Chapter Text
The view below was a fantastical array of yellow lights, with a slow and steady stream of oranges and reds from a part of the highway clogged with traffic seemingly going on for miles. In the far distance, radio towers blinked with a slow and steady fade of white and red from the very top. The sky was a dark, inky black, devoid of any stars or moon to accentuate the darkness, only the Los Angeles lights were there to provide them.
From the hills overlooking above, two young men sat on a guardrail staring at the view, taking in the breeze that blew the hot air of the city towards them. A light brown Pinto sat behind them, the car having been turned off a long while ago.
“Promise?” one of them said, caught between a boy and a man with long blonde hair, pockmarked cheeks, and a sullen look in his eyes casted by the downward slope of his brows.
The other, with even longer, frizzy curls and a sordid glaze over his hazel eyes, shrugged. “I…I don’t know…the pay’s really good…I can eat almost every night…I can pay for an apartment…”
“That won’t matter when we’re free of here” the blonde boy insisted. “I want you to promise me…Promise me that we’ll meet up at the Greyhound and we can go where ever the hell we want. Fuck this place. Fuck everyone around us.”
They sat in silence once more, the breeze changing directions as if the land itself was inhaling, causing their hair to blow across their faces, obscuring their true intentions, with the blonde having a determined gaze and the redhead with tears streaming down his freckled cheeks.
“Okay…”
James’ eyelids grew heavy as he gazed at the computer screen, his eyes scanning lazily at different reports, each one scanned from a physical copy a long while ago and all of them with an indecipherable scribbling written with a rookie hand trying to take down witness statements.
He wasn’t really sure why he was looking at them at all, seeing as it wouldn’t pertain to the case that he was given, but it had the same address and involved one similar incident so maybe there would be something in these files from almost a decade ago…maybe something would pop out at him and say ‘Hey, James! Here’s the clue you’ve been searching for! Say goodbye to your nightmare case and say hello to a nice cold Coors from Lionel’s!’.
He wished he could have an ice cold beer right now, but being an LAPD investigator had come with responsibilities…responsibilities that he didn’t want to do. He honestly just didn’t feel like it at all.
“Having fun taking a nap?”
James nearly jumped out of his skin as he quickly turned around to see Lars staring down at him with a shit-eating grin and a mug in his hand. “Jesus fucking Christ, you gotta stop doing that!”
“I’ve known you for, what, almost thirty years and you’re still jumpy as all hell,” the smaller man said as he plopped down on the seat next to his desk, setting his mug down on some paper that James hoped wasn’t a case file. “But seriously, you okay? I know this week’s…gonna suck. It’s just Monday and you’re already looking like you’re gonna beat the shit out of the computer screen.”
This week…
James ran a hand through his short silver locks, scratching at the back of his skull. “I mean…work’s work. As long as I have something to do, then…maybe it won’t be as shitty as it was last year.”
“Or the year before that, or the year before that,” Lars added, lifting the mug and taking a sip of coffee. “Seriously, if you need time off, I could ask—”
“I’m serious,” the taller of the two hissed, “I just need to keep working. It’s just…the case I’m working on is supposed to be an open and shut case, just a little bit of burglary, but I’m thinking it’s gotta be something else. There was a similar incident last year and the people who own the house now reported similar items missing.”
“Like what? Like, a TV?” the Dane asked as he quirked his head to the side in interest. “People steal TVs and stuff all the time.”
“No, like, uncommon items,” James said as he leaned forward and grabbed his silver glasses on the desk to put them on, “Like, a photograph book, one kitchen knife, and a hairbrush.”
Lars listened and nodded with interest, then quirked his lips. “Honestly, that sounds like another case I heard about, but the person got caught and she was convinced she was a ‘voodoo priestess’. A suburban white woman named Valerie Shultz being a voodoo priestess, gimme a fuckin break…”
“Did she get out?” James asked as he quickly began typing into their database.
“Hmm, yeah, about three months ago, I think,” The Dane said, then laughed with sudden realization. “I think you solved your case, Jamie boy.”
Hosting a séance wasn’t the worst thing in the world for Tobias, but it was hard to convince any spirit to come, once he’s told them that it was indeed a séance and not just him talking to them.
