Mosh Pit, Chapter 1

I’ve decided to leak the first chapter of Mosh Pit, the pilot episode of The Rose Garden Arena Incident (A serial thriller in seven parts), just to give folk a taste of what they’re in for. This isn’t like my Alvin books. In fact, most of my work is different from those. You’ll see elements of my style in each, but there’s a lot more edge to my work normally. Anyway, without further ado, I bring you the opening scene of Mosh Pit …

RIGHT NOW

PORTLAND, OREGON.

 

Stephanie Banner was twenty years old the night Dakota Shane stood center stage at the Rose Garden Arena while six bullets rang out through the stadium. Five deaths occurred from those shots, although only four would go on record.

All four were women.

Dakota was a superstar of magnificent proportions. People had camped out the two days before ticket sales started, trying to cop good seats. The show was a sellout. Twenty-thousand tickets in four hours.

Stephanie hadn’t bought a ticket, but she’d managed to get one another way. She and her friend, Brenda Coleman, had floor seats. Good ones, too—close to the stage and everything. So close, they could see the cobalt blue of the superstar’s eyes—part of the sex appeal that rocketed her to international stardom.

So close the police would later call the area where they stood dancing in front of their seats “Ground Zero”: target point for bullet number one.

So many people. It could have been anyone, but it happened to be Stephanie and Brenda that initial shot hit. The round clipped Brenda first, grazing the side of her head, before moving on and giving Stephanie the worst of it. She took the bullet in her upper chest, slightly off-center above her right breast.

It took Stephanie a moment to notice. She was in shock. It wasn’t until two more shots echoed through the arena that her mind managed to grasp the fact that there was a bullet inside her.

She wasn’t the only one in shock. The whole audience seemed to catch a breath before reacting.

The first sound of gunfire ripped through Dakota’s smash hit “Right Back Where We Started,” and before Dakota even sang a word, a wave of panic rocked the stadium. The music stopped as screams burst from the lower sections, reverberating through the concrete mezzanine, a wailing shriek of frenzied bats.

One single thought played over and over like a skipping record in Stephanie’s head: I’ve been shot. I have a bullet in my chest.

She touched the entry point, just above her pink wrap-around top. Her fingers came away bloody.

I’ve been shot. I’m bleeding.

Brenda turned toward Stephanie, her ashen face a blank look of horror. “Go,” Stephanie yelled. “Go! Get moving!”

Taking Brenda’s hand, Stephanie began pushing through the mob of people rushing for the stairs. Hysteria ran through the crowd faster than the latest Dakota Shane single “Stuck with Your Gun” had scampered to the top of worldwide billboard charts.

Stephanie’s heart lifted as she caught a glimpse of the concrete steps. They were closer than she’d expected—maybe another twenty yards. She looked back at Brenda, wishing she could read her friend’s face. She appeared so calm. Detached.

Not like the throng of arms and legs, pushing and pressing, tripping and tumbling.

It was then Stephanie realized a crowd has nothing to do with people. A crowd is a beast all its own. It lives. It’s an entity with its own motivation, its own goals. This one had only one thought: escape.

As Stephanie pushed forward, the crowd pushed back, rocking forward and back, forward and back. A wave pulled by the tide. Stephanie lost ground, almost stumbling. The crowd entity lunged desperately for the exits but, for all its force, it lacked rational thought. It had no capability of constructing an actual plan. The crowd was all about reaction. It didn’t see the big picture.

Tightening her grip on Brenda’s hand, Stephanie continued forward, momentarily forgetting the bullet inside her. The people in front of her became a tangle of arms and legs. They collapsed to the floor, forming a writhing hole. Whirling, spinning. A vortex in the abyss.

Stephanie scrambled to find a way around it as the rest of the crowd beast simply swallowed up the people falling to the floor.

They disappeared.

Stay on your feet, Stephanie thought. Stay on your feet and press ahead. Don’t let go of Brenda. This became her mantra.

Most of the chairs had been knocked over. They looked like dead birds. Stephanie stumbled over them, trying not to fall.

People clambered onto the few chairs still standing, thinking they may offer an expressway to salvation.

