Name: anonymousTBCfan

Rating: M – Adult language and themes, drug and alcohol use.

Author's Notes: I hope everybody enjoys it. Please review.

Disclaimer: The Breakfast Club and all related characters are registered trademarks of Universal Studios and the John Hughes Estate.

Funeral For A Friend

Chapter One

The ringing telephone startled Claire out of a sound sleep. She groped for the telephone on the nightstand beside her bed. A myriad of horrifying thoughts flashed through her mind. No one ever called in the middle of the night with good news. She raised the receiver to her ear. In a dry, scratchy voice she said, "Hello?"

"Claire?"

Claire rolled over, sat up with a groan, and turned on the reading lamp. "Who is this?"

"Allison Reynolds."

The mention of that name from her distant past jolted Claire awake. "From Shermer High?"

"Uh-huh." Allison cleared her throat. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just gonna say it."

"What's wrong?" Claire tried to stem the panic rising in her chest, making her heart race.

No reply at first. A deep, mournful sigh. Finally Allison spoke. "It's about John. John Bender. He was in a car accident." Another long pause. "Claire, he's dead. John's dead."

Claire's blood turned to ice. A mortified gasp escaped her lips. She was frozen in position, sitting in bed with the telephone receiver cradled between head and shoulder, mouth agape.

John's dead.

The words ricocheted in Claire's brain like a stray bullet. She felt a buzzing in her ears and a sense of disconnection, like she was watching a movie starring herself.

Allison was afraid Claire had hung up the telephone. "Are you still there?"

Claire blinked. She felt like a punch-drunk boxer who had just gotten his bell rung. Allison's voice sounded distant, like a garbled radio transmission from halfway across the world. Claire felt like she was trapped between dimensions in time and space. "What happened?"

"A drunk driver was speeding down the wrong side of the highway and smashed head-first into his car. He was dead before the ambulance got there. They tried to revive him but ..." Allison's voice cracked.

"Oh my god." Hot, salty tears burned Claire's eyes and flooded her cheeks. She felt hollow inside. Her heart thudded in her chest. "When did it happen?"

"Early yesterday morning. I heard about it on the news tonight, so I called his mom. She's taking it pretty hard."

"Holy shit." Claire ran a hand through her tousled hair. "When's the funeral?"

"Saturday afternoon at two. Shermer Funeral Home." Allison rubbed her temples. A migraine headache was brewing behind her throbbing eyeballs. "Can you make it?"

"I'll be there. Have you talked to anybody else?"

"No. I called you first because—well, you know."

Claire licked her lips. "Where'd you get my number?"

"From your dad. He was real nice about it, even though I woke him up." Allison sighed. "I'd better let you go. I still have to call Brian and ... Andy."

"How is Andy? I haven't talked to him in years."

"How should I know?"

"Sorry." Claire smacked her forehead. She should have known better. "Thanks, Allison."

"I know you'd do the same for me. Right?"

"For sure."

"I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you. I don't know what else to say. I'm still in shock, you know?"

Claire wiped her eyes with a tissue. "Call me tomorrow."

"You got it." Allison cleared her throat. "Are you sure you're gonna be all right? No bullshit."

Claire sniffled. "I'll be fine."

Allison recited her phone number. "If I don't answer, leave a message."

"Okay, thanks."

"Good night."

Claire hung up the telephone, removed a prescription bottle from the top drawer of her nightstand, and shook two Xanax pills into the palm of her trembling hand. She washed them down with a swig of bottled spring water, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.

xxx

Allison hung up the telephone and lit a cigarette. She knew Claire's heart was breaking, but there was nothing she could do to alleviate Claire's grief. Allison was reeling from her own sense of loss. She and Bender had become very close after that fateful Saturday in detention.

After two years of community college in Shermer, Allison had attended UNLV, of all places, with a double major in art and social work. Bender never could picture "Psycho," as he had affectionately called her, in a party town like Las Vegas.

A sharp pang of guilt wracked Allison like a muscle spasm. She couldn't help feeling like she had let him down, broken some unspoken pact. She remembered the hurt-puppy-dog look in his eyes that snowy day she left for Nevada. He was losing the one person who understood him better than anyone else ever had. Allison had been his life preserver. He had clung to her because he had no one else. Their friendship had been the one thing that had kept him from giving up altogether.

