Page 2 of Dark Verse

From the opening pitch, the room full of bodies leans in. It’s as if the audience has agreed collectively to meet us halfway tonight and see what we have to offer. Instantly, Cash and Via lock into some common, unseen heartbeat between them, steady and alive. The on-stage energy is electric between the four of us. All our thousands of hours of practicing and rehearsing come together like a perfect harmony. Cues are exchanged through nothing but glances or small gestures. Every transition is smooth.

Via stretches out a rhythmic riff here.

Zeke improvises a section there.

I let the melody linger.

Cash drops out to allow the guitars to stand alone.

It becomes a spontaneous conversation between us, a chance to impress and support each other when the moment calls for it.

Our set list becomes a living, breathing thing, the music animated and shifting in response to the energy in the room. Sometimes it feels like light banter between them and us. Other times, like an intense discourse. And then something truly magical happens.

I’ve never watched a crowd of this size shift from attentive to enthusiastic to fully invested. By the fourth song, energy is spreading in that contagious, undeniable way that signals something special is happening.

By our final tune, the energy had crested. It feels bigger than the space itself. It feels communal and otherworldly all at once. The sound of applause crashes over us and feels fully earned. Within the sound, I hear people chanting our band name like a prayer.

Nightshades. Nightshades.

The pleasant buzz of hearing that chant is undeniable, the sound morphing into a taste on my tongue. Every chant of our name tastes like a burst of citrus in my mouth. The sensation follows me offstage, powering this enormous smile that has my cheeks hurting and my teeth fully exposed.

Almost absentmindedly, I pull out my phone, wanting to see Pa’s text even if it’s a little after we’ve played.

Ma: Give me a call when you get this.

It takes me reading the text twice to realize it’s from Ma. My grin slips. It’s not a full frown but I feel something is off. Ma is not one to send vague messages. Her texts are often dense with information.

“Knox, encore. They want an encore!” Zeke is saying, drawing me back into right now.

Dropping the phone into my back pocket, we walk back on stage together, instruments in hand, ready to face what’s next.

CHAPTER ONE

KNOX

5 YEARS Later

My phone rings from its charging stand in the bedroom, but I don’t rush. I’m still dripping wet from my shower. I prefer the dry heat of Colorado to the nightmarish humidity I just came from in Kansas. Still, 99 degrees is 99 degrees, no matter the humidity. Rubbing the towel through my hair and beard, I let the fabric dry me out. I wish it would work on my head too. This headache will not go away, no matter how many bottles of water I down.

It’s always like this for me during the first few days at such a high altitude. Tired. Dry. Headaches. Unfortunately, my body won’t have much time to really adjust. I already know that.

Br-ring. Br-ring.

Leaving the towel hanging on the closest hook, I step into the bedroom and walk over to the table where my phone is charging. Zeke’s name appears in the corner of the screen. I see I have two missed calls from him and one from Via.

“Y’hello,” I answer.

“Hey, man. Where are you? Are you on your way?” He sounds out of breath.

I glance over at the nightstand where an alarm clock sits. It reads 4:43 pm.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Zeke pauses before saying, “Twenty real minutes or twenty Knox minutes?”

“Real minutes,” I lie, crossing the room to find a pair of pants.

“Knox…” Zeke moans. I can almost see him pulling at his blond locks in frustration.