The Howling Wind - Chapter 7 (5/02/09)

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Alisaura

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I don't want to fill the whole first page with these chapters... someone else post something too! *L*

This chapter kicks off about two weeks after the last one (12 Sep. '87)... I've mashed a couple of days together this time.

Thank you everyone, by the way, for reading and comments and such; and thanks also to my beta :) Better late than never! :reject:


Usual Disclaimer: Don't believe a word of it. Harmless trivia.


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29 September, 1987 – New York, NY, USA

Five days earlier, Aislinn and the kids had arrived in New York, along with Ali and Ann. They took up residence in several adjacent rental houses, and settled in for the rest of the tour.

As much as Edge had enjoyed seeing his family and spending a couple of days with them between shows, he found it exceedingly strange to come home to them right after a gig. Until now, except when they played in Dublin, tour life and home life had existed on two different planets. But now those planets had collided, and neither he nor Aislinn were quite sure how to deal with it.

Not everything was going well with the band, either. Bono's voice had started to malfunction, and had only partially benefitted from a couple of days of rest here and there. And then Bono had slipped on-stage in Washington DC and dislocated his shoulder, finishing the show on a mix of adrenaline, painkillers and whiskey. He'd done it during Exit, too, which seemed somehow fitting. Edge had gained a new level of respect for the state of mind Bono got himself into while performing, and wondered what would have happened if it had been him instead.

In addition to this, Phil Joanou had appeared with his cameras and was filming everything. None of band could turn around without seeing a camera pointed at them, usually held by Phil himself – not even Bono's trip to the hospital had been immune. And there was the seemingly endless parade of press conferences and media appearances and journalists and interviews. U2 was hotter and hotter property every day, under more and more scrutiny and pressure. Everyone wanted a piece of them; Phil, his cameras, the fans, the media, the record company, the crowds, their families.

As much as possible, Edge had avoided thinking about what had happened in New York. He hadn't felt that dangerous tension reach the same level since, and despite what Timothy had said, he tried to convince himself it was a one-off. He would have preferred to convince himself that he HAD been drunk, and he'd never changed at all, but the healing wound on his arm reminded him of the uncomfortable truth.

He hadn't told Aislinn what had happened. The others seemed more than willing to keep it to themselves – they hadn't believed him anyway, and probably wanted to forget the whole thing too. In fact, no one had said anything about it, once Paul had handed him the bill for the hotel room. He didn't know, either.

But despite all his wishful thinking, the result of what had happened was that Edge was now terrified of losing his temper, especially around his family. Rather than fight with Aislinn, he avoided confrontation wherever possible, keeping his own opinions to himself, giving in, or just agreeing with her to prevent an argument. He would agree to anything, stifle his point of view, capitulate on any point, if it stopped him losing control again and hurting his family.

Unfortunately, forcing himself not to argue did not necessarily prevent him getting angry. Aislinn was understandably suspicious of his sudden meekness, and pushed further. And Edge had learned, to his sorrow, that the closer you become to someone you love, the easier it is to hurt them, and be hurt by them. His wife could cut him deeper than anyone, and he knew the reverse was also true... and now, he feared he could do a lot worse than slap her.

---

"I can't talk about this now!" Edge's fingernails were biting into his palms as he strode across the room.

Aislinn stepped in front of him. "Why not? You're always saying 'not now' or 'later'! You're hiding something!"

"I'm not. I just... I can't do this now! The kids are asleep, we just did a show... I need to calm down." Edge struggled to keep his voice down, as well as his temper. The fact that he'd just lied to his wife wasn't helping.

"It's always some excuse! You'll be gone again tomorrow. Tell me what's going on!"

Edge stopped cold as a terribly familiar twinge shot down his spine. His hands trembled. Aislinn was staring at him, frustrated and angry.

"Please... not now..." He dodged her, escaping the room.

"What's wrong? Come back here and talk to me!"

"I can't!" Edge fled.

He went into the spare bedroom and shut the door behind him, leaning on it and sliding down to sit on the floor. Eyes closed, he breathed deeply, trying to purge the jumble of emotions raging inside him.

Avoiding confrontation with Aislinn wasn't working. Trying to keep his temper wasn't working. Replacing domestic tension with band-related stress wasn't working. Ignoring the waxing of the moon wasn't working – he was acutely aware that it was a half moon tonight. Denial wasn't working – he was afraid that something might happen again in the next few nights. Timothy didn't think it mattered, but was it a co-incidence that his temper had been getting shorter again? Or was that just because Aislinn was here? Edge winced at the unworthy thought.

