Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > True Light in the Night
Chapter 3
After packing up our instruments we headed out the stage door to our dilapidated old van. It wasn't exactly a Ferrari, but hey it was our ride.
"Dude I can't believe we just got booked for another seven shows!" Joe says as he tosses equipment into the back of the van before performing a small celebratory dance in true nerdy fashion.
"And I can't believe that you're almost twenty. Ten sounds more reasonable; in fact won't your mommy be worried about you? It's way past little Joey's bedtime." Andy teases shoving some loose drumsticks into the trunk.
"You're one to talk with your head shoved inside a comic book every chance you get" Joe calls back as he out-races Pete to the highly coveted shotgun seat.
Slamming the back doors shut Dirty asks, "Is that everything?"
"Oh wait, my hat...I left my extra hat in the backroom there" I say as I begin to climb back out of the back seat, shuffling instruments and boxes of cheap merch Pete was working on for our "future fanbase." He sure is optimistic about the whole thing.
Seeing me struggling for the door, Dirty says "Patrick, don't worry. I'll go grab it for ya" and jogs back inside. Settling into the front seat, Joe switches on the radio to hear "Dancing Queen" blasting at full volume. Laughing hysterically he begins to dance along as Pete rolls his eyes outside the van.
"Dude, turn that down. Someone might hear" Pete says trying to reach the knobs through the open window.
"Hey there's nothing wrong with ABBA" I argue from the backseat with a laugh. Andy, choosing to refrain from this particularly stimulating debate pulls out a comic and settles into the middle seat. As Pete and Joe continue to scuffle through the window, I look down the dark alley. It was a little eerie how quiet it had gotten so quickly after the show. I mean, usually there were people hanging around the back door, but tonight...no one. And yet I couldn't help but have this strange feeling that we were being watched.
After a few minutes Dirty reemerges from the club, waving my hat above his head.
"Finally! C'mon man, I want to watch some Star Wars before I crash tonight," Joe says, finally turning off the radio.
Chuckling, Pete says "God you have a one-track mind. How many views will this make it? Five, six...hundred?"
Joe says defensively "Laugh all you want, Star Wars is the cornerstone of American culture and I can prove it..." But he never did get that chance.
Out of nowhere a tall, slender figure emerged from the shadows and began walking swiftly towards Dirty. He was dressed in incredibly unusual clothing, old-fashioned as if he had just walked off a dated movie set. Actually thinking about it, it looked like something Pete would pick out. Caught off guard by his bizarre appearance, we just watched as he made his was towards Dirty.
Trying to suppress a giggle, Dirty just smiled at him saying "Hey man, where's the photo shoot?" But he didn't laugh, in fact he didn't stop. Before we knew it, Dirty was being lifted into the air, suspended by the pale hand clasped around his throat.
"Hey what the fuck's your problem!?!" Pete yelled, jumping into action to defend his friend. But the man just smiled and laughed softly to himself. That smile, I've never seen anything like it, except in horror movies. I mean those couldn't be fangs, could they?
"Put him down you psycho!" Pete warned as he stepped towards the two. With a swift motion Dirty was thrown through the air to slam against the brick wall of the alley with a resounding crack. I was frozen in shock, listening to the God-awful sound of bone blasting against the pavement echo in my ears. Pete however, is another story. Enraged at the sight of his friend's limp body on the ground, Pete charged at the stranger brandishing his fists furiously. The figure merely stood waiting for his approach without a single tremor of fear evident in his smug face. With inhuman speed, he dodged the attack only to appear behind the confused Pete. Without warning the man drove his teeth into his neck as Pete cried out in surprise and agony.
Did that just happen? Am I dreaming? I can feel my heart in my throat, beating a mile a minute as I gasp for air. I close my eyes thinking, wishing, praying that it was juts a dream. That I didn't just see that, the one person that understands me better than myself...not Pete, please not my Pete. But opening my eyes I see him. Pete collapsed on the pavement as the stranger towers over him menacingly, licking the fresh blood that still trickles from his lips. Joe rushed into the fray, however the figure just vanishes back into the shadows...gone. There's no trace left of him except a maniacal laugh that still lingers in the wind that blows through the dark. Joe kneels down to help Pete while Andy runs to check on Dirty. Realizing I'm still staring from the van, I scramble for the door, spilling out onto the ground.
