“Otis!” Poe sounded disgusted. She turned to
the man, who still had not introduced himself. “Who do you think
you are to tell us what we know about music? Is it because we’re
not famous like those people you posed with on the wall? Because
we’re young? Not from the ‘ghetto?’ What?”

Otis drew back and leaned into Muddy. “Are
you’re sure you want to date her?”

“Shut up,” he whispered, hoping she'd missed
Otis’ comment.

The old man still sat there, shaking his
head. “No ma’am. It ain’t any of that. That there was ‘Silver Eye
Watkins’ up there on the walls with those so-called famous
musicians.
They
know what it means, what it takes to
be
the music. When ol’ Silver Eye brought them over, their
talent exploded from little seeds into whole fields of song. So,
unless you’ve been
over
,
my beautiful little dear,
you have
no
idea what music really is, or can do. Got it
now?”

Poe’s expression changed to something else,
as though she’d just smelled Otis after leaving Taco Bell. “Umm… I
have no idea what you’re saying at all. What do you mean by
over
?”

She turned to the rest of them. They simply
shrugged.

“Bottom line,” he added. “If you want to find
your brother, sit down and tell me what happened so you can go over
there and get him back. But unless he’s got
it
, he’s
probably dead by now.”

* * * *

After Muddy finished his story, sweating in
the stuffy living room, nervous as all get out, the silence washed
over the group like a swampy wave. His fingers drummed the coffee
table, thoughts rolling through the possible options.

Would Silver Eye believe me? Would he laugh
or think I’m nuts? What was up with that eye?

When the tension swelled in the room, Otis
broke the taut line.

“Well? How do we get Zack back? Can you help
us or are you just going to stare at Muddy there with that freaky
silver eye?”

The old man’s head came up, and instead of
telling off the little drummer, he gazed around the room. “Who the
heck is Muddy?”

Poe leaned toward her friend. “
Edgar
here likes that nickname. It goes well with his last name, Rivers.
We’re all big fans of the blues and classic rock.”

The eruption of laughter from Silver Eye
Watkins shook the photos on the wall. His eyes teared up and his
one foot stomped the floor.

“Muddy Rivers? Muddy Rivers? You named that,
kinda like Muddy
Waters?
Was ‘Dirty Stream’ or ‘Cruddy
Creek’ already taken? Come on, speak up, blues boy.”

The boy burned with pure embarrassment. He'd
always felt confident with the name, but now this old coot had
stripped him of his armor in one fell swoop.

It started with Otis then Corey, and after a
few seconds of those two giggling to themselves, even Poe fell
apart. Suddenly, everyone cracked up, even Muddy.

“I like the name,” Poe said. I think it fits
him.”

The older bluesman gazed into Muddy's eyes.
“Okay,
Edgar.
”

More waves of laughter shook through the
group.

“Please,” the Muddy begged.

“Okay,
boy
. You want that name you
call yourself?”

Muddy stared right back at the old man,
suddenly serious again. “Definitely.”

“Then earn it.”

I will
, Muddy thought stubbornly to
himself.
I will.

“When do we start looking for Zack? I want to
find him before something bad happens.”

A deep breath vibrated through the old man.
“Oh, but something bad has already happened if he’s over there
alone.”

“I don’t even know where he is. Where
is
he?”

“First,” Silver Eye said. “You need to know,
it’s not a picnic. He went someplace many musicians and artists and
writers went before, but not all have returned.”

“So?”

“So,” he said, staring at him with that one
dark eye and one unblinking silver eye, “are you willing to take
that risk?”

No doubt about it. He’s my brother
,
Muddy thought, but the man’s comment did scare him a little.

“I’m in.”

“So am I,” Poe added.

“Him too,” Corey replied, pointing his big
finger at the drummer.

“I don’t have a date until this weekend, so
why not?” Otis, always hiding behind his jokes. Thankfully, they
had the old man with them.

Silver Eye shook his head. “Good, ‘cept I’ve
never crossed over with kids before.”

“I’ll try to leave my pacifier here if that
makes you feel better, gramps,” Corey said.

“Watch your mouth, boy.” He slammed his fist
into the arm of the chair. Muddy watched the thick veins on the
dark hands grow and shake. “You have no idea what you’re dealing
with over there.” Fire burned in his one eye. “Take it seriously or
go home and cry when your brother never comes back.” Why did the
man seem so angry? What did he know about where they would go?

None of them still had any idea what “over
there” meant, but they figured he would show them the light—or lose
them in darkness soon enough.

“What’s the second thing?” Muddy asked.

He kept his gaze on him. “We leave
tonight.”

“But how? We have school tomorrow.”

“You chicken,” Corey said. “It’s your
brother!”

“Yeah,” Otis chimed in, “you’re not scared,
are you?”

The old man stomped his foot again to get
their attention. “You’re
all
scared. Or should be. It’s a
messed up world over there. I still get the trembles every time I
go.”

“Besides,” Silver Eye continued. “Time
doesn’t listen to any of our rules over there. So, you might not
even miss one of your arithmetic classes if you’re lucky. If you’re
not, I hope whoever comes back can spell the words right on your
tombstone.”

“What is
over
there?” Muddy asked,
ignoring the taunt.

Now Poe jumped into the fray. “Is it beyond
that landfill? Some isolated part where people don’t go to
anymore?”

The old man looked directly at Muddy. “You
can’t walk there. You know that, so why are you asking? It’s not on
a map. It’s not past the landfill, but it is somewhere that people
hardly visit anymore, at least from this area.”

Otis smirked and had to add his two cents.
“So…you’re saying it’s somewhere only
you
can take us, but
it’s not past the landfill and it’s not across the river.”

The old man went silent.

“So…are we gonna click our heels together
like in the Wizard of Oz and float there?”

The old man suddenly stood. “Listen, you
little… I don’t need this crap. You don’t believe me, fine. Let
that boy die over there. It ain’t my issue. You wanna cross over
with him, fine, but don’t go making me out to be no crazy
idiot.”

Damage control time. It always happened when
Otis got riled up.