Spirits were shy, believe it or not.
Tobias stared ahead as the other people around the table had their eyes closed, with Randy, his assistant, at the far end, looking straight back at him.
The younger man looked a bit uncomfortable as he shook his head lightly as if to say ‘Sorry, I got nothing.’.
The Swede sighed, then asked the spirits once more to come to them, pay the group a visit. The people there were more than inviting and would welcome a chat or so.
Tobias waited, and finally, he got something.
In the corner was the very faint, very hazy visage of a young girl, a teenage girl with blonde hair and fair eyes. He couldn’t make much more of her features, such as her clothes or if she even had a lower part of her body aside from a head.
That’s what most people who weren’t given the gift of being a psychic didn’t quite understand: yes, a psychic can see spirits or ghosts, but no, a psychic can’t see if they’re hot or creepy or old or whatever. It disappointed people when Tobias explained it as it being similar to feeling the “vibes” of someone with some visual aspect.
It was like staring at a developing Polaroid, but the Polaroid was stuck in the stage of being a blank and being somewhat developed.
“Hello,” he said gently, “Can you tell me about yourself?”
The visage of the girl didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to as she stayed where she had appeared and stared at Tobias. As he looked upon her, he could feel who she was, who she wanted to be, and how she unfortunately died.
Tobias looked at the circle, his intuition pointing in the direction of a woman with a black bob, a black dress, and black lipstick. She was holding Randy’s left hand with a featherlight grip. “You.”
The séance circle opened their eyes to see who Tobias was talking to, and the woman jumped as her eyes locked onto the Swede’s. “M-Me?”
“This spirit that has introduced herself to me is an ancestor of yours,” He started explaining. “She was a part of your family, at least a great-great aunt. Her name was Emily and she wanted to be a writer…”
“…Emily,” the woman repeated softly, “Yes, she was related to me on my dad’s side…”
“…But she died of scarlet fever before her sixteenth birthday,” Tobias finished for her. “You’re named after her...and you became a successful writer, yes?”
Emily nodded, tears springing from her eyes with a sob stuck in her throat. “Yes! Yes I did!”
The séance hand holding broke immediately to give a round of applause for Tobias, but even without the energy of the people in the room, he could still see the ghost of Emily there. He gave her a soft smile and non-verbally bid her a farewell, earning a smile in return as she faded away.
After the séance was over, Tobias and Randy packed their supplies and blessed the room with herbs and incense in a pewter bowl, with Randy closing the space to any ne’er-do-well spirits that wanted to cause harm to the homeowner or his guests. The host stayed with them, his gaze constantly flicking from the herbs to the two psychics in front of him.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, his eyes giving a purported tiredness that looked like they lingered even after a good night’s rest. “It’s always a pleasure to have you two over, Mr. Forge, Mr. Moore.”
“Always a pleasure to be here,” Tobias said with a shy demeanor. He didn’t always like meeting their hosts, but this one was special in a sense that this host didn’t doubt his abilities like those that hire him for a “show” unlike showy podcasters catered towards the debunking of the metaphysical or people looking for a cheap party trick. “Same time next month?”
The host sighed with a slightly miserable expression. “Unfortunately, the next séance might be postponed until further notice. I’ve actually been offered gigs for two movies and a show, so I’ll be out of town for a few months.”
“That’s fine with us,” Randy said as he began packing the herbs, pewter dish, and ashes in designated bags. “We’re always available anytime!”
The host nodded, then escorted them to the front door and sent them off with payment in hand. Tobias counted out the cash and gave Randy his share, who pocketed it eagerly.
“So, what now?” the young assistant asked, “The night’s still young, we could go out dancing? Maybe a few drinks?”
“A few drinks does sound nice, but dancing is a no for me,” Tobias chuckled as he unlocked the black Camry and climbed in.
Randy shook his head as he got in the passenger seat and buckled his belt. “C’mon, we could still go out for drinks and I can dance, how ‘bout that?”
The Swede thought about it, thought about just having a few beers or maybe a glass of wine and watching his young assistant drunkenly dance into people and make a silly fool of himself as his curly dark brown hair would bob to and fro across his forehead. It would make for an entertaining end of the night.