Then a loud crack! sounded out from Stephanie’s left. The folding metal seat right beside her bucked and bowed before collapsing under the weight of the cowgirl on top of it. The girl toppled to the floor, giving Stephanie a blurred glimpse of ponytail, boots, and vest before the girl’s full weight landed hard on Stephanie’s outstretched arm, the hand which desperately clung onto Brenda.

Stephanie lost her grip. Both their hands were too slippery with sweat for Stephanie to keep her fingers intertwined with Brenda’s. Their hands gently slipped apart.

Time stretched as Stephanie looked back and watched the churning throng close up around Brenda who struggled desperately to stay on her feet. It was a losing battle, and the crowd’s giant maw clamped down fast and hard, closing around her as she fell backward. Stephanie was helpless to do anything but watch her disappear.

“Bren!” Stephanie screamed. She glanced around on her toes, looking for any sign of her friend. All she saw was a morass of boots, buckles, halters, and hats. It was like losing someone at sea during a dark thunderstorm.

Stay on your feet and press ahead, Stephanie’s brain told her, modifying her mantra so it no longer factored in Brenda.

Stephanie took another glance at the churning mass of people behind her and then looked toward the concrete stairs. They were close now. By herself, Stephanie would have no problem reaching them. Stay on your feet and press ahead.

With a deep breath, she decided her brain was a selfish asshole. She couldn’t leave Brenda behind. She wasn’t about to go any farther by herself. She had a hard enough time living with herself already. She didn’t need leaving Brenda behind thrown onto her conscience.

The image of the bullet lodged in her chest came back to her mind. Maybe none of this mattered anyway. Maybe, right now, Stephanie was slowly bleeding to death internally. Maybe she only had minutes left.

If you get outside, you can get help. There will be ambulances.

Turning around, she dove against the current of everyone else.

Elbows hit her face, something hit her face hard, crunching her nose. She didn’t care. It hardly mattered.

Blood dripped from her nostrils, running down and over the top of her lips. It tasted like buckshot. She sliced her way through the flailing hands and wailing arms.

“Bren!” she called out again, but it was pointless. Her voice couldn’t be heard above the roar.

Then it happened. The impossible.

Somehow, she found Brenda. Stephanie stood a moment, letting the people spill around her. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Brenda lay on the floor in front of her, sitting back on her elbows. Shoes and shins pummeled the back of her head. Her face was awash in confusion; she didn’t appear to have any idea what was going on. Panic swelled in Stephanie’s chest. The bitter taste of bile mixed with the blood in her throat.

Something’s wrong. No, everything was wrong. Brenda was hurt, and Stephanie had a bullet inside her.

Those thoughts weren’t helping at all, but Stephanie couldn’t shake them. Swallowing hard, she wrestled to stay in control. For the first time since she and Brenda met, Stephanie was suddenly in charge. She was responsible for their survival.

Stephanie reached out for Brenda. “Come on! Grab my hand!”

Brenda’s eyes rose to Stephanie’s face and Stephanie’s panic almost took over. There was nothing in Brenda’s eyes but a cold emptiness. All Stephanie knew was that none of this was good.

Does she even recognize me?

Now was not the time for questions. But there was no time for wondering.

“Move!” Stephanie yelled. “Take my hand! Now!”

Brenda heard her. Pulling herself up to a seating position, reached out and once again clasped Stephanie’s hand.

Stephanie strengthened her resolve and yanked Brenda to her feet. “Okay! Let’s get out of here!”

Pulling Brenda as close as she could, Stephanie asked, “Are you okay?”

Brenda either didn’t hear or didn’t process the question. She just stood there, her eyes fixed on some place in the floor.

“Tell me later!” Stephanie said, letting out a big breath. “We’re almost to the stairs.”

A new worry fell over Stephanie. It was hard enough getting through people down here. How hard would it be on those stairs? The steps up to the mezzanine were solid concrete. What if I lose hold of Brenda halfway up . . . ? She didn’t finish the thought. She couldn’t finish it.

It all felt so impossible.

Not impossible. Not today. Today there’s no impossible. There can’t be.

