CHAPTER 5

Having finished his story, Gene looked at Paul and Peter.

They stared at Gene, transfixed.

Gene laughed. "Well? I mean, isn't that a weird thing to happen? In Detroit of all places?"

"This guy you met . . . .Did he have a beard and white hair? Looked kinda like a bum?" Paul asked quietly.

"Uh. . . yeah." Gene's smile was quickly replaced by a puzzled frown.

Peter chimed in. "And was he wearing sunglasses, Bermuda shorts and a trench coat?"

"Well, I don't know about the shorts, but, yeah, he was wearing a trench coat, now that you mentioned it. Pretty odd for a day like today."

Paul jumped in next. "I don't know about Peter, but I ran into the same jerk today. Kept bugging me and gave me the same garbage about a great 'talisman' that he wanted to give me. He gave me this and split before I had the chance to do anything." Paul pulled the silver star from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

"I met up with him too," Peter said, rummaging through a pile of clothes dumped in a chair off to one side of the table. "He seemed like a pretty cool guy, a little weird. He gave me the same sort of mumbo-jumbo, and this."

He held up his Talisman. Gene walked over to him, compared his gargoyle with the lion's head, then looked at the star on the table.

"Weird. I wonder if Ace knows anything."

"Speaking of Ace," Paul said, looking up at the clock, which hung at an odd angle on the wall, "he's late again."

A loud crash came from outside the door. Peter, Paul and Gene looked at each other knowingly as there was another resounding crash even closer to the room. A large grin crinkled Peter's face.

"Why, that must be Ace now." Peter walked over to a make-up table and started smearing Stein's clown-white over his boyish features. Gene and Paul both smiled and followed suit.

The door to the room swung open and Ace entered, looking worriedly over his shoulder.

"Sorry about that," he shouted back into the hall. "I didn't see that standing there. Hope I didn't break anything." He closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. Noticing that the other three were staring at him, he pushed himself off the door and began talking at top-speed, wildly gesturing.

"Hi, guys. Listen, sorry I'm late, but, you see, I was at the hotel, taking a nap, and suddenly I woke up and there was a beautiful woman at the bedside with a drink and her hands and --"

The others, who had been watching this little scene with interest, groaned in chorus and turned back to their mirrors. Ace hesitated in his story, then was silent. Standing there stupidly, Ace put his hands into his pant pockets and brushed against the Talisman that he had put in his pocket earlier that day. Pulling it out and gazing at it, he smiled to himself and tried to change the subject.

"You know, a funny thing happened to me on the way to the arena. . . ."

He yukked it up at his own joke he was forming in his head. The other three ignored him, but he pressed on.

"You see, this old guy --"

"-- with white hair and a beard --" Paul interjected.

"-- who was wearing sunglasses, Bermuda shorts and a trench coat --" Peter continued.

Gene jumped right in. "-- gave you a great Talisman --"

"-- which gives you all sorts of powers --"

"-- and also clears up your skin, right?"

"It does?" Ace asked, looking at the Talisman in his hand. "I mean, right! How did you guys. . . ?"

"Oh, happens all the time. Right, Peter?" Gene said, etching a pair of black bat wings onto his face.

"Right. This man goes around and give presents to all the good little rock-n-rollers of the world."

"C'mon, guys. How did you know about this?"

Gene looked up at the bewildered Ace. "We met up with him too. Or, rather, he met up with us. At various times and places, he gave us each a package and a story about how the Talisman inside would åbuild your body twelve different ways.'"

"That's what the guy said to me too," Ace said as he smiled at Gene's joke. "It was like he was depending on me to take it, or else something terrible would happen."

"Yeah." Gene tossed his Talisman onto the table. "Have to admit, the guy put on a pretty good show. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was telling the truth."

"Ah, well," Paul shrugged, wishing the others would stop talking about the strange old man and his ågifts.' "Chalk up another one for the memoirs. Right, guys?"

No one answered him. Instead, they stood around the table and stared at the Talismans lying there. Finally, Gene looked up.

"I think we'd better get ready for the show," he whispered.

