American Monsters (15 page)

The camera does a fast cut to a speeding car driving away from the hill. The fog alert is on, and no one is on the streets. The Driver just wants to get a safe distance before he slows down or even pulls over. The white van took a little beating getting out of those woods, but it was much closer to the exit than most. Probably because he got there so late. Well, not late exactly. It’s not like he was there for the party or anything. He was taking care of business. His cell phone rings from the passenger seat.

Driver:

Hello.

Caller:

Operation Bad Vibe ― was it successful?

Driver:

The explosives are timed for 12:30 a.m. 10 minutes and counting.

Caller:

You didn’t have any trouble planting the nitroglycerine?

Driver:

Not at all. I put one batch inside the house and then planted the rest in the woods outside. They won’t know what hit them. Fucking trendy ass corporate bullshit. Burn, assholes, burn! This is the peak of the party, too. DJ Fetish, Mr. Corporate himself, just opened. Good timing, huh?

Caller:

You were the last man to go in. If you set the bomb correctly there should be no problems. We rendezvous at the house on Soap Street. Got it?

Driver:

I’ll see you there. Down with corporate bullshit.

Caller:

Right on, brother.

The camera pulls out of the rear window and focuses on a bumper sticker that reads: Bad Vibes Rule. The bad viber drives off into Kaleanathi’s smog.

Kaleanathi stirs the ocean. The incantations have brought it to a boil, churning in her earth cauldron. The red mud from the bottom of the ocean mixes with the calcareous ooze. Kaleanathi hums to herself as the energy surges into her being. The tornado over The Motel Chain Mansion swirls and thickens. The time is now.

The Stoners decide to sit down and take a break. They’ve been walking forever. Then they all see a bright white light, flashing painfully, blossoming...

Stoner #1 has time to call out “You asshole,” thinking someone sparked a lighter.

And then, nothing.

Kaleanathi rains down crimson ash at the former site of the Motel Chain Mansion. The house is already rebuilding itself, in dreams and memories. She begins to prepare the next catalyst, already eager to feed again.

Katie Hernandez:

We are live at the so-called Motel Chain Mansion, where there appears to have been a massive explosion. Our helicopters are on site. Let’s cut to them and see what they can reveal.

Cut to the weather helicopter.

Cindy Walters:

Thank you, Katie. It is a night of dismal despair for the thousands of young people here at a rave being thrown in this mansion encompassing the entirety of a Hollywood hill. It appears there has been a huge explosion of some kind. CSIs are on site right now trying to figure out the cause of this terrible tragedy. The homegrown terrorist group, the Bad Vibe Kids, have claimed responsibility for this horrific explosion. If you know of anyone who may have gone to this rave party, please call the following numbers. They will be able to assist you further. Back to you, Katie.

Cindy’s smile fades and she turns back to the site, looking sadly down at the wreckage below. She sees a figure, female, stand up out of the ashes, dusting herself off and coughing so hard a spray of blood emerges.

Cindy:

Stan! Get the camera rolling! Look!

Stan gets the camera rolling as more figures stand up and brush themselves off.

Stan:

Holy shit!

Cindy:

Are you getting this! Survivors! We have survivors, people!

FADE TO BLACK.

The night the sky opened up and I saw hell was also known as October 28, 2000.

In that previous life, Hallowe’en weekend was my favorite of the year, and my university friends and I were all a’tizzy about costumes and the annual monster bash our amigas had at their off-campus house. Los Angeles in October is balmy, no coats required — perfect costume weather. No limitations. My plan was to dress my 'Run, Lola, Run'-esque red-haired Asian self as a cyber Laura Palmer, wrapped in plastic and all; Twin Peaks was my then-current obsession. That and bitching about The Boyfriend, who was ever more clingy and who I had decided I would be leaving sooner rather than later. After our most recent spat, The Boyfriend drove off in his black Saturn to work on his Wolverine costume for the party. I was planning on dis-inviting him at the last minute just to stick it to him.