They made the stairs with Stephanie managing to keep Brenda on her feet. She was far from stable, though.

Something was wrong, but Stephanie didn’t have the time to worry about it right now. She decided putting Brenda in front of her was the best way to tackle the stairs. Stephanie held tightly to her friend’s waist. This way, Stephanie figured, if Brenda started to stumble, Stephanie might be able to stop her from falling. Or she’ll just knock us both down.

Thankfully, the stairs turned out to be easier than the floor. The people here weren’t as thick as the mob down below. People were climbing, not just pushing each other blindly.

They reached the mezzanine and Stephanie relaxed. Her heartbeat thumping in her eardrums slowed. The crowd was thinner up here.

Stephanie set her sights on EXIT E, the doors of which weren’t more than fifty feet away.

That’s when Brenda went down again, only this time not because of anyone stumbling into her. She just collapsed on her own, right in front of Stephanie. Luckily, Stephanie was able to catch her.

“Hey, whoa,” Stephanie said, propping Brenda back onto her feet. “What’s going on? You okay?”

Brenda said nothing, just looked back, her face flushed with confusion.

Stephanie put her mouth right against Brenda’s ear. “You fell!” she yelled. “Are you okay?”

Brenda didn’t seem to understand. Stephanie let it go, deciding instead to concentrate on just getting the hell outside. Pulling Brenda’s arm up over her shoulder, Stephanie put her other hand around Brenda’s waist. She walked her awkwardly like this the rest of the way.

It may have only been fifty feet, but the closer they got to those doors, the heavier Brenda became. By the time they made it to the exit, Stephanie was practically dragging Brenda across the floor. Luckily she wasn’t too heavy.

The doors were all wide open. As Stephanie pulled Brenda through, six cops quickly ducked past them, entering the Arena. All Stephanie saw were uniforms, hats, and boots. Their eyes wide with anticipation, their guns snapped in their holsters on their hips.

Nothing in Stephanie’s life ever felt as good as that chilly spring wind hitting her face. She relaxed into it, taking deep breaths. It almost felt sexual. The sensation tingled through her whole body, lingering in her hands and cheeks, a warm exhilaration. A feeling of exhaustion and success. We made it. And we’re still alive. Despite everything, a small smile came to Stephanie’s blood-cracked lips. She closed her eyes and let herself relax.

Sirens screamed out in the night, some nearby, others sounding more like alley cats screeching from far away. Stephanie decided the best thing to do now was to find somewhere to sit.

People gathered tightly in the area right outside the exits. Stephanie took Brenda away from the center of the crowd.

The landscaped areas outside the Rose Garden Arena were wrapped by concrete landings and walkways that curved around the stadium. The big landing in front of the door went on maybe a hundred feet or more as it fanned open to stairs leading down to the parking lot. Stephanie spotted an island of shrubs hugged by a three-foot retaining wall.

With her eye on that wall, Stephanie negotiated Brenda toward it. Rhododendron bushes, budding azaleas, and large hydrangeas spilled over from the raised garden on the other side. Beneath their heavy leaves, tulips and daffodils all pink and yellow, purple and orange, had already burst into bloom. Their leathery leaves gleamed beneath the Arena’s outside lamps. They were a non sequitur in this, the most jagged and broken of nights.

Carefully, Stephanie set Brenda down on the wall’s edge. Her hand came down in the dirt behind her, squashing one of the bright yellow tulips.

“Can you sit okay?” Stephanie asked. Her ears rang. It felt like she was under water. “You’re not going to fall again are you?” she asked Brenda.

Brenda looked back with that same detached look she’d had ever since the concert went to hell.

The people outside the door had broken off into small groups. The wind carried the skunky smell of marijuana and Stephanie couldn’t help but be a little envious. Any escape would be good tonight. “ . . . yeah, cops said we’re not supposed to leave,” she heard someone say. “We gotta wait till they clear us, in case they need a statement.”

“Screw that,” someone responded. At least a third of that group broke off and headed down the stairs.

Brenda’s lack of response was starting to really worry Stephanie. “Bren? Seriously, are you okay?”

Brenda nodded slowly. “I’m good,” she said quietly.

