"No… just fuck off."

            He pushed me slightly and turned around.  I stood mute for a minute trying to catch my breath.  He began to walk away.  "Roger… I'm sorry."

            He stopped short at my words but he didn't turn around.  "I don't care."

            "Listen, can't we…"

            "No."

            "It's been five years!"  I plead to his back.

            He turned around and faced me, "Not my problem."

            "Come on, give me a chance to explain."

            "Mr. Cohen!  Mr. Cohen!"  Emma rushed towards me. 

            "Emma, I told you a million times, call me Mark."  I snapped at her.

            "I'm… sorry… Mark."

            "Fucking pathetic."  I heard Roger mutter under his breath as he turned away and walked out. 

            "Mark, you need to sign these before you go."

            "Just put them on my desk."  I started following him through the studio.  "Roger, wait."

            He doesn't and I followed him to the loading dock where the rest of his band was loading up their equipment into an old van.

            "There he is!"  One of them yelled, "Hey Davis, your girlfriend is missing and so is my stash!"          

            "Fuck, where did she go?"

            "How would I know?

            "Fine, what did she take, then?"

            "The rest of my coke.  You better find me some before the gig tonight."  The tattooed drummer responded.

            "Yeah, whatever."  He ran out onto the street and looked around.

            "Roger?" I whisper.  "Is it Mimi?"

            He whipped around at the mention of her name.  "Where does this road go to?"

            "What?"

            "Well the hell does this road go to?" He spoke louder and more slowly.

            "It is a studio lot, there are productions going on all over.  Is it Mimi?"

            "I have to find her."  He said more to himself than to me.

            "Do you want me to call my security staff?"  I spit out.

            "No, just…" He seemed to soften for a moment but then looked at me, "No.  I can handle it.  I've been handling everything for the last five years."

            "I want to help."  I pull out my phone.

            "Mind your own fucking business!"  He pushed me out of the way and pulled out his own cell phone and started dialing.

            "Who's this guy?"  Another band member asked.

            "No one."

            "A friend."  I answer at the same time.

            "Roger, you know she'll come back.  She always does."  The band member stated, as if this happens all the time.

            "I know but I just want to get out here."  He glared at me as he said it.  "Now."

            "Is Mimi here?"  I insisted.  "I'll help you find her."

            "Just leave us alone.  We don't need you."

            "You never did."  I state simply.
            He scoffed.  "Yeah right."  He moved the cell phone to his mouth and began talking into it, "Where are you?  Fine, I'll come get you.  Tony's pissed.  No, I'll come get you.  Just stay there!  No…"  He pulled the phone away.  "Fuck."  He looked at me, "Just go ok."

            "I want to see her."  He glared at me and shook his head.

            "No you don't.  Just go."

            "Why is she sick?"  I stepped closer, "Just tell me."

            "She's fucking dead, Mark." 

            I step back, "Then who…"

            "Roger?"  A voice came from around the corner.

            "Just go, Mark."

            I looked up to the figure walking towards us, skinny, beaten, a walking corpse. 

            "Maureen?"