“Fine, we can go out,” Tobias relented as he turned on the car and drove out of the driveway and onto the road. “You’d better dance better than last time.”
Lionel’s wasn’t a nightclub by any means, but it wasn’t exactly a tavern or pub environment either. It was actually made up of different people with a small area for drunken dancers somewhere in the corner, with the melodramatic Earnest Hemingway copycats in another as they nursed their one and only finger of whisky, the struggling successful actors on another side of the bar, and the more casual visitors sat on the other side.
It was an ultimate Los Angeles hodge-podge of culture, but if there was indeed one thing that all attendants of Lionel’s had in common was a small sense of demise in their lives that wasn’t a full on depression (for some) but their lives weren’t exactly a walk in the park either.
For Tobias and Randy, their lives were peachy as psychics-for-hire but things could be better in the artistic side of their world. Randy was finding it difficult to create a band with a sound that he wanted while Tobias just had trouble finding inspiration for his writing (it was not writers’ block, no matter what Randy said).
His books have done well under the pseudonym of Mary Goore, but he was finding it difficult to break out of the constant box of being a “psychic author” who writes about…being a psychic. He wanted to write romance, suspense, or hell, even some historical fiction if he could! It was just that he needed an idea that would give him the spark to start.
The only problem was finding that spark.
Tobias and Randy went to the bar, ordering their drinks immediately. Tobias hopped onto the black barstool while Randy leaned against the one in front of him, his eyes lingering on a few attractive men and women there.
“Wow, there’s not a lot of people tonight,” Randy remarked as he gazed upon a man with arms that looked like they could snap him in two with one bear hug.
“It’s a Thursday, of course it would be slow,” Tobias remarked as he was given a beer, the brown glass wet with the ice cold water that it had been soaking in. His fingernails found the edge of the paper label that was stuck on there and he instinctively began peeling it.
Randy looked behind him and his eyes widened with delight as he licked his upper lip. A bright pink cosmopolitan was immediately taken up in his hand, then slowly brought to his lips to avoid spilling it all over himself. “I’m gonna go see if I can bag this guy, he looks so cool.”
The older of the two nodded and waved his assistant away, leaving him to drink his beer while still peeling the label off. His thoughts lingered on a different assortment of things, like which bills he could pay now, when he should make time to call his mother in Sweden, how long has he been peeling this label and when will the full label come off, and what other psychic appointments he had in the upcoming month.
Tobias became lost in his thoughts, a common habit for him to do when he was left to his own devices, and not realizing that someone had sat beside him, a heavy, dragging presence slowly making him more aware of the fact the more the person sat there. Once he was finished peeling the label off and flicking it into the little pile of wet and sticky paper on the bar, he looked to his side to see a much older man sitting on the barstool nursing a beer and scrolling on a phone.
This man should have come to no interest to Tobias. He was a lot older than him, with short silver hair and a silver handlebar mustache with a lingering faint hint of blonde. His cheeks were textured with old pockmarks, indicative of severe acne in youth. His neck was thick with muscle and so was his entire frame, though there was a little pudge of softness right along his belly. The Swede noticed that his legs were long, so very long and clad in black, with shined leather shoes on his large feet.
This man was, to put it simply, fucking huge. Tobias figured that if this man could stand, he would tower over him, and a dreading sense of fear fell over him at the sheer thought of that. He had a bit of a complex with super tall people, and that was his irrational fear to keep secret.
It took no longer than a few minutes until the large man looked back at him, his eyes the color of an ice storm and sloped to give him the appearance of a tired, kicked dog. Tobias felt his cheeks become warm and looked away, deciding to look at the beer taps in front of him.
“Can I help you?”
Shit, Tobias thought as he turned his head towards the man. “Uhm. Jag talar inte engelska.”
The man looked at him, his brows going from slightly irritated to confusion, and said nothing as he returned to his beer. The Swede sighed in relief, drinking from his own bottle.
“Tobie! Hey Tobie!”
Tobias closed his eyes in anguish as he turned around and opened them to see Randy hanging off a muscular man with a thin white tank top, who looked like a cat caught with the cream and didn’t care.
“I’m going to Mickey’s Weho! You wanna come with me and Antony here!?” Randy nearly screeched, obviously excited to have a night out with another guy.
