Jane Fade Merrick - Ashes Of The Phoenix

She kept coughing, her eyes and lungs burning, the sandwich fell on the floor as the heavy coughs made her head burst. Although it seemed absurd to the eyes of the owner, she dropped unconsciously onto the sticky floor.

“Miss!” The terrified man shouted, slipping out from behind the counter to help her, but it was too late: Jag was coming out of the bathroom at that moment.

“Ibrahim!” The little boy roared fiercely, “What the hell did you do?” He asked, kneeling next to the girl and holding her head.

“Nothing, I was giving her a sandwich and she fainted!” He babbled in confusion.

“Go get a glass of water!” he ordered as he tried to make her com to.

The man got up and went behind the counter bumping into everything and clumsily filling a glass.

“No, no, no, no! You can't leave me right now...” Jag murmured as he waited.

“Here's the water!” The man exclaimed, reaching them, and poured it all on Fade’s face under the boy’s petrified gaze. The girl woke up screaming.

“Ibrahim!!” he yelled at him angrily. “She was supposed to drink it!”

“Sorry, Jag! Sorry!” He excused himself, in total panic.

“Oh, leave him alone!” She interrupted him, bothered by the noise.

“How do you feel?”

“Very clean,” she said sarcastically.

For the rest of the time the man didn’t speak, while the two of them ate at their table. Fade was still upset and wished she would shut off her petulant companion who kept talking like a crazy machine, then she tried to focus on the taste of the sandwich, which actually wasn't bad at all.

The two went out, she said goodbye to Ibrahim, who shyly returned her greeting. She was a little surprised to see such a big man obey so humbly to the orders of a small little boy. Jag, on the other hand, went out without looking back.

“What do you think of the city?” He asked, once they had walked a while.

“Nothing special...” she said uncertainly. “What do you want to do now?”

“I've already spoken to the Momuht's manager, tomorrow morning I’ll meet with the band.”

“How the hell did you manage to convince them so easily?”

“Simple: I'll be a co-financier of all their future projects. Tomorrow we'll discuss the fees; you're coming, too!”

“I don’t understand anything about these things, no...”

“I only need someone to act as a secretary,” Jag explained. “A child alone isn’t very credible.”

“Even less so if you're joined by a lunatic on skates!” she stated.

“Ha Ha! You don’t know the bands tastes! Let's go, you have to learn all about them” he concluded. “There’s an internet point nearby!”

Connected to the network, the two took a glance on the band's most hidden — so to speak — secrets. The child gloried at each link to their private life, trying to explain their whole story to the girl who, of course, didn’t understand anything about it.

Jag decided to enter the official website: a specifically made video footage, with pictures taken from their concerts, invaded the entire screen.

“Look!” He grinned with satisfaction “Now I'm gonna show you the guitarist’s page!” And clicked on the link with the mouse.

A single page opened, with a collage of objects scattered on a table seen from the top. In the lower right hand corner there was a Polaroid photo of the 'emo' boy showing half of his face, moreover, covered by a hand, allowing to see just an unbelievably blue eye through the space between his fingers.

“This must be the greatest representation of intrigue and mystery of the moment,” she thought. In the rest of the page were displayed scattered objects that were supposed to represent the young man’s personality.

Note books scribbled with compositions and notes, a lighter, an empty cup of coffee with a stubbed out cigarette in it, a catalogue of musical instruments, a half open flick-knife. The same table was engraved, probably with the latter, with incomprehensible signs.

The girl didn’t listen to the explanations, for she was intent on finding new details on the screen. Her attention was interrupted when the kid decided to pass to a new page. He clicked on the singer's page: the black-haired girl with the stern look.

Same scenario as the first: on the bottom, the Polaroid photo of a girl sitting at a Japanese noodle stand. The Japanese curtains, which dropped from the roof of the stand, concealed her identity, while leading to believe that it was indeed her sitting there. Again, scattered items which represented her identity: a little doll with a big blond head was hanging by a cord to a smartphone of the last generation which displayed on its screen the progress of an audio track, a mini xylophone with drumsticks and a stuffed animal in the shape of a cat, was all that Fade managed to see before the kid changed the page again.

The two searched the percussionist's page: immediately apparent were the two drumsticks crossed on the table. The boy's Polaroid depicted him while playing basketball, as he was about to toss the ball into the basket in a spectacular jump. Among the other things, an MP3 with headphones, a sports band, and a CD of Beethoven's Omnia Opera, a detail which puzzled the girl, given the type of band.

The last page the child opened was that of the bass player, as well as the leader of the band. On his table was only an ashtray overflowing with cigarettes butts, a glass with the last sips of whiskey, some bags with spare strings for the bass and a piece of knotted rope. His Polaroid photo showed just his hand, his middle finger raised, wearing a ring on which was engraved '666'.

“If we're lucky tomorrow you can see them live!” He said. “I don’t really care!” The girl replied. “But, if I have to act as your secretary, why don’t you start telling me the names of these dummies.”

He smiled at her with an intuitive look and explained the details of their meeting.

The next morning Fade was extremely tired; Jag had made her visit the city almost all night long, and had never stopped talking about 'his band'. She followed him reluctantly, while he, on the other hand, walked with a quick and triumphant pace to the entrance of the Momuht’s studio.

The group manager invited them to sit at the round table in satin glass of the meeting room to wait for the band to arrive.

After an endless wait, the four members came in through the door. The kid was so entranced he remained gazing at them with his mouth agape and a blithe smile, which made her doubt that he was even breathing.

They entered in sequence: “Nef, the bass player” Fade mentally recalled, “Ted, the guitarist, Joanna called 'Sushi', the singer and Jess, the bean-pole drummer” closed the group.

The first came in triumphantly, showing off the boisterous ornaments on his neck, his thumbs sunk into the pockets of tight jeans tucked in inlaid cowboy boots. The second followed him with a curved posture, his hair was so flat over his face that he seemed to have been licked by a cow; he wore torn jeans and a T-shirt. The girl was wearing thigh high boots, a short skirt, and a shaded t-shirt in glittering colours; she followed them with her gaze stuck to her smartphone, quickly writing texts. The last of the group, a young man with a deep gaze, followed them with the expression of someone who at that moment would have preferred being on another planet; all of his stature was clothed in branded high fashion garments. The four sat at the table followed by their manager who immediately began the conversation: “Well, I guess you already know the names of the members, so I’ll leave the presentations to you.”

“I’m Jag and this is Fade!” The boy began, recovering. Sushi’s quick fingers stopped for a moment in hearing those names, then they rapidly started again. “I'm going to finance all of your future projects: albums, concerts, music videos, everything! I have unlimited funds, so don’t be afraid to dare.”