Pick of Destiny

Pick of Destiny

By Nicole Ney 

**Warning: this story contains harsh language and subject matter that may not be suitable for everybody. Please read at your own risk**

Those curves. That neck.That mahogany body. I caressed her maple neck as I gently eased her up. Corvette red. My heart raced, it was all so real. This was it. This was the moment. Active pick up, I thought to myself. I caressed her four strings and a little sound came out (of both of us I’m sure). It felt like destiny, like it was meant to be. I pulled her into the light, as I said aloud “Ray Nichol’s Bass guitar”. This is when it all started. The nightmares, the changes, the spiral. 

Ray Nichols was a bassist for a band known worldwide called “Hexed”. Hexed was a dark, edgy, death metal band. You could say Ray was “Hexed” the minute he joined. The band took off fast, and Ray wasn’t ready. The spotlight made him anxious to go anywhere, pressured to perform and outperform the last show or album. Alcohol, drugs and women were everywhere. He needed caffeine and coke to keep up, tranquilizers to slow down, and alcohol to numb the pain. He felt like a puppet. He was only happy when he played his bass guitar. Literally, his blood, sweat and tears went into his music. He gave his life to music. He passed away mysteriously with this very guitar next to him.

Blood, sweat and tears, I thought as I embraced the guitar. This ‘Warwick’ bass literally has Ray Nichols’ DNA on it. Goosebumps. I could feel the hairs on my arm raise. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to come across this piece of art in an auction. Not only was it a beautiful guitar, but it was owned and played by the one and only Ray Nichols! Now the true test, turn her on!

A few checks, hooked her up and oh…my…God….the sound. And the feel. Have you ever driven a car or had a pair of sneakers that felt like they were made for you or like a different extension of you? That’s what this felt like. I was suddenly banging out triplets, hammer ons and pull offs. Things I’ve been practicing for ages to get, suddenly came effortlessly. 

I was hooked! I had plenty of guitars, but this one I just couldn’t put down. All the songs I’d been playing for years suddenly seemed new and fun. When I would switch out guitars, it just wasn’t the same. If I didn’t play at least once a day, I’d feel guilty. It was like an addiction. It just took hold of me. I’d play every day, and when I wasn’t, I was thinking about what I was going to play, listening to songs to get ideas. 

What I didn’t realize is that the nightmares also started the day I got the guitar. That very night, I had a terrible dream that felt so real, so intense, that it shook me. But I thought it was a fluke. Night, after night, I would have nightmare after nightmare, each one increasingly terrifying. I was waking up more, and sleeping less. Playing the bass was my only safe haven. 

Eventually I had to start taking sleeping pills. Of course they made me drowsy in the morning, so I took caffeine pills to stay up. I started getting irritable, angry, and reclusive. I only wanted to be home, in my studio mostly. The more alone I felt, the more depressed I felt. The more depressed I felt, the more I drank. Slowly I was becoming more Hyde than Jekyll.

Eventually the sleeping pills made me feel stuck in my nightmares, like I couldn't get out willingly because I was there medically, through an induced coma. I started doing anything to stay awake to avoid the nightmares. Unfortunately, the lack of sleep turned the nightmares into "daymares" through hallucinations. I was seeing people and hearing things that weren't there. The voices in my head grew so loud, I drowned them out with more bass playing. I played til my fingers bled. Til my DNA was now combined with Ray Nichols'. I was becoming Ray Nichols (at least in my mind I was).

The caffeine suppressed my hunger, so I never ate. I just wasted away into a pile of paranoid delusions and guitar music. No sense of day or night, time, or the world around me. I began writing my thoughts down in song form. Sheets and sheets were splayed all over like a mad man's manifesto. I was slowly becoming Ray Nichols.

I would pace my small room end to end, window to window. Peel back the black out curtains just to cover them up again. I would black out randomly from fatigue, but never long enough to dream. I started having memory lapses. Because I had no sense of time, I couldn't remember when I showered, when I last went outside, when I talked to a human. I never really had much of a family and I didn't trust many people, so my circle was so small. In fact it wasn't even a circle. I had "acquaintances". Definitely no one who would notice or even care if I was missing. I didn't even know my neighbors. Maybe one or two in passing, but I couldn't give you their names or details. I watched YouTube and a little TV, but mostly for background noise, I didn't know any current events or news going on. I was so far gone. There was no coming back. Something had taken over me. Something else was in the driver seat. I'm just here for the ride.

The landlord hadn't received rent or contact from me, and decided to make entry. The smell was a kick in the face. The place was dark and stale. The windows were covered up, the place was in disarray. Trash piled up, liquor bottles and cans littered everywhere. Every step you kicked a can or crunched a piece of paper. Way in the back of the house in the bedroom, he found my body. I was found like Ray Nichols, an overdosed "mad man", surrounded by musical manifestos and that "Corvette red" bass guitar. The landlord rushed out and contacted the police.

"A Warwick?!" Kurt said surprised.

"Not just any Warwick, Ray Nichols' Warwick" Jimmie said with a proud grin.

"I heard that shit's possessed man, be careful" warned Kurt. "How'd you get it?"

"They were having a yard sale down the street"

"Since when do you go to yard sales?" Kurt chuckled.

"Hear me out, some sad sap who thought he was 'Ray Nichols reincarnated' passed away and left this behind. I couldn't believe it!

I saw it when I drove by, and had to stop. I thought I was seeing shit. The fact that they had a damn near pristine bass at a yard sale was amazing, but Ray fuckin' Nichols bro? I didn't even question it. I gave them the $20 and damn near skipped away! It was like fate, like I was meant to find that bass guitar that day"