Tobias shook his head and felt the man beside him stare with a sense of scrutiny, as if the big guy was sizing him up. He wanted the San Andreas fault to open up and kill him immediately.
“Aw, come on! It’ll be fun!” The younger man laughed, still hanging off the muscular guy. “What, cat’s got your tongue? Come on! Let’s go to Weho!!”
“N-No…” The Swede stammered, trying not to make it obvious that he did indeed know how to speak English as he felt the man’s gaze burn into the side of his head.
“What? Can’t hear you!” Randy said excitedly as he placed a few kisses on the man’s neck, which made the man smile with delight.
The jig was up, Randy was just too hyped up, and the man was going to kill him for staring for too long. “Just go already, I’ll call you later to make sure you don’t get mugged or something.”
The young assistant could only laugh as he hopped on his current boy fixation, and the boy easily caught him with little effort in his arms.
Show off, Tobias scoffed in his thoughts.
“Okay! I’ll call you later!” Randy exclaimed as he was basically being kidnapped by this random man. “If I die, you know how to reach me!”
“Please don’t!” Tobias called, then sat back on the barstool, waiting for the inevitable.
It was quiet for the most part. Silence hung heavy over the two like a swinging pendulum that threatened to knock the Swede out, or bash his head in, which he ultimately preferred.
“So, you do speak English,” The man stated.
Tobias sighed as he looked at the man, hoping that he would see that he was just some skinny Swedish idiot and not bother with hurting him. “Yeah…Yeah I do.”
A small chuckle emanated from the man’s chest that sounded more like a rumble of thunder than a laugh and somehow, the sound was endearing to Tobias. It was something he didn’t quite expect to come out of a man that looked like him.
“You didn’t have to lie, y’know,” he said after a swallow of beer. “I was just gonna ask why you were staring at me so hard. I thought you wanted to hit me or something.”
“Me? Wanting to hit you?” Tobias asked incredulously. “I thought you would have wanted to hit me for staring at you!”
The man smiled, though the curve of his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes, as if he were tired and didn’t quite have the energy to muster up a grin. “I don’t like fighting people. Not anymore, at least.”
Not anymore? What does that mean? Tobias thought before clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry for scaring you like that,” he apologized then looked at him. “I’m Tobias, Tobias Forge.”
The man raised his beer, tilting it in greeting. “I’m James Hetfield. Nice to meet you, Tobias.”
It wasn’t until the bartender made her last call that the two men realized that they had talked all night without stop. James, Tobias had learned, was an investigator at the LAPD, California born-and-raised, liked hiking, hunting, and fishing, and was single for the most part. He didn’t indulge on the psychic aspect of his life, but he told James about his prolific ghostwriting and how he was working on a fiction novel himself to publish under his own name.
“Safe to say you don’t get out much?” James teased, causing the Swede to blush with embarrassment. “I’m kidding, just kidding. If I could, I’d like to write a book. Maybe a true crime novel since I do that stuff for a living, but I’m…okay with words.”
“I’m okay with words, too,” Tobias said, “English isn’t my first language, as you now know, but I still have trouble around some words and phrases here and there. You English speakers have so many…two-sided phrases.”
“I’m pretty sure that Swedish has more weird phrases than English speakers,” James responded as he finished off his third beer. “I learned a Swedish limerick, something about a chick who could only do anal?”
Tobias snorted and accidentally spit some of his drink in the process, causing James to guffaw and show his large teeth. It was a very strange sight to the Swede, but it only enhanced something about the investigator that he found charming and endearing. He really, really liked James, he decided. He wouldn’t mind speaking to him again.
Last call and closing time was announced once more, making the two men jump to attention and glance around the room, seeing that it was only them, the bartender and two lingering drinks in a corner booth.
“Looks like we better go,” James said as he climbed off of his seat and just as Tobias had suspected, the man was just so tall. “I, uh, kind of don’t want to stop talking to you. Is that weird?”
“No, it’s not weird at all,” Tobias said, still perched on his seat. “I’d like to talk to you more, as well.”
James ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he were hesitant to ask something. “My place or yours?”
