“What's up, guys? I'm from Gunmetal Tears. They call me Lucky Luke.” I said into the microphone at the Family Room.

The packed house lost their fucking minds.

I felt the vibration of their screaming worship deep in my chest. It made me smile. This was my first time back on stage in years. There was this ferocious energy you get while you perform, it was a drug all its own.

I knew a lot of guys that chased that high off stage and never lived to tell about it.

Music was always different for me. It wasn't about a god complex. It wasn't about the money or prestige, or even fucking whoever you wanted. It was about releasing all the anger, pain, hope and love that threatened to tear me apart now that Molly was gone.

It was the same reason I started playing professionally to begin with.

I ran my fingers through the frets of my Fender guitar and began to strum out the opening to our first number one hit. The guitar and mic were hooked into the same acoustic amplifier stack, otherwise they'd have been lost to the roar of the nearly two hundred people packed into this club.

Sadness, discord, longing, and rage; our dark, melancholy rock tapped into the pain that so many other people felt when they lost someone they loved. Was it really such a wonder that our songs resonated with so many people?

To fuck up and hurt people was all so human.

The first song bled into the second, then the third, then the forth. My fingers ached from a lack of practice. It had been a long time since I played any of these songs even privately. I didn't need to play them often anymore to do them justice. The notes, the words, it was all just as much a part of me as the nose on my face.

One of the two color changing spotlights on me popped loudly, then went dark. I'd never played the Family Room before. The place was a fucking joke. I was told that it used to be an Italian restaurant twenty years ago. In that time, all they'd done to the place was tear out the seating to open it up into a big hall.

The only modern thing about it was the sprinkler system that was no doubt forced onto the owner. That was one of the few things I always checked in person when I booked a gig. No pyrotechnics and a working sprinkler installed. As long as the venue was safe for my fans, I could give a shit about the color of the M&Ms backstage.

Honestly I didn't give a damn about the room's natural acoustics or even about the audio quality. My style always had a dirty sound to begin with. I'm glad they liked the music, but I didn't play for my fans.

I played for myself. This was my church. Molly was my God and this was how I prayed to her.

I hadn't talked to her since I dropped her off after the party. I spent that night outside, about a block away keeping vigil over her in case her asshole ex-husband came back.

He didn't.

The following week I kept my distance and watched over her silently in a rented car. The inheritance war was on in full. Dick and I fucked with each other as much as possible. I spread rumors that he had gonorrhea, he made sure that every time I stepped into a public place I was mobbed with people.

We were little boys throwing toys at each other and sneaking painful jabs in when the adults were out of the room, except we were all grown up and could do far worse than throw tantrums.

The thought of fucking anyone but Molly now that she was single felt like a betrayal, even if she didn't want me any more. For as ruthless and corporate as Dick was, I was still pretty sure he wasn't going to knock some random girl up to win a bet.

We were at a stalemate so we just made the other's life as miserable as possible.

“Fuck all this shit.” Halfway through my fifth song I stopped. I couldn't do it. I couldn't mindlessly play Gunmetal's hits. All I did this past week was watch over Molly and write music. I barely ate or slept.

“You guys want to hear something new, something bloody, something downright heartbreaking?” I walked the stage, pausing between certain words to thrust the mic toward the audience.

The crowd cheered after new, bloody and heartbreaking. Cell phone cameras switched from flash to record. There were a few songs and stories kicking around my mind and heart, but nothing was finished enough to be recorded yet.

In the grand scheme of things it didn't matter. I had no idea what I was going to say or play. I opened my mouth and let out the words that I needed to get rid of.

“I wanna tell you a quick story of this prick I knew once. Lets call him... ” I set the mic on the one stool in the middle of the stage and took a long draft of the beer that was resting there. “Unlucky Luke.”

The crowd laughed.

“Luke once knew this girl. Dark haired, dark eyed, bright-souled. You always hear about the one that got away.” I plucked at my strings somberly. “But I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about the one he stupidly pushed away.

“Seasons turned to dust and memories, stars fell from the sky, and the fiery heart that led his way cooled and quieted.” I walked my fingers higher up on the guitar's neck like a hangman's noose as I played. “Y'see he waited too long.

“Waiting is a game for fools and Unlucky Luke was their king!”

