(** Obviously, as in previous stated chapters. Any songs I use by Slipknot [for Venom] and by HIM [for Infernal] are clearly their intellectul property. They are just he right music for the two bands in this story and how I imagine they would sound.**)
Emil woke slowly. A small stream of sunlight had broken through the crack of curtain disturbing him. He rolled a little to face his head away from the light.
"Skit, det är ljust". He murmured instinctively in Swedish. (Shit, that's bright).
He rubbed his and pushed his long black hair from his face. Still curled up asleep on his left arm was Logan. He had stayed with her during the night. She was already broken, he didn't want to leave her alone. She stirred a little and rolled towards him, her eyes still closed and only half conscious. She sniffed and opened one eye and then the other. Her eyes looked weary to him. And Emil would've given anything to make her smile.
"Vad är klockan?" she asked quietly. (what time is it?)
"Det är dagen" Emil replied. (it's daytme).
She groaned and sat up rubbing her face. It was time to get to work in the studio. But hell, she really wasn't awake enough to be coherently conversing in another language. She slid herself off the end of the bed and stood gingerly on her feet. She felt exhausted in every way. At least Emil was here. She had her brothers and her best friend, she knew she would survive with their strength and love. Logan slowly rifled through her suitcase of clothes and plucked out a few items and disappeared into the ensuite.
Emil watched her silently, and when she went to freshen up, he just flopped back against the pillows. He couldn't escape the feel of her curled up next to him and in his arms. Bad Emil, he reprimanded himself in thought. And he couldn't do anything because her heart was still elsewhere. He wouldn't. Always the good guy, Emil told himself off again. He sat up and kicked at his shoe by the side of the bed. Emil's phone started vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and it was a text from his Deathstars bandmate Jonas, ie Skinny Disco.
'L.A is fine. Starting writing in the studio today.'
'How's the girl?' Jonas dared to ask. He and his Deathstars vocalist Andreas were the only two people Emil had told about what was happening with Logan before he left Stockholm.
'Shit. Well at least you're there for here. Tell her j and I send out love'. Jonas replied mentioning his own better half.
'And don't do anything stupid'. Jonas texted quickly again.
Emil rolled his eyes at the last message. Jonas was the only one who knew how Emil really felt about his best friend. Emil wasn't stupid. He was in no position to reveal anything to her. Because her heart was elsewhere. He didn't want to cause further pain, or confusion. And he didn't want to lose her as his best friend. Which, if he tried anything, would most certainly happen.
'Trust me I wont.' Emil replied finally.
Emil tucked the phone away in his pocket again. He wrote a note on the table and stuck it to the roof of her laptop that he was going to go change etc. He listened by the ensuite door. He couldn't hear her crying, which was a start. He touched the door gently with his hand, his blue eyes closed as he sighed. Emil quickly left her room in search of his own.
Jeff woke on the floor of his studio. His hands covered in paint. The sheets covering the floor had fresh splatter marks for the first time in ages. He stayed there at first, laying there on the floor with his hands folded over his chest and his ankles crossed. He stared at the ceiling as he collected his senses and thoughts. He had painted well into the dawn. And three fresh new pieces now sat to his right. He felt like he had crossed a threshold. That he was now growing and dealing.
He sighed and sat up facing his work. He had opened the fount in which to let his feelings out again. And he was not going to close it again. And with that thought train he though of her. His bride, his Jupiter. He would be himself again. For her and for himself. He wanted to show these things. There was an addition he had to make to a self portrait he'd done. His own rising from the ashes anew. He picked up a paint brush and collected the few colors he needed. Silver, grey and a little green.
He stood back and observed the piece. It was an interpretation of himself, his head thrown back and eyes closed. It was his own torso with his arms bent and fists held at his stomach. His face adorned in paint; black, white and purple. The base of his figure looked like smoldering embers, a little smoke trailed up the picture. And there, freshly painted at the neck, a chain with two silver colored rings; one sparkled with a large emerald stone in it. It was supposed to represent where he was at. Rising again from ashen remnants, looking to be strong again, and still holding her close and dear inside. Fighting back.
Jeff sat for a long time before the painting, contemplating. He sketched down other ideas in a small notebook nearby. Other things he wanted to interpret on canvas. He pushed back the black, green and orange hair over his head and kept it held back with a black stretchy headband. What to do? How to show it? These things plagued him more then anything. How to make her see, that he was still here. Jeff took his iphone out of his pocket and stood up. Using its internal camera he positioned himself and the camera's zoom, so that the entirety of the painting was in shot, but still close enough to show all the details. When he was satisfied he took the picture.
