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TATTERS OF THE KING

-TRACK 9-

TATTERS OF THE KING

The old rock star smoked his last cigarette down to the filter and slumped back in his seat. To Miles, he looked like an old worn-out doll, his days of bringing joy to children far behind him. Over the last few hours he’d watched life return to Aidan Cross’s eyes, only to fizzle and fade yet again as the old man recounted his band’s triumphs, failures, and untimely demise. Although he would never admit it to his crew, the story spooked Miles Hargrove to his core. He’d read the official police report from all those years ago, and he’d grown up hearing the rumors of ritual activity on the night of the final show, but to hear a first-hand account by someone who was there was soul-crushing.

“So what happened after that?” Miles asked.

Aidan Cross placed the smoldering cigarette filter into the ashtray with the others. He cleared his throat. “About what you’d expect, I guess. They found me on the curb outside the club, unconscious and nearly dead from smoke
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