Forgotten Bones by Vivian Barz

Author:Vivian Barz [Barz, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542041638
Published: 2019-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Based on Jake’s description of its “vibe” (Eric had found that many Californians openly conversed about things that would likely be considered fruitcakey around his old stomping grounds—vibes, energies, auras), the inside of Luna’s Pub looked exactly as Eric had predicted. West Coast cool met East Coast blue blood: heavy, dark wooden tables; brushed-chrome stools; industrial light fixtures. It smelled rich and boozy, but not unpleasantly so—more aged whiskey barrel than dirty frat house.

Eric liked the place and was hoping it would like him and his drumming in return.

As Eric had come to learn while playing in the Complete, there really is no limit to a drunk’s assholery potential. While onstage, the Complete had had drunks heckle them, throw bottles onstage, and grab at their instruments. The weirdest of all was the stumbling middle-aged woman who’d demanded the all-male group to “Show me your tits, you sluts!” before jumping onstage to flash the crowd her own. Still, he probably needn’t worry; Luna’s was considerably more upscale than most of the dives his college band had frequented.

The crowd at Luna’s behaved itself. People cheered when appropriate, bought the band endless drinks, and even hollered song requests. Apparently, Augustine Grifters had quite the local following. A few of those followers were even cute women, duly noted by Eric and Jake.

After a few minutes onstage, Eric started to feel a markedly unfamiliar sensation of contentment coursing through his veins. What struck him most was exactly how foreign it felt. It had been months since he’d felt so good, so weightless.

So alive .

Unfortunately, Eric’s eyes had fouler ideas about how the night should play out. They were just two songs into the set when he had his first vision, a lightning-fast flicker across the tall mirrors that ran along the back wall of the bar.

Eric, who was accustomed to dark flashes in his vision—his floppy brown hair—was not alarmed. His natural assumption was that a lock of it had fallen over an eye, his aggravation being that he was using both his hands to drum. Jake, who could plainly see that Eric’s sweat-dampened hair was pasted back from his face, looked over as Eric puckered his lips and began to blow upward. He caught Eric’s eye and threw him the classic What the hell you doing, man? expression. It made Eric laugh.

But then . . .

Then Eric was remembering the time he’d gone skydiving at age twenty. Skip’s Sky Adventures had offered two basic types of jumps for first timers. The first, more conservative option, tandem, entailed jumping from the plane with an instructor strapped to his back. The second, far more reckless option, the AFF—which Eric learned stood for accelerated free fall —entailed Eric pulling his own rip cord, with two instructors at his side instead of attached to him. With the blind impulsivity of youth on his side, Eric jumped at the AFF. He’d had to sign a lot of papers, as there was a risk of splat if he panicked or screwed up.

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