Wandering back inside, he sat on the couch and pulled his laptop over. He remembered being bored one night on tour and painted the top of the laptop with one of his self portraiting make up faces. He did miss wrestling. And his friends. And most of all her. Being able to look side of ring and see her there or backstage with her arms open and waiting. He sighed and closed his green eyes. He clamped them shut as if to block what he could almost see in front of him, but in his mind, his memories were just as visually strong. And a pang of pain seared through his tightened chest. He pulled the laptop open and attached the phone to the usb cable, then downloaded the picture of his painting.
Jeff attached the picture to a fresh email. And he typed in Logan's address. He titled it 'Re: Enigma Rising'. After all his thoughts, its just seemed right. And despite all he wanted to say to her, he thought for now, just for now, the picture of the painting and what the painting projected, seemed just enough. And almost holding his breath, his abdomen full of butterflies, he clicked on 'send'.
Logan appeared dressed and somewhat resembling herself; in a plain black shirt, fingerless gloves, black skinny jeans that were tucked into her platforms. Emil, Mikko, Burton along with Jade and Ben were all sitting in her hotel suite's lounge room. She plonked her back pack on the side table near the door. With the help of the mirror there, she checked her mohawk was perfect and slid her sunglasses on.
"Right, im ready to knuckle down, are you?" she said spinning on her boot and facing the others.
The boys all stood and grabbed various backpacks, jackets, other gear that had been brought with them instead of being sent ahead. Logan looked at the text she received. Venom's manager, and now manager of Infernal, Ross Robinson, said that the car to bring them to the studio would be there in minutes. They filed out of the room one by one. Logan closed the door and trailed behind them. It was about the music now, and pouring everything into it. Emil had already some great material, both music and lyrics, as had Logan. Now it was about applying the six of them together.
The ride to the studio was fairly silent. The boys spent much time trying to decipher where Logan was at, so to speak. She was either staring out the window in thought or scribbling furiously away in one of her lyric books that she pulled from her studded backpack.
In the studio, they began clicking immediately. She gave Jade, Burton and Mikko copies of the fles she and Emil had already constructed and they took that away to work on with their own instruments. Ben, being the other guitarist, stayed with Logan and Emil to work on those files, and other things Logan had brewed in her mind. She picked up a guitar and began playing pieces and singing parts of verses.
"From lashes to ashes
And from lust to dust
In your sweetest torment
And no heaven can help us
Ready, willing and able
To lose it all
For a kiss so fatal
And so warm
Oh it's heartache every moment
From the start 'til the end
It's heartache every moment
Deeper into our heavenly suffering
Our fragile souls are falling
It's heartache every moment
Baby with you..."
Emil admired the smoothness of her voice with the Infernal material. It conveyed a lot more emotion. It was much more poetically constructed. He could truly sense the love, the pain, the submission in other songs so far. And then there were parts of songs where she surprised him again and let out rather painful or rock and roll sounding notes and screams. She amazed his senses. Probably one of the things he admired most of her.
"There are things you should know
And the distance between us seems to grow
But you're holding on strong
And, oh, how hard it is to let go, oh, so hard to let go
I'm waiting for your call and I'm ready to take your
Six six six in my heart
And I'm longing for your touch and I welcome your sweet
Six six six in my heart (oh, my heart) .."
Emil watched her silently, playing the notes and chords he'd laid out for yet another track. Jade, Mikko and Burton had rejoined them, and they were now slowly rehearsing some of the songs together. Ross was recording them as they played, so they had some proper sounding demos to go off. A number of times, as Logan sang, the five men in the room with her simply stared at her somewhere between stunned and dumbfounded. The way the words wove together, and the way her voice lowered, or heightened, with such utter emotion. Some of her screeches, were gut wrenching, they had to admit.
"Ok kids I have dinner and a meeting to go, you going or staying?" Ross announced while they were having a break.
Ross was a middle aged man, no real hint of grey in his very short dark brown hair. Which surprised Venom considering the fights and hard times they gave each other during Venom recordings. He had a slightly thick serious dark eyebrows and a slightly thin and serious set mouth with a normal medium looking build. But he was a powerhouse of a producer and knew how to get the beset out of his acts. Which was why Logan and the rest of Venom, and now Infernal, stuck to using him.
"I want to stay." Logan responded immediately.
Ross shrugged and tossed her the keys to the studio they occupied. He reminded her to lock up, sign out with security out front later and to leave the keys there. Logan nodded. They were working well today, and she planned to ride the wave they were on til it subsided. Jade had disappeared into the office and came back after a few moments with a phone book and his mobile in hand. He plonked himself and the book in the middle of every one and started scouring the pages for numbers. His red and black dreads hangingin his way, and as he sat up to tie them back, he saw five other expectant faces.
"Well I assume if we're gonna be pulling this all nighter shit like we did with Venom, we're gonna need a tonne of take out, and other such provisions." He stated. Everyone agreed. "Besides, dear sister, you keep singing like that making us all want to cut our hearts out, I am going to need beer. Possibly something stronger."
No one argued with that. Logan smirked to herself and threw a near unoffending cushion at her little brother.