“We can go to mine, its closer,” The Swede answered, then hopped off his seat but then knocked over his bottle and spilled the little remnants over his shirt.
“Oh, shit!” James exclaimed then immediately began to reach out with a napkin from the bar.
At the same time, Tobias had instinctively reached for the wet spot as well, touching his wet shirt and trying to see how wet he had gotten. Their hands collided, skin to skin, as the napkin accidentally dropped out of James’ fingers, causing them to touch.
It was as if time had stopped for the both of them, a sensation that was foreign and almost sickening, but it was for different reasons for both men.
James felt as if his thoughts were clear, the world more…here. It was as if he had worn glasses that hid the world away in a haze of grey and it had finally lifted to reveal the bright colors of his surroundings. He noticed the shift in the bartender’s face, the details of her dark brows, dark eyes, brown skin and black curls. He could see her face oh so clearly, like he had never seen people before. His thoughts were actually peaceful without the buzz of what haunted him, his past a quiet and gone memory that wouldn’t bother him no longer. He finally knew what peace was.
Tobias, meanwhile, felt his vision becoming dark and faded as if he felt himself falling into a deep, dark hole. Once the world has gone, he began seeing brief glimpses of scenes, images of different kinds.
Hazel honey brown eyes, tawny brown curls…sharp crooked teeth, thick lips…kisses, promises, something broken…blood, so much blood…missing, who’s missing?
The psychic couldn’t make sense of any of these images as his head felt like it was splitting in two, his body becoming cold and ridged as the muscles started to ache and seize. He could feel his body falling, then colliding with the bottom of the hole, or was it more solid like a floor? He couldn’t tell what was up, what was down, if he was alive or dead.
“Call an ambulance, he’s having a seizure!” Tobias heard a distant voice shout.
Who was having a seizure? Who was there with him? Where was he?
More images passed by him, a few he recognized as James, a younger James and a slightly older James.
James…that’s right…I’m at Lionel’s with James…
Then, names began repeating to him over and over and over again at a maddening pace, in different voices all colliding into each other like car crashes and deep roars from far off distances.
Jason Newsted.
Dave Mustaine.
Jason Newsted.
Dave Mustaine.
Then, the names morphed into more information, more things to add to the catastrophic crashing in his brain, the feeling of the two hemispheres splitting and spilling matter into the ether.
Jason Newsted, thirty-eight, dead by what dead by what dead by what
Dave Mustaine, twenty-two, missing how long how long how long how long
Twenty-two missing dead Dave by what how long Jason dead missing dead missing thirty-eight
The tidal wave of black and information came and went in a flurry of sickness that made Tobias want to retch and vomit, but he felt tied down, his body sore and his mind feeling as if being stuffed with cotton.
When his vision slowly came back from the dark void, he looked to see that there was a light overhead, bright and white. The sensation of gentle rocking and the dulled siren felt more like being in a boat with an annoying seagull noisily making itself known by anyone who will listen.
It reminded Tobias of being on the beach during holiday, when his family would get onto his uncle’s boat and sail away to wherever the wind took them.
This was no boat, however, and he was a little boy no longer.
Jason. Dave.
Tobias’ eyes widened, his breathing becoming quick as he tried to get up.
“Mr. Forge? Tobias, can you hear me?” a voice said beside him.
He turned his head to see a woman who looked around Randy’s age, with dark hair and hazel eyes.
Hazel brown…
“P-Pen,” Tobias choked out, his jaw feeling as though he had never used it before in his life. “P-Pen.”
“Pen? You need a pen?” she repeated, then showed him her permanent marker from her pocket.
He nodded, a little too quickly as his head became woozy immediately and closed his eyes to stave off the feeling of vertigo.
“What do you need, Tobias? What do you need to write down?” she asked. “I can write it down for you.”
The Swede sighed with effort as he opened his eyes to look at the paramedic as he tried to keep the memory of what he saw, what he learned as close as he could, but he felt them slowly fade away into nothing as he felt himself fade back into that sinking darkness.
“Jason Newsted, thirty-eight,” Tobias struggled, “Dave Mustaine, twenty-two.”
His vision went black and he was once again in the unending darkness once more, his memories forgotten of the two names and everything that belonged to them.