Page 52 of Soul So Dark
“Yes,” I sigh.
As if I would go anywhere without my phone or ride in a car without a charger—the stuff of nightmares.
Just as I say it, Austin texts me that he’s outside.
I hold up my phone. “See? He’s here now.”
It’s not lost on me that my mom and Scott are much less likely to argue with my plans tonight if they know that Austin and his presumably just-as-tall and intimidating cousin are going with us to find Shapeshift. And I’ll take full advantage. I also haven’t left the house for anything but school since the day Evie was found and I’m starting to go crazy. I think my mom knows it from the way she eyes me whenever I grab food from the kitchen and disappear back upstairs before anyone can speak to me.
She should be grateful that I’m running out the door into the land of the living instead of locking myself in my cave. Granted, I like my bubblegum pink cave; it’s quiet and familiar and I can ignore everything going on outside. But I also like Shapeshift, and it’s the perfect distraction tonight.
I jog to Austin’s Range Rover and throw open the back door. Carter turns around in the front seat and gives me a once-over, examining my tight black tee, cutoff shorts over ripped black tights, and black combat boots.
“You’re the only person I know who looks hot in glasses,” she says wistfully.
I laugh to myself.Chronic dry-eye, especially at night…
Tonight, it’s the purple frames to balance all the black.
“Of course she is,” Maddie scoffs from the seat next to me, “if I wore mine, I’d look like I’m about to set off for a deep-sea expedition into the Mariana Trench.”
There’s also no way I’m going to risk getting dry contacts and seeing Shapeshift through itchy, foggy lenses. Plus, they’re right, I look damn good in my glasses.
By the time we get to the Starliner and head for the doors, the theatre looks nearly empty, no different than any other weeknight. But when we round the corner to the back of the building, everything changes. People are all but running across the decaying asphalt to the cracked concrete stairs leading to the lower level.
They have to be here.
“Come on!” Maddie shouts to someone across the parking lot as we all start running.
I turn to see Shelby sprinting toward us with a guy right behind her. It must be Trey, Austin’s infamous cousin. He looks like the anti-Austin, with his dark shaggy hair, dark eyes, and skater vibe. We all meet at the bottleneck in a fit of shrieks and giggles, all but falling down the stairs as we secure our place in the queue.
Shelby motions to me. “This is Dallas,” she gasps, out of breath, “Dallas, this is Trey.”
He gives a nod, extending his hand. I shake it and start to say something, but the line moves and everyone rushes forward as though a jam’s just been cleared.
“No cover!” a stocky guy with a goatee calls, waving everyone forward.
“If you want to drink, you need a wristband!” another with light hair and gauged ears shouts from the other side of the door.
Both of them are wearing black t-shirts withSECURITYprinted on the right breast. I grab Austin’s arm so I don’t get swept away in the crowd before we finally make it into the open area. The black floors and walls give way to a stage that’s lit with orange and pink lights and instruments scattered across the ancient wood plank flooring. Carter points and we make a beeline for the stage, nearly knocking over the metal barricade to secure spaces right in front.
The noise, the smell of perfume and cologne from the bodies all around us, the smell of popcorn drifting over the crowd from the bar in the back—all of it tricks me into thinking I’m some place where the only worry I have is realizing I forgot to pack an extra pair of underwear for whoever’s house I’m staying at.
I want to forget what day it is and get lost in whatever’s about to happen. When the lights finally go down and the crowd erupts in ear-splitting screams, Randy Mondelli, the drummer of Shapeshift, strolls onstage. And I scream with them, feeling the freest I’ve ever been, crammed together with my friends and a hundred other people I’ve never seen before.
Their guitarist follows, and then their bassist. Finally, the silhouette of a man with his signature top knot appears on the left side of the stage. The room goes black and Bailin Marquardt enters the stage, flashes of strobe lights punctuating each move. There’s a pause, and then lights flood the stage and he unleashes a deep, guttural scream into the microphone.
Shelby and I turn to each other and let out simultaneous screams, and then turn to the stage to let out another as Bailin leans into the crowd with another roar. We’re nothing but whisps of hair thrashing back and forth with the beat as hard as an earthquake. It goes on like this for another four songs, each more electric than the last.
Suddenly, something slams against my shoulder and someone crashes against the barricade. I stagger to the side, pushed into the bodies next to me as Shelby disappears, replaced by a wave of guys crushed against one another. They bounce off the metal piping, but I’m cut off from the rest of the group, trying to hang on before I get pulled back into the crowd.
Did we seriously end up right in front of the pit?
Apparently so, and now I’m fighting for my life to ride it out without any broken bones. I raise my arm to my head and try to look for Shelby, but it’s no use. My ribs hit the barricade, making me wince in pain. I can’t push off of the bars, someone keeps slamming into my back. Or more like a dozen somebodies. Someone slams into me again, knocking the wind out of me. My head whips from side to side, searching for the security guys, but they’re focused on either side of the stage plucking surfers out of the crowd.
I’m about to try and climb over the barricade to escape when an arm passes in front of my face. A hand grabs the top of the barricade next to me and blocks the next person before we collide. Someone brushes against my back and then they plant their other hand on the opposite side of me. When I look up, there’s a guy looking down at me.
“You alright?” he shouts in my ear.
