In the Dead of Night (50 page)

As for Melvin? It’s too early to get a read on our most gifted musician in our current lineup. He loves music, and like me, he is a devoted Harley man. But, other than that, it’s hard to say…. He brings some southern politeness, but I can tell he isn’t a fan of bullshit manners. To that effect, I highly doubt I’ll ever see him reading an etiquette guide by Emily Post.

“Things are okay at home,” I said. “Just some bullshit at work, man, but thanks for asking.”

“That sucks…I heard about the lady from your show who got killed.”

He opened the door and we both stepped inside the warehouse.

“Yeah, Pauline was a wonderful woman and friend to my wife. It’s a real shame,” I said, as we walked together to our rehearsal room. It was really weird for me talking to Max as I do to Ricky Chamberlain, who other than Fiona is probably my truest friend in the world…although lately Justin and I have grown pretty close, as well. “Everything’s on hold for now.”

“Well, I hope it works out, man,” he said, allowing me to open the rehearsal door for him, and nodding thanks.

It further cemented this Twilight Zone moment, since Max has often stated his contempt for me as a ‘homebody’ in my married status. I almost asked him if he was feeling okay, but let the matter go as a further irony struck my ears as I opened the door to our rehearsal room. It was the sound of Ricky shredding some lead riffs while being accompanied by Melvin.

What craziness has our new bassist wrought in our little Quagmire world? Max has become Ricky and Ricky has become…well, a helluva lot better guitar player, apparently. Both Max and I stepped into the room with our mouths dropped open. This was so unlike the guy who prefers to stay in the background and let a song breathe; sort of like how it is with me when I play bass.

Melvin and Ricky both stopped playing when they noticed our presence.

“What in the hell was that?” asked Max, admiringly. He set his guitar case on the stage before jumping onto it. “Sounds pretty bad ass..... Is that a new rift of yours, Melvoid?”

“Nah…it’s something Ricky here thought up last night,” said Melvin, nonchalantly, while offering a slight smile. Dude must surely carry ice in his veins. “We both got here an hour early and decided to work on it…. It’s a new tune called ‘
Midnight Guardian
’.”

“It sounds really good, y’all,” I said, watching Ricky put his Les Paul away. “Bro, that was some seriously hot guitar playing. Where in the hell did you learn to do that?”

“In a previous life, I was in a Jane’s Addiction cover band”

“Back when you lived in Atlanta?”

“No, it was right before I moved here, when I lived in Savannah for a year,” he said. “You remember my cousin Jamie? I lived with him and my aunt in that big ole house on the Savannah River.”

“The place that inspired
Dragging the River
,” I said thoughtfully.

Not sure why the memory of the house suddenly pulled on me, but for a moment, I relived the vision I had one night while visiting the Duquesne’s sprawling southern mansion overlooking the famous river. I woke up in the middle of a moonlit night, seeing a pale kid in a flat cap and knickers standing next to the door of my balcony. The kid smiled wanly, and by the time I sat up and wiped my eyes to look again, he had already disappeared.

I wrote the song the next night, while jamming away on Jamie’s sweet 1946 Martin. And not unlike
Lady Jade
, the words came as a stream of consciousness to me. I could hardly keep up as I struggled to write them down. I left everything as I saw it...the vision of this kid, running away and not realizing he was dead when they found his body further down the river. I later decided to alter the words so that it sounded like he simply ran away, while the search party dragging the depths of the Savannah River had found someone else.

To this day, Ricky doesn’t know about the inspiration for the song, although he does know about the ghost. He laughed at me for believing Jamie and his Aunt Martha’s fabrication about the ‘little boy who haunts Duquesne Manor’. Since this was before I met Fiona and had been indoctrinated into the ghost hunting biz, I never bothered telling my smart ass friend that no one had ever told me in advance about the little boy ghost, and that it was the spirit himself who decided to pay me a little hospitality visit….

“Well how about that,” said Melvin, balancing a slim panatela between his teeth. I assume he got it from Max, who struck a match to light the one held in the bridge of his Strat, as well as Melvin’s. “You and the great Johnny Mercer have something in common. And, I dare say that your wonderful tune stands up quite nicely to
Moon River
.”

Wow. More heady stuff. This guy who could give Clint Eastwood’s
High Plains Drifter
character a run for his money in delivering chilly lines was in danger of giving me a permanently fat head. Well, maybe not permanently, since Max and Ricky could always be counted on to keep me humble. Not to mention David.

“Well, thanks, Melvin,” I said, offering him a smile while he quietly studied me, as if I were some unique exhibit. Not quite like the ladies sometimes do, but close enough to make me turn my attention back to Ricky. “Hey, where’s Mongo? It’s not like him to be late two weeks in a row.”

“He’s sick, man,” said Ricky. “So, Max and I are going to program a basic drum beat for you to follow, and then we want you to lay the correct acoustic track for
Dragging the River
and then lay a scratch vocal. If we’ve got enough time afterward, you and I can start fleshing out the melody line, and maybe come up with a few lyrics to go with the ones I already have written down for
Midnight Guardian
.”

“Sounds like a plan, man.”

Unlike my paranormal cohorts, Ricky, Max, and I work at an extremely fast pace. We’ve had a few musician friends in the past shy away from any collaborative efforts since we can come across as insensitive when they struggle to keep up. Thankfully, Melvin’s speed of catching on to how we like to hash out a demo is as impressive as the amazing chops on his instrument. Then again, he is a regular stand-in for the guys who make up the famed ‘Nashville Sound’ on Music Row. You don’t get that gig unless you can roll with the hardcore pros in town.