Then I went away and left him all alone.

Allison sipped a glass of vodka, pensive. She had the right to live her life on her own terms. She loved Bender, but their love had been strictly platonic. They had shared something that transcended romance: they were friends. Theirs had been the only relationship from the Breakfast Club that had stood the test of time. Everyone else had gone their separate ways. Allison no longer felt bitter about it. That was just the way it was, and she had finally learned to accept there were some things she couldn't change, no matter how badly she wanted to. So what if Andy shined her on?

Andy.

It baffled Allison how one word could conjure up such a multitude of conflicting emotions, making her heart swell with joy one moment, then burst apart in a million pieces.

Well, you had your chance, Sporto. I guess it wasn't meant to be. Life's a bitch.

Allison forced herself to stop thinking about the past. She could meditate on that later. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, finished her vodka, and dialed Brian's number.

xxx

Brian "Ralph, as in puke" Johnson had grown up to be a tall young man, even handsome, once his zits cleared up. He was a physics professor at MIT, his alma mater. He enjoyed teaching because his students were eager to learn. Most of them had been nerds in public school, so he understood the kind of pressure they were subjected to. He tried his best to be a good role model for them. He was a member of MENSA and highly respected by the faculty. His students often asked him for confidential advice on personal matters. They knew they could trust him to keep their secrets safe. Other staff members spoke well of him. In the insular world of academia, his star was rising.

Brian was too tired to answer the phone, so he let the answering machine pick it up. When he heard Allison's voice, he leaped out of bed and snatched the receiver from its cradle. "Hello?" He fumbled with the answering machine, trying to switch it off. "Damn it! Hang on." Eventually he got it sorted out.

Brian stifled a yawn. "Allison? Is that you?" He groped in the darkness for the nearest light switch. His eyes widened when he noticed what time it was. Three o'clock in the morning!

"Hi, Brian. Sorry to call so late, but it's important." Allison paused. "John Bender died yesterday."

Brian's heart stopped for a second, then accelerated like an Indycar. "What?"

"He was killed by a drunk driver. He was already dead before they got him to the hospital."

Brian wiped a hand over his eyes and expired. "Wow," was all he could manage to say. "God damn."

"The funeral's this Saturday at two o'clock. Shermer Funeral Home."

"Wait, let me write it down." Brian jotted some notes on a notepad he kept by his bed. "Got it."

"You'd better show up, or I'll come looking for you. I'm emotionally unstable, remember?"

"I'll be there." Brian's head swam. Events were happening too fast for him to process them. "How'd you get my number?"

"I called your parents."

Brian scratched his nose. "Did my mom answer?"

"No, I talked to your dad."

Brian breathed a sigh of relief. If Allison had woken up his mother in the middle of the night, he would be receiving an angry phone call sometime during the next few days. His father was strict, but at least he cut Brian some slack. His mother was a full-on ballbuster.

Allison blew her nose. "I gotta go."

"Okay. See you Saturday." Brian said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Brian was shaken by this unexpected news. He contemplated taking a sleeping pill, but he didn't want to be groggy when he woke up tomorrow. He settled for a cup of hot chocolate instead. After brewing the nightcap, he returned to his bedroom and sat down on a leather desk chair, sipping hot cocoa. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration.

How long had it been since he'd seen Bender? Ten years? Had it really been that long? He couldn't believe Bender was dead. The Breakfast Club had just lost one of its founding members. Permanently.

Brian finished his drink, used the bathroom, turned off the light, and lay down in bed. It was some while before he finally went back to sleep.

xxx

Allison stared at the phone as though hypnotized. She dreaded the prospect of calling Andy, but he deserved to know about Bender's fatality. She filled her glass with vodka, took a deep breath, and dialed the number.

On the third ring a familiar voice, roughened by sleep and a parched mouth, said, "Hello?"

The sound of Andy's voice sent chills down Allison's spine. Her throat tightened up.

"Hello?" Andy repeated, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "Who is this?"

"Hi, Andy, it's me: Allison." Her heart surged with a fresh burst of adrenaline.

Andy recoiled. The memory of Allison made him shiver. He rubbed his eyes. "How'd you get my number?"

"From your mom." Allison paused. "Sorry to call so late, but I've got some bad news."

Andy got out of bed, took the portable phone with him into the bathroom, and closed the door. "Lay it on me."

