Like a shaman invoking the gods.
It’s fascinating to watch.
I glance at Sterling, sitting to my right, to gauge his reaction. He’s a hard man to read. But without a doubt, his eyes are fixed on Slayer, and he’s nodding slightly.
Perhaps Sterling only now realizes the value of the vision Slayer had all along.
When Slayer and Rafe finish the first song, fans applaud wildly. The sound of their approval rocks the amphitheater like an earthquake.
Sterling turns towards Milo and me, catching our eyes and giving the smallest smile and nod.
Slayer has pulled it off.
As Slayer and Rafe move into the second song, I realize Slayer isn’t performing for the audience. He’s communing with the music itself.
But then again, he always has. That’s Slayer’s style—or maybe it’s Sam’s style. Though I’ve loved all his performances, this is the most honest I’ve ever seen him on stage.
As the concert continues, he sings several more songs from the new album. Each track is different, but they all pulse with that same driving intensity. Primitive. Gripping.
“OMG, Milo,” I whisper, “look at the way the audience is vibing to the music. It’s like they’re drawing off his energy.”
Milo nods, turning his attention back to the stage. Now that it’s twilight, purple spotlights circle.
“Now, how about some vintage Crimson?” Slayer says into the mic.
The fans go wild, cheering and clapping. It seems they crave the familiar after the journey through new territory.
He breaks the sacred trance momentarily, exchanging a knowing smile with Rafe before they slide into a Crimson favorite that launched their career.
“I loved this song when I was a kid,” I whisper to Milo, as the familiar strains of the tune flow toward my ears.
My body moves with a will of its own. The child I was could never have imagined she’d have Slayer as a boyfriend.
Even if it was a fake romance.
Can it be something real?my heart asks in the same breath.
An hour or so later, just when I think the show is winding down, Slayer steps forward, center stage. The lights dim except for a single spotlight.
“I want to thank you all,” he says, his voice rich but raw. “For your faith in me. For being here. For sharing my passion.”
The crowd whoops and stomps their approval.
“And I want to share something personal,” Slayer continues. “These last three years have been the hardest of my life, and the struggle has continued until this very moment. A woman I held most dear left this world hours ago, Rafe’s mother, Amanda.”
Slayer pauses.
“She nurtured our boyhood dreams, worked her magic on us. If it wasn’t for Amanda, neither of us would be here today. And neither would any of you,” Slayer says, with a rich, throaty laugh.
He takes Rafe’s hand, and the two men stand together.
“To Amanda!” Slayer shouts. He and Rafe punch their fists into the air in salute. The fans in the stadium echo her name.
When the roar dies down, Slayer clears his throat. “Recently, another person has come into my world. Into my life.”
To my amazement, he turns toward me.
“I’d like to sing this song for her.”