Peter and Ace looked up from the table, Gene's words slowly registering in their heads. Sitting down at his mirror, Peter drew the final touches on his whiskers with thick black greasepaint. Ace tossed his Talisman with the others, then walked to a corner of the room, stripping off his t-shirt. Picking up his leotards and boots, he moved over to Gene, who was filling in his batwings.

"Say," Ace said while studying his reflection in the mirror, "you don't suppose the old guy was telling the truth, do you?"

"I don't know." Gene saw the Talismans on the table in his mirror's reflection. After a moment, he turned back to Ace. "Maybe you could try turning them on."

"Yeah!" Peter agreed. "The guy said the powers within them are a part of us now."

"I'll try anything once," Ace said, snatching his Talisman off the table. He pointed it to the ceiling, arms above his head. "Shazam!"

Nothing happened. He lowered his arms and examined the strange object closely.

"Nope, that didn't work. Maybe there's someplace here for batteries. . . or a hidden switch that makes it shoot a death-ray of some sort. Maybe even a laser! Yeah!" Ace smiled and pointed the lightning-bolt at Paul, who was ignoring the whole conversation. "Zap! No, that didn't seem to work either. Oh, well."

Ace placed the Talisman back on the table and sat down. Gene glanced over at him.

"Didn't work, huh?"

"Nope." Ace hurriedly smeared some white make-up on his cheeks. "I think it's just a candy-bar with creamy rich filling."

Time passed as the four musicians got themselves ready for the show. The door of the dressing room swung open and a man walked into the room. He was a big man; not fat, but built like a bulldozer. His thick brown hair and Fu Manchu moustache gave him an aura of danger, but anyone who knew him was aware of hidden depths. Standing in the doorway, hands on hips, he addressed the band members.

"Alright, you guys. You're on in five minutes. The crowd looks good, so there shouldn't be any trouble, unless you start it. Okay?"

They all nodded in response.

"Thanks, John," Paul said, getting up from his seat and making the final adjustments on his costume. "We'll be right out." John stepped back through the door and closed it behind him.

The others stood up and started to leave. As they passed the table, Gene stopped and looked at his Talisman. He felt a twinge of guilt, as if leaving it behind would make it feel bad.

"Are you guys going to take your Talismans?" Gene asked. Suddenly, he picked up the gargoyle and crammed it into the folds of his costume. Even through he felt foolish, he could not resist.

Peter and Ace saw Gene's action. Ace grabbed the lightning-bolt and sighed.

"Yeah. Maybe if I play my guitar to it, it'll do something."

Peter picked up his own Talisman. "If everyone else is taking åem, I might as well. It's still an ugly little thing, though."

"Oh, I don't know, Curly. I think it looks just like you."

Peter gave Ace a dirty look, then all three turned to Paul, who stood with a bemused smile on his face. He knew exactly what the others were thinking.

"Aw, c'mon, guys. You don't really believe what that old jerk said, do you? The guy was obviously nuts. There's no way you can convince me a stupid piece of jewelry can give you 'powers.'"

Paul said the word "powers" with such a distaste that Gene immediately felt foolish once again.

"Okay, okay. Come on, let's go."

Paul held the door open as Gene, Ace and Peter filed out of the room. John waited for them outside.

As he was about to leave, Paul turned back and stared at the Talisman still left on the table. It seemed to glow for just an instant, which startled Paul. Thinking it might have been the lighting in the room, Paul walked over to the table, touching the little star lightly. A warm sensation shot through his arm and into his chest. He gasped.

"No," he whispered slowly. "I'm just letting this whole thing get to me."

John stuck his head into the doorway. "Hey! Are you coming or not?"

Paul jumped.

"Ye-eah. Just forgot something."

Grabbing the Talisman, Paul ran out the door and followed John and the others to the stage.

* * *

Okay, Gene thought to himself, here it comes. The moment we've all been waiting for. The smoke rises and the metals clash as the Demon circles the stage. The audience is terrified as he lumbers toward them. They feel the horror, they smell the blood, they know the fear. And, then . . . it's a firehouse! Stomping heavily to one side of the stage, Gene gripped the torch firmly in one hand. His mouth was ready and the flammable fluid needed.