The Milky Way twisted overhead into a golden braid and the half-moon hung yellow and low in the east like a frozen bullet. The pounding of thick soles against stairs preceded five more cops coming up, almost in a jog. Again, Stephanie’s attention was pulled to their guns. As they went past, she caught a wisp of conversation: “—has any idea what the fuck’s going on. That’s why it’s important that we—” That was all she managed to catch.

Thoughts began converging on Stephanie’s mind like an army of bark beetles scuttling an attack against a pine tree. Bad thoughts. She had to think it all through. She had to at least be able to answer one of the questions her brain wanted to understand. What the hell just happened?

Her brain had another question, but it was one she knew there was no point in asking yet. She was sure though, very soon, an answer would be forthcoming, even if it came from the tabloids.

That question was: Why? Why would someone just start . . . shooting people?

Not just people. Stephanie. And Brenda. What were the odds? They weren’t even supposed to be at this show. Another thought came to her: What if the bullet went all the way through? Her pulse sped back up as she reached behind her back, trying to touch the area she expected the bullet may have exited. She couldn’t feel anything. She examined her fingers and found no new blood.

The bullet’s still inside me.

Stephanie touched the entry wound again. There was still blood, but less than before, certainly less than she expected. Some ran down into her pink wrap around. It was drying fast now that they were outside in the cold.

Her eyes fell to the three cuts on her inside left forearm. They weren’t from tonight. She’d made them on Wednesday, the day she and Brenda had concocted their plan to acquire tonight’s concert tickets. Already, they had started to scab. Soon, they would be nearly invisible like the others beneath and around them.

She took a deep breath, trying to put her attention elsewhere. “Sure is nicer out here, hey?” she asked Brenda. “I mean not only because we aren’t being trampled to death—although that’s part of it—but also because it’s really a nice night.”

Brenda brought her arm up and wiped the sweat from her face. Then she ran her fingers gently along the side of her head where the round had grazed her. It was just above her right eye.

When she spoke her voice sounded hollow and quiet. “Is it raining?” she asked.

Stephanie thought she could make out blood under Brenda’s hairline, but it was too dark to be sure. Slowly Brenda brought her fingers back and looked at them. There was blood. Not a lot, just a smear.

Confusion fell over Brenda as though she was unsuccessfully trying to figure out what the red on her fingers might be. She once again touched the side of her head. Her expression seemed almost dream-like as she pulled her fingers from her temple. This time, a large chunk of her skull fell along with them.

Stephanie held back a gasp as she brought her hands to her mouth. She felt a scream building up in her throat, but she was gagging on it. It wouldn’t come out. Tears stung the back of her eyes as she looked on in horror at what had just happened.

Then someone from the crowd noticed. And, like a forest fire, awareness spread through all the people standing outside the exit doors. The night once again was split open by terrified shrieks, but still Stephanie made no noise. She just sat there, hands clasped over her mouth, staring as Brenda picked up the piece of skull from where it had tumbled into the dirt of the tulip and daffodil garden.

She turned it over in her hands, looking at the smooth inside and the dark outside where some of her hair had stuck to it. Still, she seemed more confused than anything else. Slowly she lifted her gaze to Stephanie, but the last thing Stephanie wanted to do was look into her eyes.

Stephanie’s attention went to the people staring at Brenda. “Are there ambulances here yet?” she asked loudly. “Do any of you know if there’s any ambulances? My friend needs to get to a hospital!” She’d already seen cops. Weren’t they usually the last to arrive at a scene? After the fire trucks and the ambulances?

Sirens still sang from somewhere out on the edges of the night.

Finally, four more uniformed people ran up the stairs, these ones EMTs—a black woman and three white guys. The guys all had short cropped hair. One had a goatee.

“Take care of her,” the woman said to the EMT with the goatee, nodding at Brenda.

He crouched down and examined her head with his blue-gloved fingers. He smelled vaguely of Axe deodorant.

The woman ordered the other two EMT guys to clear away all the people. Nobody bothered to tell her what the cops had said about taking statements. Then she squatted in front of Stephanie. Her name tag said Delray.

