“Your problem is not my problem,” Martin said, dropping the butt of his cigarette into the trash. “You’re on that stage in fifteen minutes or you’re not on at all.”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving a faint cloud of smoke in his wake. The room fell quiet, the walls quivered. One of the mirror lights faltered.

Bradley sank down beside Oliver onto the couch. “That’s it. We’re done.”

“I’m going to try calling Cole,” Tara said.

“He’s not gonna pick up, Tara.”

“Well, what else do you expect me to do?” she asked, frustratedly punching in Cole’s numbers. “We can’t have a band without a drummer. We just can’t.”

“He was here ten minutes ago,” Oliver thought aloud, “and then suddenly he wasn’t.”

Tara rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, low and off-white. “Gee, thanks for the astute observation, Oliver.”

She held the phone up to her ear. “Hello? Cole?”

“Radio silence,” Bradley said.

“Maybe we can find a replacement drummer,” Oliver said, “like that one guy.”

Tara shook her head. “We don’t have enough time.”

Bradley pulled at a loose thread on the couch. “Okay. Might as well pack up and make a break for it before

Martin comes in and loses it on us again.”

The dressing room had started to feel claustrophobic. The couch was too close to the mirror and everyone was breathing on each other.

“God, Bradley, you’re so pathetic,” Tara said, glaring at his reflection, “this could be Typhon’s big break and you just want us to let it slip through our fingers without a fight.”

“You think playing this little rinky dink theater is our ‘big break?’” Bradley scoffed. “Be serious, Tara. It’s not a big deal. No Cole, no show. Simple as that.”

“Let’s go out and find Cole, then,” Oliver said.

Tara and Bradley both turned to face him.

Oliver shrugged. “I mean, he can’t have gone very far. He didn’t drive himself here. Doesn’t have a car.”

“Still,” Bradley said, slumping back even more into the cracked leather of the couch, “he could be almost… anywhere.”

“Downtown’s not that big,” Tara pointed out.

“You’re entertaining this idea?” Bradley cocked an incredulous eyebrow at Tara. “You think we should go out in the dark of the night and look for Cole?”

“He might just be out back doing something idiotic,” she said, “so let’s go have a look. It’s the last option we have.”

At 9:47 pm the three present members of Typhon- Tara Moore, lead guitar, Bradley Simmons, bass, and Oliver Fuhrer, rhythm guitar- left their dressing room and went outside behind the theater.
The sky was a bolt of black velvet, cloaking the night in darkness. The air smelled of garbage juice and pot.

“COLE!” Tara yelled, cupping her hands together as a makeshift megaphone.

“Is that him?” Oliver asked, pointing in the direction of a street light about half a block away. A tall, thin figure was standing under the yellow glow, facing away.

“Yeah, that looks like Cole all right,” Bradley said, “the purple jacket and that awful bleached hair.”

They all jogged over to the streetlight. But by the time they got to it, the only man standing there had a shirt that was blue and a fedora that was brown. It was not Cole.

Trick of the light, maybe.

“Excuse me,” Tara asked the stranger, “have you seen… Our friend? He’s about six feet tall? Blonde hair, purple jacket. Looks a bit like a Billy Idol knock-off.”

The stranger just stared at them for a moment, blinking slowly.

“Went down that there alley,” he said with a smoker’s rasp, nodding his head to the right.

An overflowing dumpster obscured the alley’s opening, sandwiched between two brick buildings.

“Awesome,” Oliver said, “thanks for the tip, man.”

They had their lead: The alley. It stood there stubbornly, fixed to be unfixed. Echoic of everything that ever was and nothing that would ever be. Boasting a thousand screaming neon colors, each one fighting to be the loudest. Beckoning with a crooked finger.

“I don’t know,” Bradley muttered, “seems kind of sketchy.”

Tara started to drag him towards the alley by the sleeve of his coat, and Oliver followed dutifully. “We’re going in there whether you like it or not,” she said. The stranger in the hat observed.

“Who knows what Cole’s gotten himself into, ” Bradley said, “by now he’s probably joined the Mexican drug cartel.”

Oliver grinned, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Or he’s just doing some good old fashioned dumpster diving.”

“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, okay guys?” Tara said, even though both of those options seemed equally likely to her at the moment.

They slipped past the dumpster and into the alley. The smell was slightly different beyond the initial mountain of trash. Sweeter, like a dying flower. The brick walls were slightly closer together in the alley than they had appeared from the outside. The path was narrow, urging Tara, Bradley, and Oliver forward in a hushed voice.

“There’s something off about this place.” Bradley watched a dung beetle scurry around his feet. “It’s not… normal.”

“Hey, people say the same things about you, but that didn’t stop me from recruiting you for the band, did it?” Tara retorted.

“Yeah. she’s got you there, Bradley,” Oliver said.

They kept going further down the alley, their strides taking them past discarded cardboard boxes and peeling graffiti and the occasional strum of an unseen harp. The air tasted like hard candy.
“COLE!” they all called out, but only the walls answered. By now, they had probably been walking for hours. Weeks, even.

“This is hopeless,” Bradley said, “we’re not gonna find him.”

Tara sighed. “I hate to agree with that statement, but I do. I guess we should just head back to the theater.”

Oliver shook his head wistfully. “Drummer-less and defeated. Too bad.”

They shared a moment of silence, mourning the loss of Typhon’s hypothetical success.

A yell cut through the quiet. “GUYS?”

“Wait a second.” Tara squinted into the abyss. “COLE!”

Cole came running up to them, seemingly out of breath. “What are you doing down here? You’re gonna be late for our show!”

“What?” Bradley said. “What are you doing down here?”

“Come on!” Cole began to walk again, and motioned for them to follow him. “Martin just told me that we’re on in fifteen minutes or we’re not on at all.”

“No… Martin just told us that,” Tara said, “and the theater is in the opposite direction.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cole said, “the theater is the way I’m walking. Now, let’s get moving!”

“No, it’s that way,” Tara said, pointing, “Stop playing around, Cole.”

Cole started walking briskly. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder, “follow me unless you wanna screw up Typhon’s big gig.”

Bradley and Oliver exchanged a glance.

“Whatever,” Oliver said, “it’s been a weird night.” He and Bradley chased after Cole, disappearing like candle flames blown out in the darkness.

“Are you people crazy?” Tara yelled after them. “Stop!”

She stood her ground, but not for long. Being alone with the walls started to freak her out pretty quickly.