I couldn't tell when it happened, but at some point my speaking voice had become my singing voice. I hadn't planned on playing Molly's song. It was like a cough that itched the bottom of my lungs, it needed to come out.

“Fate stole him, but fear kept him. He won every battle, but lost every war. Time and victory defeated him.”

I strummed hard, squeezing the head stock tightly just below the tuners and let the instrument hang by one hand. The thrum choked off into a flat, uncomfortable sound. I didn't wear a strap so the motion gave the effect that the gallows had gave way and the guitar hung by its neck until dead.

“When he finally came home to his castle someone else had already fallen out of his throne. All she wanted was love.”

I snapped up the guitar and started playing again. The sound was rough and loud, discordant at first, then it settled into a fast melodic rhythm.

“The king of fools should've moved heaven itself—” My hands moved automatically, continuing the same melody, but my words broke off when I saw Dick enter with the dark haired girl I saw him with at the party.

Were they a thing? Thoughts of losing to Dick twisted my stomach into a knot.

Right behind the smug looking couple, another man walked in. He had a dark formal uniform and badge, but no gun. The man didn't look happy. When he pulled a pad out of his breast pocket I realized he wasn't a cop.

He was a fire marshal.

The only thing fully up to code on this place was the sprinkler system and that was probably done only to avoid suspicion. How the Family Room snuck under the radar with everything else for so long was a testament to the power of bribes.

This place was about to go down. Hard.

There was a burst of movement behind me. I snapped a glance over and saw the club's owner run out the back entrance where the bands load in their gear. He realized he was fucked and decided to escape and cut his losses. By the speed he was running there must've been more going down than selling beer to minors.

He must've been selling drugs too.

On the way out, that unbelievable prick pulled the fire alarm.

Well that was one way to ensure people don’t chase after you.

That new sprinkler system sputtered for half a second then rocketed into action, water seemed to rain down in buckets. I immediately stopped playing as a look of abject terror washed over the crowd.

For the second time in one night the crowd lost their minds, but this time for a darker reason. There wasn't any fire, but there was a real threat that people could be hurt by trampling.

“Everyone, calm down!” I shouted through my microphone. The water hadn't knocked out the power to my speakers yet. Even with the added amplification my words were still only barely audible over the frenzy of fear. “There is no fire!”

Both Richard and the fire marshal were doing their best to herd the horde of people through the open double doors. The utter mistake of Richard's timing was written all over his face.

He thought he'd close the place down as I was on stage and make me look like an asshole for not completing the show. It actually wasn't a bad plan. Unfortunately he had no idea it would turn into a goddamn riot.

I wanted to jump down and help the people who fell, but I'd just be adding another body to the chaos. I stayed on the stage and tried to calm everyone as best I could. I told them a fire marshal was already here. I told them where the exits were and to pick up the damn people they pushed over.

For nearly five minutes it was madness in that little club. It took so much longer for people to get out of there than it should've. I shivered to think what the place would've been like had it really been on fire.

The thought made me nauseous.

Soon enough the last of the stragglers walked or were helped out the door. Fortunately it didn't look like anyone was hurt too badly. No one had to be carried out, thank Christ!

The sprinklers never stopped. I was soaked to the bone as I did a final sweep to make sure no one was trapped anywhere or needed help.

And for a short time I was the only person left inside the sad, waterlogged building.

I stepped back up on the stage and attempted to finish my song to Molly.

The mechanical rainfall had long since shorted out my amp and ruined all my equipment. The guitar wasn't electric, so I ripped out the chord and continued to play. The hollow laminated spruce and mahogany body filled with water, making the guitar heavy and giving the music a tinny sound. The course strings made my water-wrinkled fingers bleed.

I still couldn't find it in myself to stop.

“The king of fools should've moved heaven itself to get her back,” I sang to no one.

In a movie, Molly would've walked in, heard my song and seen me soaked and pitiful. We'd have met halfway in a sweeping hug, then I would've kissed her under the fake rain.

Half a dozen separate sirens rapidly closed in from every direction.

Looking out over the deserted hall I truly felt empty inside, had there actually been a fire I didn't know that I'd even have tried to leave.

I played until blood ran down my arms and one of my strings snapped, then I played some more. My tears mingled invisibly with the falling water.

Finally a thick, gloved hand of a fireman landed gently on my shoulder. “C'mon, son. It's all over. It's time to go.”