After packing up our instruments we headed out the stage door to our dilapidated old van. It wasn't exactly a Ferrari, but hey it was our ride.
"Dude I can't believe we just got booked for another seven shows!" Joe says as he tosses equipment into the back of the van before performing a small celebratory dance in true nerdy fashion.
"And I can't believe that you're almost twenty. Ten sounds more reasonable; in fact won't your mommy be worried about you? It's way past little Joey's bedtime." Andy teases shoving some loose drumsticks into the trunk.
"You're one to talk with your head shoved inside a comic book every chance you get" Joe calls back as he out-races Pete to the highly coveted shotgun seat.
Slamming the back doors shut Dirty asks, "Is that everything?"
"Oh wait, my hat...I left my extra hat in the backroom there" I say as I begin to climb back out of the back seat, shuffling instruments and boxes of cheap merch Pete was working on for our "future fanbase." He sure is optimistic about the whole thing.
Seeing me struggling for the door, Dirty says "Patrick, don't worry. I'll go grab it for ya" and jogs back inside. Settling into the front seat, Joe switches on the radio to hear "Dancing Queen" blasting at full volume. Laughing hysterically he begins to dance along as Pete rolls his eyes outside the van.
"Dude, turn that down. Someone might hear" Pete says trying to reach the knobs through the open window.
"Hey there's nothing wrong with ABBA" I argue from the backseat with a laugh. Andy, choosing to refrain from this particularly stimulating debate pulls out a comic and settles into the middle seat. As Pete and Joe continue to scuffle through the window, I look down the dark alley. It was a little eerie how quiet it had gotten so quickly after the show. I mean, usually there were people hanging around the back door, but tonight...no one. And yet I couldn't help but have this strange feeling that we were being watched.
After a few minutes Dirty reemerges from the club, waving my hat above his head.
"Finally! C'mon man, I want to watch some Star Wars before I crash tonight," Joe says, finally turning off the radio.
Chuckling, Pete says "God you have a one-track mind. How many views will this make it? Five, six...hundred?"
Joe says defensively "Laugh all you want, Star Wars is the cornerstone of American culture and I can prove it..." But he never did get that chance.
Out of nowhere a tall, slender figure emerged from the shadows and began walking swiftly towards Dirty. He was dressed in incredibly unusual clothing, old-fashioned as if he had just walked off a dated movie set. Actually thinking about it, it looked like something Pete would pick out. Caught off guard by his bizarre appearance, we just watched as he made his was towards Dirty.
Trying to suppress a giggle, Dirty just smiled at him saying "Hey man, where's the photo shoot?" But he didn't laugh, in fact he didn't stop. Before we knew it, Dirty was being lifted into the air, suspended by the pale hand clasped around his throat.
"Hey what the fuck's your problem!?!" Pete yelled, jumping into action to defend his friend. But the man just smiled and laughed softly to himself. That smile, I've never seen anything like it, except in horror movies. I mean those couldn't be fangs, could they?
"Put him down you psycho!" Pete warned as he stepped towards the two. With a swift motion Dirty was thrown through the air to slam against the brick wall of the alley with a resounding crack. I was frozen in shock, listening to the God-awful sound of bone blasting against the pavement echo in my ears. Pete however, is another story. Enraged at the sight of his friend's limp body on the ground, Pete charged at the stranger brandishing his fists furiously. The figure merely stood waiting for his approach without a single tremor of fear evident in his smug face. With inhuman speed, he dodged the attack only to appear behind the confused Pete. Without warning the man drove his teeth into his neck as Pete cried out in surprise and agony.
Did that just happen? Am I dreaming? I can feel my heart in my throat, beating a mile a minute as I gasp for air. I close my eyes thinking, wishing, praying that it was juts a dream. That I didn't just see that, the one person that understands me better than myself...not Pete, please not my Pete. But opening my eyes I see him. Pete collapsed on the pavement as the stranger towers over him menacingly, licking the fresh blood that still trickles from his lips. Joe rushed into the fray, however the figure just vanishes back into the shadows...gone. There's no trace left of him except a maniacal laugh that still lingers in the wind that blows through the dark. Joe kneels down to help Pete while Andy runs to check on Dirty. Realizing I'm still staring from the van, I scramble for the door, spilling out onto the ground.
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