My friend Audrey showed up for our pre-party chill-out night at our favorite haunt in Hollywood, a funky little retro bar called Kane, our version of Cheers. Kane was all but empty, a nice change to the usual Friday night there, which meant we could smoke inside. Their repertoire of 70s funk was jiving and while Audrey flirted with The Bartender, I danced to James Brown and Stevie Wonder as was my wont. In the interim, out would come my notebook, and Audrey and I would discuss plot and character points of American Monsters. All in all, a mellow night, as we had planned.

Or so I thought.

Out of nowhere, Audrey was absolutely wasted. She started writing notes to The Bartender that were all but scribbles. Before we knew it, it was 2am and Audrey refused to leave the bar. Me, I’d only had a few cocktails so in theory I could have driven us back to campus. The problem was, I still didn’t know how to drive, let alone have a driver’s license. As I was debating calling The Boyfriend (totally unappealing) or a taxi (no cash on hand but doable), up drove our friend Wendy. Thank God, I thought. Then I asked her what she was doing at Kane at 2am.

Apparently Audrey had left Wendy a number of strange voicemail messages, and since she was in the area she thought she’d stop by and see what was up. I’m sure the fact that Wendy, like Audrey, had a crush on The Bartender also factored into the surprise visit.

In true Twin Peaks fashion, Audrey began speaking gibberish. Wendy asked if she’d taken anything and after talking with the remaining bar patrons, some of whom were Wendy’s friends, the skinny emerged. Audrey had likely ingested a fair amount of cocaine. How did this get past me? Was I so caught up in my dancing and my monsters I didn’t even notice my friend reliving the disco years in the bathroom? Apparently so.

Audrey was making no sense. We poured her into Wendy’s car, lovingly named Spike after her favorite Buffy character, and I thought we’d be on our way back to the dorms. Audrey had other plans, jumping out of the car and running like a crazy person down the street. We drove after her and pulled her back in. She did it again. We did the same. Spike’s left-side passenger door didn’t open from the inside so we forced her into that seat and I had my arm on her keeping her in place.

The only sentence she said that made sense was, “Take Sezin home, and take me back to Kane.” Wendy didn’t know that in spite of her sort-of romance with The Bartender, Audrey had slept with him the week before, and seemed to be cooking up this situation so that she could have a repeat affair. Bitch, I thought. Wendy was looking so hurt as she figured it out, and asked me about it. I told her it was something she and Audrey would need to sit down and discuss, I wouldn’t get in the middle.

Wendy was concerned about leaving Audrey’s car parked in front of Paramount Studios overnight. I was disgusted with Audrey, that this whole load of nonsense was so she could betray her friend, again, and not even have the balls to be honest about it. “Fuck her, let’s go home,” I told Wendy. But Wendy didn’t feel comfortable with that, and decided to stop by our friend Martell’s house, just around the corner on Sunset and Tamarind. If he was home, maybe he’d follow us and drive Audrey’s car back.

While Wendy was ringing his doorbell, Audrey pitched another fit and tried to get out of the car. Wendy saw me struggling with her and rushed back to the car. We both wrestled Audrey back into the seat, cursing like sailors. Wendy and I had a really intense connection. I could see that she had figured out Audrey had done something untoward with The Bartender, and I could see her pain. Martell wasn’t home. “Let’s go,” I said. Audrey was calm for the first time, realizing she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. “Let’s just chill for a minute,” Wendy said.

The last moments I had with Wendy were spent in silence. I wish I had filled that absence with an “I love you, Wendy-bird.”

A car turned onto the street behind us, breaking us out of our reverie. The car proceeded to pull right up Spike’s ass. Something wasn’t right, I felt it. I turned to look and saw a boxy 70s style car with a huge grille mouth, just inches from Spike’s bumper. “This is weird, Wendy, let’s go!” She looked in the rearview mirror. “It’s okay, they’re just dropping someone off.” She was right.

