Ashes Of The Phoenix. Jane Fade Merrick

own suspects. The owner approached her, leaning against the counter, as if to tell her a secret. Fade also approached him, but not too close, to listen. The man, before starting to speak, exhaled a puff of smoke onto the girl’s face, and she began to cough violently; one of the many things she hated was cigarette smoke.

      The redhead kept coughing, her eyes and lungs burning, the sandwich fell on the floor as the heavy coughs made her head burst as if someone was hitting her with a hammer. Although it seemed absurd to the eyes of the owner, she dropped unconsciously onto the sticky floor.

      â€œMiss!” 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.

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

      â€œNothing, I was giving her a sandwich and she fainted!” He babbled in confusion.

      â€œGo 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. “If something happens to her, I...” Jag murmured as he waited.

      â€œHere'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.

      â€œIbrahim!!” he yelled at him angrily. “She was supposed to drink it!”

      â€œSorry, Jag! Sorry!” He excused himself, in total panic.

      â€œOh, leave him alone!” She interrupted him, bothered by the noise.

      â€œHow do you feel?” He asked.

      â€œVery 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 had a terrible headache and wanted to turn off her noisy companion who kept talking like a crazy machine, and then she tried to concentrate on the taste of the sandwich, which she actually liked a lot.

      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.

      â€œWhat 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?”

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

      â€œHow the hell did you manage to convince them so easily?”

      â€œIt’s simple; I’ll be a co-financer of all their future projects. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the shares; you’re coming too!”

      â€œI don’t understand anything about these things, no...”

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

      â€œEven less so if you’re accompanied by a lunatic on skates!” She said.

      â€œHa 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 studied 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 specially made video, with pictures taken from their concerts, invaded the entire screen.

      â€œLook!” 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, covered with one hand, allowing to see just an unbelievably blue eye through the space between his fingers.

      â€œThis 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 leader of the group. 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'.

      â€œIf 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 the door. The kid was so entranced he watched them with his mouth open and a blithe smile, and she doubted 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