While Ricky and Max created the drum loop and then edited it for the song’s breaks, Melvin watched me play the chord progression and soon was adding tasteful bass licks that brought broad smiles from all of us. The guy’s a freak.

Within an hour we had created the song, and Melvin asked me how many chords I had incorporated during several ‘walks’ along my Taylor’s fret board.

“Twenty-seven chord changes, although there remains an ongoing debate about how many actual chords are involved since most of the changes are inversions,” I tried to explain, although I’ll readily admit I was a C-student at best when it came to music theory during my brief college career.

“It’s either four or five,” said Max, reaching for his lighter and another slim cigar. “But who cares? As long as the sucker sounds good, it doesn’t matter if it’s Beethoven or Green Day we’re talking about. Right?”

“It’s more than five,” said Ricky, shooting me an admiring glance. “I just wish I had come up with a progression and melody as cool.”

“Why don’t we call it ‘Five-plus’ for now, and when I study the chart I’ve drawn up later on, I can give y’all an accurate answer,” said Melvin. “So, when do we get to hear you croon this one proper?”

“In about a minute,” I said, setting my acoustic guitar back in its case. It would soon return to its dusty corner until duty calls again. “Just give me a moment to warm up, and then I’ll lay the scratch down, along with some background vocals.”

Our sound system is so frigging wicked. Wicked enough to where the tracks we had just laid down sounded killer, and the basic skeleton alone boded well for an awesome tune to add to our lineup. Personally, I figured the only hiccup might come from forgetting some of the lyrics, since none of us had a printed copy with us. I’d have to try and remember the words as we ran through the song. That usually meant several takes.

But that’s not what happened. For some reason, the vision from the past suddenly reappeared in my head. It was as if we were back in Savannah that humid night in June so long ago….

Unnerved by the noise at river’s side, a watchman cries out as they drag through again.

Daylight gives way to the edge of night, if they can’t find it here, they’ll search up further the bend.

They’re dragging the river clean

They’re dragging the river clean

They’re dragging the river clean….

Never thought they’d come for me…they’re dragging the river.

I’m the one they wouldn’t see…they’re dragging the river.

Thought it best if I just lay on low for just awhile…

I only wanted to be free.

My God—what have I done?

It was so vivid, man. The images and the boy…hiding behind a large live oak along the river’s edge—a sight that the Deep South is known for. Strands of Spanish moss hung from the tree, gently blowing back and forth in a soft summer breeze. And I could smell the air…thick but clean, from an earlier time before industry changed the air’s aroma forever….

A crowd gathers close to the river’s shore…the sideshow from nearby has evolved into a zoo.

Curious to see who the search is for…I’m anxious to tell, but I don’t dare come in view.

The search carries on, yet they’ve found no one…they’re wasting their time ‘cause I only ran away.

Hiding alone is not really fun…and there are some things I’d like to say….

I’ve always wanted to live!

I’ve never wanted to die!

To say I took the plunge down to my death is from the truth the farthest cry!

So, what’s the prize you’re looking for…within the murky depths below?

Peace of mind for your burdened souls…to find someone you just ignored?

Never thought they’d come for me…they’re dragging the river.

I’m the one they wouldn’t see…they’re dragging the river.

Thought it best if I just lay on low…for just awhile.

I only wanted to be free.

My God—what have I done?

I had been so focused on the images in my head that I hadn’t noticed everyone staring at me. Rather, the guys were all looking at me with admiration…and I realized I must be singing this shit with much more passion than is usual for me. But it’s hard not to do that when you’re seeing the equivalent of a spectacular motion picture being played out in your head….

Daylight returns to the rivers’ side…a cap and a scarf have drifted onto the shore.

The events that unfold confuse my mind, they’re dragging again—they must be looking for more!

Soon there’s talk of a body found floating downstream.

They’re packing their gear with no more reasons to stay.

And, so it is clear what it all does mean….

They couldn’t give a damn if I was running away!

They’ve been dragging the river clean

They’ve been dragging the river clean

They’ve been dragging the river clean….

Not looking for me.

This last part filled me with such sorrow…it was as if I could feel—literally so—this kid’s anguish as he watched the searchers move on. It truly felt like I was inside his head, and could picture the emptiness surrounding him. Somewhere deep inside this kid, he knew he had died. Perhaps he had slipped and fallen into the deep waters of the Savannah River as he sought to escape his troubled home life….

“What in the hell is wrong with you, man?”

Well, so much for Max’s kinder demeanor. I snickered as I watched his intrusion descend into the deep blue waters of my private movie...too bad the rest of him wasn’t attached to it.

“Huh? Oh…man I just got lost in the tune,” I said. But then I noticed that all three were looking at me as if I had grown a brand new third eye in the middle of my forehead. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

“Nothin’,” said Ricky wearing an amused smirk while shaking his head. “I’ve just never seen you cry before…obviously, none of us have.”

“Cry? What in the hell are….”

But then I felt the last trickle of tears roll down my face. It was a profound moment for me. And, Fiona would later tell me that what I experienced is a form of mediumship, where I actually tapped into this deceased kid’s psyche. Or, I tapped into the memory that he had of his own passing. Although, as I mentioned, he had no idea that he had died. I hope that’s still not the case for this lost soul.

Needless to say, I sure as hell wasn’t going to share any of this with the boys in my band. It would be my secret, until I shared it with Fiona the next day.

As we headed our separate ways that night, we had our first completed demo since our debacle with Chris. It was an immensely satisfying moment for us all, including our solemn newbie, Melvin. I could hardly wait until next week’s rehearsal to work on Ricky’s new tune.