Then...

A young girl at Wendy’s window. She has a small silver gun. “Give me your wallets, bitches!” she says in a thick Mexican accent. The gun is at Wendy’s head as she looks, wide-eyed, forward. I turn towards the girl. I look into her eyes and try to reason with her. “Please don’t hurt us! We’ll give you anything you want! Just please don’t hurt us!”

“Don’t look at my face, BITCH! Get your fucking head down!”

This isn’t happening this isn’t happening this isn’t happening how can this be happening this isn’t happening.

My head down, I can’t breathe. My purse is on the floor. I get it, I get my wallet, I wonder what Audrey is going to do because she doesn’t have a wallet, and my wallet is rough in my hands, it’s made from a Turkish carpet and it’s in my hand and then I hear the gunshot.

Because of the close range the ringing in my ear lies to me and tells me it was a warning shot outside the car, it sounded so far away. But where’s Wendy?!

Wendy’s gone.

In what was both the longest and fastest moment I have ever experienced, I had a queer doubling. Thinking the shot had been a warning, while knowing that Wendy, the spirit of the person I love, was no longer present in the car with us.

Wendy’s body started slumping over on me.

Oh my God she shot Wendy sheshotWendysheshotWendysheshotWendysheshotWendy.

“I’m gonna count to ten and if I don’t have your wallets the rest of you bitches are gonna get it.”

And that’s when I knew, for real knew. Wendy was shot in the head. Wendy was dead.

I handed the girl my wallet. I wanted to scream at her, “You cunt! You didn’t even give us a chance! You bitch! Why?! WHY THE FUCK?!?” Wendy was slumping deeper and deeper towards me. There was a smell of fireworks and blood in the car. Audrey handed her a little blue make-up purse she must have found on the floor. The Girl takes it and the brown car drives off.

“Oh God, she’s shot Wendy!” I turned to Audrey, hoping for support. She couldn’t offer any.

My ear still ringing, I slung my purse over my shoulder — no idea why, habit? I opened the door and pushed myself out of the car. My hand slipped right into Wendy’s blood. It was hot. Boiling. My hand was covered in blood — my turn to freak out. I opened the door for Audrey, and showed her my hand.

ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

I was on the brink of breakdown. Audrey didn't let me, she just started running down the street.

As suddenly as The Girl appeared in Spike’s window, I heard a voice in my head screaming, “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE!” The urgency of it frightened me. “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE NOW NOW HIDE NOW HIDE NOW HIDE NOW!” Audrey was trying to run, calling out The Bartender’s name. I grabbed her arm and yanked, hearing a pop as I dislocated it.

Across the street, there was a big white van. “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE”, the voice screamed. Not Wendy’s voice, but still her, I knew it. I pulled Audrey across the street and we crouched behind it. With all the anger and fierceness I could muster, I told her, “Shut. Up.” She listened. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Another message from The Voice? A car drove around the corner and stopped right next to Spike. I could see the tires from under the van. I clapped my clean hand over Audrey’s mouth. Muffled voices, then the car speds off with a squeal, and I heard it turn the corner where Tamarind meets Sunset Blvd.

It was them. They came back to kill Audrey and me. If we hadn’t hidden right at the moment we did, they would have seen us cross the street, they would have found us and gunned us down.

My sense of relief was bitter. Wendy’s body was in her car, slumped over.

I knew we needed to call someone. But who? I couldn’t remember. And Wendy was the only one with a cell phone. I knew I had to keep it together, and going back to the car was not an option. What was I supposed to do?

I don’t know! I don’t know!

A woman was walking down the street on our side. “Please help us,” I screamed, “My friend’s been shot!” Not a woman exactly, a transvestite, and a hooker. “I heard that shot. Oh Honey, you need to call 911.”

911! That’s who I was supposed to call! I’d forgotten.

