Page 50 of A Taste of Bliss

Simon quirks his lips into a rueful smile. “Now you’re just trying to find reasons not to.”

“Maybe,” I respond with a grin. But it is an actual issue. Every time I’ve performed in front of an audience, I’ve felt like a fraud. I was so concerned with how they’d perceive me and what they’d think, that I could tell I wasn’t allowing myself to be real. And I’d always felt so underserving of their time and attention.

“Find a way to make it about more than just yourself, then.”

He says it like it’s so simple. I nod, but my brain searches for a way to do that and comes up completely blank.

We move on to other topics, but what he was saying lingers with me even after we leave the restaurant and even after I’ve walked Simon to his bus stop before heading home myself.

I take a shortcut through a dimly lit alleyway, unable to stop replaying Simon’s words. Night is setting in earlier these winter days and I pull my hands into my sleeves to ward off the cold, even as lyrics pop out of nowhere into my head.

Maybe it’s because I’m too busy hastily typing the lyrics into my phone that I don’t see him until he steps out into the dim street light filtering down. “Hey there, mate,” the stranger says. His voice has a slight hiss to it.

“Sorry, mate. I’m in a hurry,” I tell him, barely glancing up. This part of town isn’t terrible, but it’s not great. Usually people leave each other alone here.

“Don’t you want my help, though?”

I roll my eyes. The guy is probably on drugs. I don’t respond and keep walking.

“She’s in hell, mate. But I can help. She didn’t deserve what you put her through and even now she’s yelling out at you to help her. ‘Pisces! Pisces!’” My name spills from his lips, but instead of his voice, I hear hers—Leighton’s. It’s like someone punched me in the stomach. I whirl around and glare at the stranger.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask him. “How did you do that?” How did he sound like her?

He waves a hand and the air seems to sizzle and part right in front of me. A vision of Leighton in what has to be hell itself appears in front of me. “Pisces! Help me!” she screams out. I lunge forward, trying to get to her, but the air ripples and the vision fades, her screams echoing around the alley.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask, looking back to the man, my eyes as wide as saucers. He stands there looking solemn.

“She went to hell, Pisces. You know why. But you know she didn’t mean it. She wasn’t in her right mind. But you can help her.”

“How?” I ask. My mind is spinning. I’ve always been open to hell as a concept. I went to a Catholic school, so it’s familiar to me, but I’ve never truly believed it exists. And here is this stranger showing me visions of it. But how? Magic isn’t real. Hell and heaven aren’t real, are they?

“I can get her out. I just need your help.”

Something tells me to be wary of this man. But what I saw felt so real. I have to help her.

“You’ll be able to see her whenever you want and she’ll be safe. I just need something from you.”

“What?” I ask. I’ll give anything. I don’t have much, but I’ll give it. I’ll give him everything.

“Sing for me, and it’ll fuel the magic I need to work to save her.”

“Sing?” That’s hardly a steep price. Though I haven’t sung since I woke up in the hospital.

“Song is a very powerful magic.” The man steps closer to me and I look around the deserted alleyway.

“All I have to do is sing?”

“And I’ll do the rest,” he says, giving me a small smile. “Go ahead, sing anything.”

So I do. I sing a version of “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen. My voice starts off a bit rocky since I haven’t sung in so long, but I quickly find the right pitch and I sing, the sound echoing off the brick walls around us. The man steps closer to me and before I know it, his hands turn to claws and he sinks them into my chest. Agony radiates out from where his claws have pierced me. I falter, gasping at the pain, but he shakes his head. “Don’t stop,” he says, and so I don’t. I sing through the pain, even asblood pours from my chest. The song ends and I open my eyes, tears flowing freely down my face.

The man is still before me, but now I’m sure he isn’t a man. A demon, maybe. His irises have turned red, almost the color of my blood that’s splattering the stone at my feet.

“Thank you,” he says, almost kindly. “You have a beautiful voice.” He leans down, licking my cheek, and I fall to my knees, exhausted. “Such a pity for this world to lose you before you could truly become something. But you were such an easy snack, and a delicious one.” The demon licks his fingers and vanishes, but I barely register it. I’m dying. Whatever he did, it’s killing me.

As my eyes close of their own volition, I’m graced with a vision of her. It’s just a memory, but one of the few good ones I have. I can even smell her, and I let her scent wash over me as I die.

I wake up in my own bed the next morning, no idea how I got here. My clothes are the ones I was wearing yesterday when I met with Simon, but they’re caked in dirt and grime from the alleyway.