The Devil's Metal Read Online Free

were out of
sight before I booked it home. Running in boots was noisy and hard
on my ankles, but I went for a run several times a week to keep the
weight off and I had enough stamina to push through it for
forty-five sweaty minutes.
    By the time I arrived home, it was
completely dark out and I was soaked in sweat. I had never been so
happy to see the farmhouse before. Even in its scrawny, faded
condition it felt like a safety net after the night I just had.
Just what the hell had happened with that Ted guy? Was he just
someone sinister or had I just smoked too much pot? I made a mental
note to take it easier next time, especially as my lungs were extra
wheezy.
    I opened the screen door slowly, knowing it
squeaked extra loud at night, and listened for signs of life. It
was quiet and almost dark except for a faint light coming from the
living room. I crept toward it and spied my father passed out on
the couch, two empty cans of cheap beer beside him. I sighed,
though I should have been happy he had just been drinking beer and
none of the hard stuff. I took the blanket off of the armchair and
put it over him.
    I loved my dad to pieces, except when he was
drunk, which was often. It was a strained relationship at best,
especially since I had been such a daddy’s girl growing up. I was
really everything he had until Eric came along six years later. But
then Mom died and shit just went downhill. Still, I didn’t blame my
dad. Well, I tried not to. It was something I worked on every day.
He still managed to keep his job at the repair shop, I just wished
he’d pull himself together for Eric’s sake. He needed extra care,
more than the average sixteen-year-old, and I was tired of taking
care of both of them. I knew that was selfish of me, but...
    I tucked the quilt underneath his heavy arms
and brushed the hair off of his forehead. It was dirty and graying
and made me sad. I sighed again, my heart still thumping from the
run, and went into the kitchen for a glass of water before bed. I
remembered I had to phone Mel’s mom and leave a message for her. It
was getting late but she was used to the two of us calling each
other all hours of the night.
    I went for the phone and saw there was
something addressed to me on the message pad. It was my dad’s
writing. For a second I hoped that Ryan had called while I was out
and the skin prickled deliciously at the back of my neck.
    Dawn! Call Maureen at Cream Magazine.
313-587-2837.
    Huh. I brought the pad up to my face, as if
that would help me understand it better. What area code was 313?
And what was Cream? Did he mean Creem Magazine?
    My heart pounded loudly.
    I looked over at my dad who was now snoring
loudly. I didn’t want to wake him up, knowing he’d probably be
drunk and disorderly if I did. I’d have to catch him in the
morning.
    Unless Eric knew something. I quickly filled
up a glass with water and downed it before I scuttled up the stairs
to our bedrooms. Eric’s door was closed and I leaned against it,
listening. When I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, I opened
it quietly and peeked in. He was sprawled under his sheets,
twitching slightly, the moonlight shining in through the dusty
window. God damn it, why was everyone asleep in this house?
    I carefully shut the door behind me and once
inside my room, I flicked on my lights and collapsed on the bed. I
rolled over on my back and looked up at my heaven—the ceiling. My
bedroom was my prized sanctuary, always had been. Through my mom’s
depression, my father’s collapse, Eric’s affliction, this was the
one place I felt…home. Even when a quick ride on Moonglow didn’t
wash away the blues, my room did, so as long as I put a record on
my beloved orange player and slipped on a pair of earphones. I had
a massive record collection that took up one wall of my room,
competing for space with riding ribbons and trophies. I kept the
walls more or less bare to showcase the concert photos I had taken
and deemed good enough