Ride Upon Midnight: Chapter 6
All Revved Up
Ride Upon Midnight is an occult mystery of murder, music, and ghosts.
Missed out on previous chapters? Read them below!
Chapter 4: Welcome to the Machine
6 ALL REVVED UP
The next six months were the best months of my life. We released our first complete album after summer and headlined numerous concerts around Wightford and Oxford.
Derek “Fingers” Reed worked on our cover. In his words, he wanted “people to have a psychedelic meltdown” when they saw it. Whatever that meant. The first time I saw the cover I didn’t find anything psychedelic about it. There were only three colours in the palette, including black and white - nevertheless, the dancing skeleton captured much of music’s essence. Our album, Order Out of Chaos, was voted best break-out album for September 2003 by a major U.K. magazine devoted to rock music.
We played nearly every night and the pay wasn’t too bad either. I took out a loan to help buy a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro. Bobby and I were working on a new album that we both thought was going to be bigger and better than anything we’d ever done. He’d got a tattoo on his forearm of the reaper, and he made an effort to show it off, even when the colder November days rolled in. Ingrid was receiving private tutoring. She seemed happy, I think. At least on the outside.
I turned the ignition and pulled out of my parking spot when a man started banging against the hood of my car. I parked on the curb and wound down the window.
‘Can I help you?’
He was a wiry man with glasses and a long coat. He walked over to my side window and leaned over.
‘You Nils Andersen?’
‘I am.’
‘We have to talk.’
‘I’m kind of busy right now.’
I put the Camaro into gear.
‘It’s about my daughter,’ he said.
‘I don’t know your daughter.’
‘How come you wrote about her then?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do. I listened to your album. Order Out of Chaos. You’ve got numerous songs on there about my daughter.’
‘I think you’re mistaken. They’re just songs.’
‘Did you kill her, Mr Andersen?’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what this is about. I’m in a hurry. Will you let me pass?’
‘Janet. Her name was Janet McFadden. Did you kill her?’
‘I didn’t kill anyone. Get away from me.’
I put the Camaro into gear and pushed the accelerator a little harder than was necessary, the wheels skidding as I pulled away from the curb. There was faint smoke in the street when I turned the corner, and the man stood within that smoke, staring at me.
I had a coffee with Dirty Bobby and spoke about the next album and the themes we were going to explore. I’d left Ingrid with Jenny so that I could spend the day organising my schedule and buying groceries. When I returned home in the afternoon and knocked on Jenny’s door, Ingrid opened it.
‘Hey there, kiddo. How you doing?’
‘Good.’
I tousled her hair, then I saw Jenny. I gave Ingrid the flat key and told her to go over and play. I waited to hear the door close before I spoke.
‘How’s she doing?’ I asked.
‘You know what I’m going to say.’
‘If you’re uncomfortable looking after her I’ll find someone else.’
‘She told me she’s a real girl. What does she mean by that?’
‘She’s a kid. Kids say strange things all the time.’
‘She said she’s not of the moving place. She’s been saying these things for a while. Nils, I think she needs help.’
‘She’s got help. I’m helping her.’
‘You think it’s enough.’
‘Yeah, I do.’
She sighed and then we said goodbye and after she closed the door I just stood there staring at it.
Ingrid was in the living room when I came in, colouring a page in her book with green and blue crayons.
‘Hey, can we chat?’ I said.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘No way. It’s about something you told Jenny, but you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?’
‘What did I say?’
‘That you were a real girl. What’d you mean by that?’
‘People in my dreams tell me I’m not from this world, but I told them that I am. I am from this world, aren’t I?’
‘Of course you are. You’re a hundred percent flesh and blood.’
‘I don’t want to dream about them anymore.’
‘I understand.’
‘How can I do that?’
But I didn’t know what to say. How are you supposed to tell a nine year child not to dream of dead people? Of people who every night grab you and try to drag you back into a world you are not a part of. I picked at a hangnail. I believed that maybe Ingrid really wasn’t from this world. She had a gift, though it was more than just a gift. She knew about the other world.
That evening I received a phone call from Ivan Spencer.
‘I want to hear the new songs,’ he said.
‘We haven’t finished them yet.’
‘Finish them. You’re going on tour.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re going on tour as a supporting band for Black Harvest. It’s a U.K. tour, but if everything goes well there might be some dates in Europe.’
I blinked and tried to process what I was hearing.
‘When?’ is all I managed to say.
‘We’ve got to sort out the details, but we’re looking at December or January.’
I looked over at Ingrid and thought about what sort of damage she was experiencing by her being with me. I almost said I couldn’t do it.
‘Thanks, Ivan. I’ll talk to Bobby and we’ll show you what we’ve got.’
He hung up before I did.
I should have been happy, and a part of me was. I thought about calling my father, but my hand froze on the receiver. Ingrid had helped me more than I could ever repay her. I was not responsible for my success. The girl colouring pictures in my living room was. How can an adult explain to a child, who is unaware of his or her true nature, that their very existence is the reason for another person’s success?
I made ham sandwiches and poured two glasses of pineapple juice and had dinner with Ingrid. I went to bed early.
Bobby and I met every day for the next week and practised the new songs. On Monday we played them for Ivan. By the end of the day we had three new songs for the tour. When Ivan left I took Bobby to his flat and we spoke on the way about our contract. It expired in March and we wanted to negotiate a higher pay.
‘Why don’t we keep this album for ourselves,’ said Bobby.
‘We don’t give it to Machine Gun Records?’
‘Right. I say we record it ourselves and shop it around. I bet there’s another record label out there that will pay butt tonnes for it.’
‘And what if there aren’t?’
Bobby stroked his goatee. ‘I’m willing to take the risk. What about you?’
‘After the tour we let our contract expire,’ I said, the words forming on my lips as I spoke them, ‘and then we shop around our album.’
