Wild Awake - By Hilary T. Smith Page 0,87

older brother who always takes an interest in Kiri’s friends. He keeps trying to check out Skunk’s tattoos while pretending he’s not. I have never, ever seen him act like this before.

I put my hand on Skunk’s arm. “What about coffee?”

“I’ll make some at home. Sorry, I lost track of how long we were in the basement. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He walks to the front door. I follow him.

“Hey, nice meeting you,” calls Denny. “You should come over and jam again sometime.”

Outside, Skunk kisses me before getting into his van.

“What’s going on? Why are you leaving?”

“I got shy.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Highly dubious.”

“Kiri?”

“Mm.”

“Give me your phone.” I hand it to him, and he keys his number back in.

“Call me any time of day or night if anything’s going bad.”

“Why don’t you just stay?”

Skunk glances at the house. “I just can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

When I go back inside, Denny has been joined in the kitchen by his friend Chris. They’re both holding their beers and watching out the window while Skunk drives away. I glare at them and pour myself some coffee.

Denny looks at me like I have snakes growing out of my head.

“You never told me you were dating Phil freaking Coswell.”

I forget I’m not talking to Denny. “Who?”

Chris is still staring out the window, as if there’s a chance Skunk will come back.

“Dude, didn’t he go psycho?”

chapter thirty-eight

There were the magazine headlines: BIRDSEYE FRONTMAN ATTACKS BANDMATE. PHIL COSWELL ASSAULTS DRUMMER DURING SHOW; BANDMATES BLAME DRUGS. BIRDSEYE TOUR CANCELED FOLLOWING FRONTMAN’S PSYCHOTIC BREAKDOWN.

And the indie music blog posts: Phil Coswell Finally Loses His Mind. Phil “Birdseye” Coswell Knocks Out Bandmate with a Bass Guitar. Birdseye Tour Turns into Psychotic Nightmare.

And the YouTube videos, shot on cell phones, of the event: Watch Phill Cozwel Goin Psyko at Concert. Phil Coswell Losing His #%$* at the Train Room—Part 1. Phil Coswell Psycho Attack.

I click through tab after tab of YouTube videos, Pitchfork write-ups, and articles in the Ubyssey and the Georgia Straight. They’re all about a boy named Philippe with a green bass guitar who lost his mind at the Train Room.

There are quotes from bandmates, onlookers, and friends: “Coswell, 18, allegedly swung his bass guitar at a bandmate’s head, knocking her unconscious.” “Bandmates say Coswell had been ‘progressively losing his mind’ over the course of the tour.” “They describe Coswell as ‘volatile,’ ‘unstable,’ and ‘really paranoid.’” “Bandmates say he had been abusing drugs for several months leading up to the breakdown.” “Tess Elowak, Coswell’s bandmate and former girlfriend, says she will not press charges.” “Coswell has since been hospitalized for psychosis.”

I watch all the videos. At first, I can’t believe it’s Skunk. He’s skinny. He has the same black hair and brown eyes, but he’s about a hundred pounds lighter and his face is sharper, more triangular. The only way I know it’s really him is by looking at his tattoos. The videos are really low quality, but I can make out the general shapes of the ink on his arms, the bird silhouette and the bass clef. It’s Skunk, but it’s also not Skunk—it’s this wiry teenage rock star clutching a bass like he’s drowning.

I recognize the wooden stage at the Train Room with the rusty railway crossing sign nailed to the wall. His band, the six of them, takes up the entire stage with all their gear. They’re all dressed in black. Four guys, two girls with ragged haircuts. Skunk’s center stage with his own mic. Whoever’s shooting the video is somewhere near the back of the crowded room, holding a cell phone camera high over the sea of heads to catch a bit of the show.

In the first few seconds of video, it’s hard to tell that something’s wrong. Everyone in the band is playing their instrument, and the crowd is humming along. But slowly, you realize there’s something out of place. Skunk isn’t singing. He’s talking. No, he’s shouting. At first, it seems like part of the music, but the song ends and he keeps going: “STOP IT! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

You can hear the person taking the video talking to their friend. “Whoa, dude. D’you think he’s tripping on something?”

The harmonium player and the electric guitarist put down their instruments. In the grainy video, you can see them huddle around Skunk, talking to him, trying to walk him backstage, but he shakes off their hands like a scared animal, clutching his bass to his chest. The crowd’s buzzing now, that greedy, hungry thrum