“But I don’t have a phone!”

She put her arm around me. “There’s one around the corner.”

“I’m scared. What if they’re waiting?!”

“I’ll wait with you.” Not a man, a woman or a prostitute. An Angel.

Somehow Audrey got to the phone before I did, and called 911. The Angel waited with me. Another man walked up, concerned, asked what happened. I told him. He said he heard the shot, too. A car pulled up around the corner, silver, driven by an Asian couple. The Man glowered, “Is that them?!?” He rushed over, as if to pull the driver out of the car. “No!” I screamed. “They were Hispanic, and the car was brown!” The Man calmed again. I could hear Audrey on 911, she wasn't making any sense. She was telling them where we were, not where we are, but it was all messed up. Gelrose and Mower, instead of Melrose and Gower. But we were actually on Sunset and Tamarind. I wrested the phone from her hands, and told the nice lady.

As I was speaking, I could see police cars, sirens blaring, approaching fast. The Angel put her arm around me. “Good luck, honey.” She sashayed away down the street.

One cop car stopped by Audrey and me. I told them Wendy was around the corner. Two cops got out. One took Audrey, the other took me. I was clearly the lucid one. They brought me back to the car. The ambulance was there. Now that help had arrived, I collapsed. I showed the cop, a woman, my bloody hand. I asked her if Wendy would be okay. She didn't lie to me. “She was shot point blank in the head. It doesn’t look good.” I already knew Wendy was dead. I just didn’t want to know.

Wendy’s brilliant light of a life was over. My stint in Hell was just beginning.

The police brought Audrey and I to the West Hollywood Police Station, with strict instructions that we were not to talk about what happened. Audrey kept saying to the cops, “Please find Wendy! Wendy’s lost! She’s lost on the streets! You have to find her.” Every time she said it I would weep.

When we arrived at the station, we had a short wait in the lobby while two party kids, a.k.a. ravers, were talking with the desk Sergeant. Audrey and I were both crying as we sat there. The party boys turned and looked at us. Smirked. I could read their eyes. They thought we’d been caught for drunk driving and we were crying to get out of it. Such a feeling of rage came over me. I wanted to scream at them, “FUCK YOU, BITCHES. OUR FRIEND WAS JUST FUCKING MURDERED! HOW DARE YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! JUDGE ME! THINK YOU FUCKING KNOW!”

Instead, I went to the bathroom. I washed the blood from my hands. The last time I would touch Wendy.

Audrey and I were separated. She was under the influence, they could tell. She admitted it to them. They kept her in an interrogation room. Me, I sat at a cop’s desk. They kept asking me if I wanted anything. Chocolate? Coke? I told them I was allergic to sugar, but they brought the stuff anyway. A young deputy sat with me. Big, tall, blonde, all-American cop, handsome, just my type. I babbled about Twin Peaks and my Hallowe’en costume. He was also a fan of the show. I was drinking my coffee black like Agent Cooper. Nothing felt real.

The Boyfriend showed up. The cops let me go outside and smoke a cigarette under the condition that I didn’t talk about what happened. I take everything seriously, so I didn’t. The Boyfriend was smirking at me the same way those party boys had. I knew he thought we’d been drunk driving and been caught. Oh how I hated him!

I finished my cigarette. They let him wait with me in the interrogation room. He still had that smirk. I was shaking, a human vibrator. You got what was coming to you, I could hear him thinking. Finally, with all the rage I could muster I whispered, “Wendy. Is. Dead.” He looked like he’d been slapped in the face.

We sat for hours in that room. Audrey and I arrived at the station at 3:30am. The head detective didn’t interview me until 8am. I gave my statement. He confirmed what I already knew, that Wendy was dead. He also confirmed that they had caught the people. Showed me pictures of the car. I ID’ed The Girl from a photo line-up.

10am October 28, 2000, and I finally left the station. It would be days before I could sleep.