“You okay? Is it just your friend? Or you, too?”

Stephanie’s hand went to her chest.

Delray, the EMT, immediately saw the bullet hole above Stephanie’s top. “We’ve got two here,” she called out. Pressing her fingers around the wound, she asked Stephanie, “Does this hurt?”

Stephanie slowly shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know. I can’t really feel anything right now.” She wondered if Delray was the woman’s first or last name.

“What about your extremities? Can you feel your legs?”

“No, I mean, everything’s so . . . I’m a little overwhelmed. Will my friend be okay?” Delray didn’t even glance to the other EMT tending Brenda.

Stephanie heard another ambulance pull into the lot. A moment later, four more technicians came up the stairs. Delray yelled to them. “I need a stretcher! Now!”

Two of them headed back down while the other two continued on into the arena.

“Are there a lot of people hurt?” Stephanie asked Delray.

Delray didn’t answer. She continued pressing Stephanie’s skin. “You sure you can’t feel this?

This doesn’t hurt?”

Stephanie shook her head again.

Delray asked her to turn around. “Gently, now. Don’t twist.” She examined Stephanie’s back, pressing there, too.

“My friend’s going to be okay, right?” Stephanie asked.

“You just worry about yourself right now. We’ll take care of everyone else,” Delray softly said.

The two EMTs returned with the stretcher. They put it between where Stephanie and Brenda were seated. Delray looked up at one of the technicians. “Which ambulance?”

“Thirty-one.”

“We cleared to go back right away?”

He shook his head.

“Shit,” Delray said. “Why not?”

“Someone else is coming out. Should be any time. Pregnant. Shot in the abdomen.”

“Jesus Christ, this is a mess,” Delray said.

The EMT didn’t reply.

“Can you stand okay?” Delray asked Stephanie.

Stephanie nodded and began to get up when the male EMT stepped forward and helped her. Before she knew what was happening, he and Delray had her on the stretcher.

“No,” Stephanie said. She started telling them they were making a mistake. Brenda needed the stretcher more than she did. She told them to stop. She was fine. She wasn’t critical. Half her skull wasn’t missing. They needed to go back. Brenda needed to get in the ambulance first. Surely everyone could see that. Stephanie tried to sit up, but Delray gently held her down, her black hand pressing firmly on Stephanie’s midriff. “Shh,” she said. “Just stay calm, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

The two men began wheeling Stephanie away. “Try not to move,” one of them told her.

Craning her neck, Stephanie looked back at Brenda. She’d been placed on her side on the walkway. She lay there on the cold concrete, her eyes wide open, watching Stephanie being wheeled away. Stephanie could see it in her eyes: she knew the stretcher was supposed to be for her.

A dark red pool of blood formed beneath Brenda’s head, matting her auburn hair before forming tributaries that ran down the sloped walkway as though trying to catch up with Stephanie’s stretcher.

Brenda got smaller and smaller until she finally disappeared behind a leafy lilac bush and some hydrangeas.

The stretcher went quickly down the wheelchair ramp and to the back of a waiting ambulance. Lifting Stephanie inside, the men then locked the stretcher in place as Delray appeared again at her side, this time wearing a stethoscope. She pressed the cold metal chestpiece against Stephanie’s skin on the edge of her wound. “Deep breath,” she said.

As Delray listened to her chest, Stephanie noticed her glance at the scars on Stephanie’s forearm. She looked at Stephanie, the ambulance’s interior lights glinting in her grey eyes, but all she said was, “Keep breathing. Just like that. Deep breaths.”

Stephanie did as she was asked. Her heart pounded strong and fast as a realization poured over her. A memory of something she’d witnessed only moments ago was now registering in her mind. Just before Brenda had disappeared completely from Stephanie’s sight, as she lay there staring with all that blood gathering around her head, an EMT had crouched down and, with two blue-gloved fingers, closed her eyes.

Stephanie swallowed hard. Her breath caught in her throat.

Brenda was dead.

A scream caught in Stephanie’s throat. She could no longer breathe. “No,” she said in a clipped whisper. “No.”