Fear and shame and anger chased themselves around in head. He couldn't keep on like this, not if this beast was going to stir every time he had an argument with someone. He was still having wolf dreams every so often, but they were becoming bittersweet as he invariably woke up longing to escape the multitude of stresses in his life. The thought of being so free was intensely attractive; of finding another option, an escape route, when he was being pulled in so many different directions. And they were so intense in their sensations, he remembered everything. Sometimes the scents were of ice and snow and pine trees and winter; sometimes of warmth and grass and earth and rivers and summer; and sometimes of chasing and prey and fear and blood and feasting. It wasn't just the scents and sounds, there was the incredible sensation of being a wolf. Eyes that could pick out sharp details in starlight, ears that could turn independently and focus on the tiniest sound, a nose that read the stories in every scent, long legs and wide paws that ran with equal ease over snow or summer plain, muscles bunching and stretching...

With a start, Edge realised his own muscles were bunching and twitching, and that feeling of changing had come over him, although with myriad twinges rather than the bone-wrenching pain of before. Badly spooked, he shook the feeling off, making himself remember his normal, human shape. Not a wolf. Two arms, two legs, upright, dull senses.
Less hair, he thought ruefully. He'd never seen a balding wolf.


Once he was sure he was in control of himself, Edge came back out of the room and apologised to Aislinn. She didn't want an apology, though, no more than she wanted any more excuses or evasions. But Edge couldn't tell her, and the rift cracked open a little wider.


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3 October 1987 - Toronto, Canada

It had been a crap show, plain and simple. It was easy to point the finger at Adam, who had been reeking of alcohol (to Edge's nose, at least), and maybe Edge had played a trifle conservatively, but everyone had been off. Anticipating the shouting match that would inevitably follow the show didn't do anything to improve Edge's mood towards the end of it. All through '40' he was thinking about how he could get back to the hotel without seeing the others.

An hour later, Bono was hammering on his hotel room door, with his uninjured arm. Edge was lying on the bed, trying to pretend he was somewhere else, and failing miserably.

"You can't stay in there forever!" Bono was shouting.

"Watch me," Edge muttered through gritted teeth.

The rhythm section was trying to tell Bono to leave it, but the irate singer was having none of it. "He's just avoidin' it! He's a feckin' coward!"

"It's f'yer own good!" Edge yelled. "You want the other arm in a sling too?"

"What're ya gonna do, turn into the Wolf Man and rip me head off?" Bono's voice turned sarcastic.

Edge bit his tongue. "Don't feckin' tempt me!"

"Come out here an' say that to me face!"

"There's no point! We all played like shit, get over it. Having another bloody fist-fight won't change what happened!"

"He's right, you know." Adam Clayton, the voice of reason. "I was shit, he was shit, we were all shit. Shouting through his door won't accomplish anything, and he's obviously not coming out."

"Better we wait 'til we're all calmer," Larry added.

Edge didn't know what they were putting off, there was no point telling each other how shit they were. They were all painfully aware. Finally, with a deal of muttering, the other three retreated.


The pressure had built up again over the last few days, since the 29th. Something had to give, and considering how he felt now, it was going to be soon. At least he wouldn't make the mistake of making any phone calls in this condition...

His hands cramped suddenly.

Don't think about last time. Gradually, the twinge eased.

He didn't want to go through that again, become that thing again. Quite aside from the cost of a destroyed hotel room, he didn't want that beast to be part of him. And what if this happened at home?

No. Anything but that.

Timothy had said he'd only gone halfway, before. If something had to give, if he had to change, it was better that he have some control over it, right? Better he choose the wolf, than be forced into the beast.

And he was sure he'd nearly done it a few nights before, albeit by accident.

Feeling more desperate than foolish, Edge squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the wolf dreams.

But the more he tried to conjure the feelings of the dream, the more he felt trapped in the room, the four walls closing in, stifling him. And the more caged he felt, the more he felt the beast trying to escape. He wanted the wolf, but the wolf didn't want walls. He had to get outside, under the sky.

--

Sam the taxi driver was starting to get a little nervous. Even as unkempt as he was, he recognised his passenger, but this Edge guy was freaking him out. He'd hailed his cab outside a hotel, and all he'd said was that he needed to get out of the city. So Sam had driven away from the city, out into the sprawling suburbs. The streets were all but deserted, and they made good time... wherever they were going.

