Demonstration Not For Sale

“You should open it.” Jesse’s shaky hand grips mine. “I’m way too excited.”

That’s not why his hands are shaking. But I nudge him. “Together.”

We tear off the brown paper packaging until a green cover gleams between the layers. My heart sings as I trace my fingers along the glossy folded cardboard sleeve. In the corner is a stamp, “DEMONSTRATION—Not for Sale.” It’s not a dream! It’s real! This really is Deprive Shadow’s unreleased 1971 single, Haunt Her!

I drink in the cover art. On the left is Danny, disheveled and angry. The sleep-deprived bassist, Mick, is in the middle. Sara is at the right, her intense brown eyes glaring at us.

Every one of them is dressed in their uniform—black clothing with skeletal necklaces.

Jesse gets up to turn on the living room lights. I pull out the record from its inner sleeve and angle it towards the lighting. As the light wraps around the surface, I tilt the record slowly. No scratches or blemishes on its grooves.

Jesse reaches his hand out. “All good?”

I hand him the record. He sets it up on our record player. The air feels electric. Every one of my nerves is buzzing.

Jesse grabs a pill from the dwindling stash.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Eyes on me at work. It might be a while before—”

He smiles wide. “Special occasion, right?” He crushes it. Separates it into two lines. Hands me the straw.

We’re about to hear a song very few, if any, others have ever heard. I inhale. Taste the bitterness as it hits the very back of my tongue. I’m ready.

The intro’s guitar hums before the pounding drums join in. Danny’s sultry voice echoes like a ghost, intertwined with the bass tempo. Jesse gently takes my hand and pulls me up. I wrap my arms around his waist. My head against his sweaty chest, his heartbeat soothes me as I inhale his sweat and beer aroma.

We could have been the greatest love song

But our notes were always wrong

I thought we were in perfect harmony

She was my muse, my melody

Until she changed the tone

Left my heart to shatter, all alone

She thinks she’s free

But each chord binds her to me

I’ll always haunt her

I lean my head back. Jesse’s face swims in my vision. “Fun fact, Sara wrote that song, but the band had to change the pronouns so Danny could perform it after their break-up.”

Jesse groans. “Not this rumor again.”

“It’s not a rumor! If you compare her writing to Danny’s—”

“You’re thinking of Gone. That was the last song she wrote before she…you know…overdosed.”

“Or so Danny claimed,” I argue. “There’s no way her symptoms line up—”

Jesse breaks away from me. “Jesus, Isla. Her symptoms? You’re a fucking nurse, not a doctor.”

A sharp pain rises from the back of my head. It drills so deep into my skull I have to sit on the couch. I close my eyes, soaking in the song’s drum solo. I tap my fingers along with the beat. That’s better. I breathe and the apartment doesn’t feel like soup anymore. I pick up the sleeve, and my fingers slide across a greasy spot. The hell—it’s supposed to be in mint condition! Lavender wafts from it as I withdraw my hand. It’s so strong, it stings my eyes.

“Hey, I think the seller lied. It’s not—”

But as I flip the jacket, I realize it’s gone. The cardboard is pristine.

Read Demonstration Not For Sale here.