Delray pulled the stethoscope’s chestpiece away. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“Bren!” Stephanie said wildly. “She’s . . . oh my God. She’s . . . ”

“Listen,” Delray said. “You have to calm down.”

Stephanie tried, but she couldn’t. She fought to sit up again but, like before, Delray held her down.

“Bren!”

“Shh,” Delray said. “Settle down. Try to relax.”

The lights all blurred as tears welled in Stephanie’s eyes. She began quietly sobbing, her chest heaving. “No,” she said, her lips barely forming the word. “She wasn’t supposed to die. Why does everyone keep dying?” Her hands clenched her pink wraparound, twisting it. She felt one of her breasts pop free but didn’t care. Then, another thought struck her, this one full of iron. Not everyone, she thought. Just the people I love.

The wheels of another stretcher skittered down the ramp. It was lifted inside and locked into place beside Stephanie. Stephanie continued staring up into the lights. She didn’t need to look at the other victim, she knew it was the pregnant woman the other EMT told Delray they had to wait for. Stephanie knew this because the woman’s husband refused to listen to anyone. He pushed his way into the ambulance behind her, screaming. “My wife’s pregnant! Tell me if she’s going to be okay! Tell me! I’m a cop! Tell me!”

He repeated this over and over. He yelled it at the EMTs, he yelled it at Stephanie, he yelled it at the oxygen tanks and face masks secured in the corner.

His voice was slightly accented. Italian, Stephanie guessed, only because he sounded a bit like Tony Soprano.

Stephanie turned her head to look at the woman lying beside her. She was motionless, her eyes closed, either asleep or unconscious. Judging from her bulge, she was very pregnant. A tear ran over her nose and across her cheek.

“I’m a cop!” the man yelled. “I’m a cop, and my wife’s pregnant!”

Stephanie continued quietly sobbing.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, leaving Delray and the loud cop inside.

“Tell me if she’s going to be okay!” the man demanded. “I’m a cop! She’s pregnant! Tell me if she’s going to be okay!” Delray didn’t respond, so he yelled it again.

Carefully, Delray pulled Stephanie’s top back up over her exposed breast. She pushed a needle into the vein on Stephanie’s left wrist, fully exposing the three scars on Stephanie’s inside forearm. Again, she said nothing about them.

“Tell me if she’s going to be okay!” the man repeated. “She’s pregnant! I’m a cop! I’m a cop, and she’s pregnant!”

The ambulance’s siren sounded miles away. The liquid in the bag hanging on the metal tree beside Stephanie jostled as they began to move.

“Goddamn it!” the man snapped at Delray. “How long until we get to the hospital? I’m a cop, goddamn it!”

“Just calm down sir,” Delray answered calmly. “We’re doing everything we can. Just calm down.”

“She’s pregnant!”

Delray snapped off her blue gloves and dropped them into a bin for hazardous waste. She lifted Stephanie’s right hand, gripping it lightly with two fingers while she watched her wristwatch.

“Tell me if she’s going to be okay!” the man yelled. “Tell me, Goddamn it! I’m a cop!”

“Please sir, just calm down,” Delray said with the same calmness. She placed her palm on Stephanie’s forehead, pushing up her hair. “Do you feel hot?” she asked.

Stephanie had no idea. All she knew was the world had taken a bite out of her once again. No matter what she did, everything always wound up the same. Sooner or later, everybody leaves. One way or another. She wondered if the image of the EMT closing Brenda’s dead eyes would ever go away. She didn’t think so. That one would be burned in her mind forever.

Even though she knew, she had to ask. She had to hear it. “She was dead, right?” Stephanie asked Delray. “My friend?” The words came out quiet and broken, like her heart. Only her heart had come that way right from the beginning.

“Your pulse is a little low,” Delray answered softly.

Stephanie tried again. “Tell me, please? I need you to. My friend . . . she’s dead, isn’t she?”

Delray’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked up into Stephanie’s eyes with just the slightest nod of her head. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Stephanie sobbed harder, her chest buckling as more tears came. Brenda’s gone. She’s dead. A crack had appeared in the world tonight and everything had fallen into it, leaving nothing behind except hopelessness, loneliness, and death.

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