"It's about John Bender." Allison gulped. "He was killed in a drunk-driving accident."

Andy sat down on the commode, stunned. His mind refused to accept what his ears had just heard. Then again, if anyone had asked him to predict which member of the Breakfast Club would be the first to die, he would have picked Bender, no doubt about it.

Andy ran a hand through his short blond hair. "I knew he was gonna push his luck too far."

Allison bristled. "John didn't do anything wrong," she said in a frosty voice. "The other driver was drunk. He was driving down the wrong side of the highway and crashed head-on into John's car. John's the victim here, Sporto."

Allison remembered something Bender once told her: "People always think the worst of me. No matter what I do, they automatically assume I'm the bad guy."

Andy's face burned with shame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," Allison said brusquely. "You'd better write this down. John's funeral is Saturday at two o'clock. Shermer Funeral Home. I don't have to tell you what'll happen to you if you don't show up."

"I'll be there." Andy's wife knocked on the bathroom door. "Honey? Are you all right?" she asked.

Andy blushed. "Uh, yeah, be right out."

Allison frowned. "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to the old ball and chain. You'd better be there, or else."

"I already said I would." Andy sighed. "Look, I know you hate my guts, but I liked Bender."

"You sure have a strange way of showing it."

Andy grimaced. That was a low blow: Allison had punched him below the belt. "I swear to God I won't cheese. Trust me. Okay?"

Allison relented. Her hostility was spent. She was too exhausted to fight any more. "Wear something nice."

Andy hung up the phone and returned to bed. His wife was waiting for him, pretending to read a magazine. "Who was that?"

"Just an old friend. I got some bad news. One of my old buddies from high school got killed by a drunk driver."

"Oh, no." She placed the magazine on the nightstand and touched Andy's arm. "Was it a close friend?"

"Yeah. The funeral's Saturday afternoon in Shermer. The service starts at two. Could you make the travel arrangements for me while I'm at work tomorrow?"

"Of course." She snuggled up beside Andy. "Was it one of the boys on the wrestling team?"

Andy smiled, recalling Bender's low opinion of men in tights. "No, he wasn't an athlete. Probably could've been, if he wanted to, but he was ... different."

"Different how?"

"He wasn't like the other guys I hung around with in high school. You had to know him to understand."

"Was it one of the boys in that club, what did you call it—"

"The Breakfast Club. Yeah, he was in it. Bender. John Bender." Andy rubbed his eyes. "Shit! I can't believe he's dead. That sucks."

Andy's wife lay her head on his shoulder. "Was that Allison who called?"

"What makes you think that?"

She smiled. "You took the phone into the bathroom so you'd have some privacy. I'm not stupid, darling."

"I know you're not. Look, I just did that because I didn't want to wake you up, that's all."

"I understand."

"So you'll make the travel arrangements for me?"

"Yes, dear."

"You're the best." Andy kissed the nape of her neck. "Love you."

"Love you too." She fell asleep nestled in the crook of Andy's arm. Andy, however, could not stop thinking about the friends he left behind so long ago. For the first time since he was a child, he felt like crying—not just for Bender, but for all of them, even for himself. He was so upset, he barely managed to doze off before the alarm clock sounded.

xxx

Allison hung up the phone and guzzled vodka until her hands stopped shaking. Her stomach burned from the alcohol. She lit a cigarette and blew smoke from her nostrils like a dragon that had just unleashed a fireball.

Tears trickled down Allison's cheeks as a flood of memories inundated her. The first—and only—time she kissed Andy. Partying with Bender and his crazy friends. Coming out of her shell, meeting new people and experiencing new adventures. She had actually been happy, for a while. Those were the good old days, never to return.

Allison stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray and lit another one. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, so she put on some coffee to brew. She had already decided to take the day off from work and do what she could to help Mrs. Bender, whose husband died seven years ago. Bender had refused to go to the funeral, much to his mother's dismay. That was Bender: stubborn as a mule. He had never been able to let go of the past.

Seven years ago. That was just about the time Allison moved to Las Vegas. She drank the rest of her Screwdriver and crushed out her cigarette. Embers smoldered in the ashtray, slowly dying, like an animal lying in a ditch after being struck by a car.

Allison climbed in bed, buried her head beneath the pillow, and wept.