As the roar of the crowd and the scream of the sirens filled Gene's head, he felt the excitement pulsing in his chest. Turning his back to the crowd, he glanced quickly at the other men on stage. Facing front once again, he leered at the kids in the first row for a moment, then raised his torch up high into the air.

As he concentrated, the thoughts ran through his head. Now watch the Demon shoot fire twenty feet into the air! He lost his concentration after that particular piece of hyperbole went through his head and if he could have, he would have laughed.

No, he was only kidding himself if he could go for that kind of distance with his fire-spitting act. He felt great, he admonished himself, but not that great. Just give this a short spurt tonight, no world records.

He waited. The chords from the song reverberated through the hall and the sirens flashed behind him. He lifted his face to the flames and opened his jaws wide.

A burst of fire forty-feet high shot of his mouth.

The whole auditorium lit up as Gene stared in awe at what he had done.

"What the --" Gene said out loud, forgetting the fluid he had in his mouth, which spilled on to his raised arm. He turned back to his left and saw that Paul and Ace were facing away from him and playing. They had not noticed anything unusual as they had seen Gene spit fire a million times in the past and knew what to expect.

Peter, on the other hand, had seen the incident face-front. When Gene caught Peter's eyes, Gene knew. A look of shock was on Peter's face, and as Gene grinned at him in a look of accomplishment, Peter's face turned from surprise to an ashen look of terror. Gene's flash of teeth quickly ended as he had noticed something warm in his raised hand. He twisted back around to see the torch --

--had slipped in his hand. He was now holding on to the top of the lit torch and stood for a moment unable to comprehend that his right hand was now immersed with the flames; and due to the flammables on his arm, the flash of red heat began to trickle up his sleeve. The roar of the crowd was over-extending itself as the fire continued, but Gene could not hear it. All that was in his mind was the fire. He moved his head forward to study the flames better, as a animal would its prey.

All in his mind was fire.

Suddenly, a blanket went over Gene's arm and the lights went out. Being pulled roughly to the side of the stage, Gene cooperated without any hesitation, as if putting out the fire had drained his spirit. Slowly, Gene started picking out words from the individual that was patting his arm and hand in broad movement.

"Holy mother of. . .what the hell is wrong with you Simmons!" John Harte said as he tugged at Gene's arm. "You know better than that."

". . . what. . . What did you say?" Gene said dreamingly as he drifted back into focus.

"You could've taken your arm off with that stuff." John was hardly paying attention to Gene's comments as he pulled the blanket away to look at the damage that he knew would be there.

There was a pause between the two as John continued to inspect Gene's arm and hand. As he did so, Gene's mind came back into focus as he himself wondered how badly he had burned himself. And why he had he had not felt anything when it occurred. He had heard how shock could drive pain away in times of great stress, but this much pain?

John flipped Gene's arm over and over, then without a word, pulled Gene over to a light hanging over the mixing board off to one side of the stage.

Gene grew tired of the suspense. "Well?"

"I don't know how you did it, Gene. I really don't."

Gene's face grew grim. "How bad is it?"

"Bad?" John almost laughed as he looked Gene in the eyes. "Somehow you managed to pull off that little stunt with even burning the hairs off the back of your hand."

"What?"

"Take a look for yourself."

Gene bent down to see better in the light. He saw the charred remains of the sleeve to his costume, and the perfectly smooth skin underneath. He repeated the same movements that John had done just moments before, not believing that he had not burnt himself in some fashion.

"Uh. . . ."

The spotlights lit up on the stage as Paul began to talk to the crowd. As Paul had exited for a bit off to stage right, he had no idea that anything was up with John and Gene on the opposite side of the stage.

John heard Paul start his rap and shouted to Gene. "Can you go on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gene responded, not really sure if he was lying. "Sure."

He walked towards the stage, still looking at his arm and hand. Suddenly, a delighted grin came over his face. He grew back into character as the spotlight hit him and he entered the stage.

And the band played on.

KISS ASYLUM -- KISS Museum News Archive Features Tour Dates Photos