"Where do you want to go, sir?" he asked for the third time.

The man in the back seat seemed to be in pain, drawing deep, irregular breaths. "Further out," was all he said.

"Are you all right? Should I take you to a hospital?"

"No. Not a hospital. Just need to get away... fields and trees... under the sky..."

"How about a park? There's a big park out here, along the 407..."

"Yes... please... that's fine..."

So he drove to the park and pulled up nearby. The Edge had tumbled out of the cab.

"Hey, that's $42.50..."
Something jingled through the air, and a hotel room key landed on the back seat. The driver frowned, and turned to call after the musician... and stared. The man was already disappearing into the shadows, but as he looked back, his eyes reflected yellow in the headlights. Then he was gone. Sam blinked and decided that he'd been working too late.

--

Edge stumbled further into the park, and finally started to relax. If being in his room had made him claustrophobic, climbing into a taxi cab had made it worse. He didn't want to think about what could have happened if the beast had broken loose in there.

He slid to the ground in a thicket of young fir trees, rolling onto his back and looking up through the needles. Stars winked fitfully, and the glade was wrapped in moon shadows. Edge closed his eyes, breathing in the pine and earth smells, putting the city and buildings and cars and humans out of his mind. The silence gave way to small night sounds, insects and small creatures, the gentle sigh of the breeze in the branches. Dry needles and rough bark under his hands. He remembered trotting through forests like this, in his dreams.

It didn't feel like the beast, this time. This felt more natural. Simply being in the world, not raging against it. Edge tried again to invoke the feelings of being a wolf, and this time he didn't shy away when he felt something change. A rough prickling swept over his skin, his bones and muscles seeming to draw in on themselves, shrinking and compacting and changing shape. Then everything seemed to snap into place, in a new configuration.


The wolf was disoriented, confused. It was wrapped in thin, flapping things that stank of human, and struggled free, shaking its paws as it finally stepped out of the odd items.

Clothes, a voice reminded. A wolf's brain came in-built with a whole host of senses and instincts, but it was difficult to keep hold of language and consciousness. And he was overwhelmed by the acuity of those senses, bombarded with scents and sounds and sights he had been oblivious to only moments before. However sensitive Edge's sense of smell and hearing had become in the last few months, it was still nothing to what a wolf could perceive.

Thinking about it too much only caused more confusion. If he let the wolf's instincts take over, let the brain process the sensations automatically, it was easier to adjust.

He couldn't let go entirely, he knew. He had to stay at least partly himself... and the part of himself that remained conscious was elated. He'd gone beyond the beast, and found the wolf. Freedom.

The only way the wolf could express these feelings was to lift its head and howl; a sound that had not been heard in that area for decades.

Its howl echoing into silence, the wolf trotted deeper into the trees, tail aloft, nose to the earth.


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:applaud: Nice! This story is so goddamn intense! I love it.
 
Thanks again guys :)

I was going to post chapter 8 tonight but I ran out of time (need sleep rather badly).
I'm feeling exceptionally useless at decision-making this week... the chapter lengths are kinda awkward in the next bit... do you folks want a little 1100-word chapter followed shortly by a 2600-word one, or one big massive 3700-word one? (which will require me re-numbering all the remaining chapters in the document, sigh)
And is that in fact rather a silly question?
 
Thanks again guys :)

I was going to post chapter 8 tonight but I ran out of time (need sleep rather badly).
I'm feeling exceptionally useless at decision-making this week... the chapter lengths are kinda awkward in the next bit... do you folks want a little 1100-word chapter followed shortly by a 2600-word one, or one big massive 3700-word one? (which will require me re-numbering all the remaining chapters in the document, sigh)
And is that in fact rather a silly question?

Don't care, just want MOAR. :hyper: Little, big, ginormous, doesn't matter. MOAR PLZ. KTHXBAI.
 
Thanks again guys :)

I was going to post chapter 8 tonight but I ran out of time (need sleep rather badly).
I'm feeling exceptionally useless at decision-making this week... the chapter lengths are kinda awkward in the next bit... do you folks want a little 1100-word chapter followed shortly by a 2600-word one, or one big massive 3700-word one? (which will require me re-numbering all the remaining chapters in the document, sigh)
And is that in fact rather a silly question?

Just do whatever is easier for you Ali. We'll take whatever you can give us!
 
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