‘Wigs look ridiculous on me anyhow.’
‘No, you have to wear a wig if this is going to work out.’
Bobby laughed, rolled a cigarette and licked the paper.
‘Hey, get your tobacco off the seat covers,’ I said.
He put the cigarette behind his ear. His neighbourhood was an old one like mine, lined with houses and poplars and leaves blackened by frost. I pulled to the curb and after he got out leaned down. He stuck his hand through the window and shook my hand.
‘I’ve got this buzzing feeling in my stomach, man. I think we’re going to change the world,’ he said.
When I drove away I saw in the rear view mirror the spark of Bobby’s lighter, then his face lit up as he put the flame to the cigarette.
On Friday we were playing a split concert at a venue called Tank, worth about a hundred fifty each way. They had a bar decorated with old iron pipes and there was a clear nautical grunge aesthetic. I’d left Ingrid at Jenny’s in the afternoon and intended to pick her up at 6 P.M. for the concert at half nine. I drove over to the venue and took my guitars from the back seat and carried them round the side of the building, where I was stopped by a big guy who could have been Samoan. He was scrolled with tattoos. I put down the instruments and showed him my clearance card.
Bobby was already there and he was leaning against the wall talking to the drummer, who was putting together his drum kit. I hadn’t met this drummer before. Bobby introduced me to Reuben, our new permanent drummer, and I shook his hand. His physique was massive. He was a couple inches taller than me, his thick neck knotted from years of headbanging, his thin black hair like seaweed glued to driftwood, the black t-shirt pulled tight against his barrel-chest.
‘Bobby told me all about you. Says your father’s Aksel Andersen,’ he said.
‘It’s true.’
He gave me the devil’s horns in appreciation, then he started pretending to play the electric guitar and said, ‘I’m really excited to work with you man. It’s going to be wicked.’
‘Thanks, me too.’
‘Give me a couple of minutes and we can do some practice runs,’ he said.
‘I have to go pick up Ingrid. That’s my niece. She loves my concerts.’
He stopped playing the air-guitar. ‘Okay, yeah, I guess I can wait.’
‘Don’t worry. Everything’s cool. I’ll be half an hour, max.’
It took about fifteen minutes to get to my flat and I illegally parked on the street. I skipped up the flight of stairs to the second floor and knocked on Jenny’s door. I heard the security chain slide back and then Jenny’s face appeared.
‘Hey, Jen. Ingrid ready?’
‘Nils, we have to talk.’
‘Sure, okay, but can it wait? I’m running late. The boys want to do some warm up jams.’
‘She’s not here.’
‘What do you mean?’
I pushed open the door and looked into her living room.
‘Nils, look, it went on too long.’
My heart skipped a beat and I knew something was wrong. All I managed to say was, ‘What?’
‘You’re a good guy. Nice, funny, hardworking. But she needs more. She needs help. Help you can’t give her.’
I pushed my way into the flat and started calling Ingrid’s name. I heard no reply.
‘Where is she?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone? How is she gone? Gone where?’
‘You said you were going to do it. I trusted you. You never did it.’
I put my hand on her shoulder and she flinched. ‘What are saying, Jen?’
‘What choice did I have?’
‘Tell me this a prank or something and I won’t even be mad. She’s hiding in the bedroom, I know it.’
I pushed open the bedroom door.
‘Come on, kiddo, we got to roll. Concert’s at half nine.’ But I was talking to an empty room.
‘Nils, this isn’t a joke,’ said Jenny. ‘I called child services. They took her away about an hour ago.’
‘Are you completely insane?’ I felt hot and my back was sweating.
‘Let it go, Nils. She wasn’t yours to look after.’
I put both hands around her shoulders. ‘Jenny, where did they take her?’
‘I don’t know. To the orphanage, I guess.’
‘You guess?’ I pointed at her, my finger a space from her nose. ‘You had no right. You had no goddamn right. My god, you have no idea what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed me. Listen, I’m completely ruined. I can’t play without her. I literally cannot play without her. Everything I built is out the window because of you. Jesus Christ.’
‘Calm down.’
I laughed, but it was ballooned with anger. ‘This is my future you’re messing with here. How dare you. You dug my grave. Congratulations. Nice going.’
She was calling my name when I pushed past her and walked quickly down the corridor. I fumbled my keys and dropped them on the ground. I started the Camaro and skidded away, almost hitting a teen crossing the street. He flipped me off but I didn’t blame him. Three streets on I saw red lights flashing behind me, so I pulled over. The street was painted in red. I saw Frank Elling step out of the car and walk over to my window. He motioned me to put it down.
‘Something the matter?’ I said.
‘Where you going?’
‘I’m kind of having a bad day right now. I’m late for a gig.’
Frank looked down the street. He put his hand on the roof my car. ‘Nice ride.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Camaro, right?’
‘Yeah, a ‘68.’
He whistled, then drummed his fingers against the roof. ‘Your music’s really bringing in the bacon, isn’t it? Hey, I’m a car fan myself. I hate that you have to leave it here.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Just like to ask some questions.’
‘Ask me.’
‘It’s a bit cold out in the street. How about you come down to the station?’
‘Am I being arrested for something?’
‘Should you be?’
I locked my car. Frank took my keys and walked me to his car. We drove to the police station on Coleford, a brick building with a flight of steps and a ramp. I was taken into an interview room at the end of the hall. It was an 8 x 8 room with a table and a couple of chairs. I waited there for about half an hour before Frank returned, carrying a mug of coffee. He had a fresh cigarette burning on his lips, and a yellow folder and an ashtray under his arm.
Pulling over a chair with his foot, he sat down. He set down the coffee and ashtray on the table. He held onto the folder for a while. There was something thick and square inside it.
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