Chapter 4: Remembering Stuart Pot

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The next day started out like any other day. I woke up, showered, donned jeans and a black tank top, then headed downstairs. I could hear Katsu meowing and scratching on the other side of the front door so I let him in. The cat purred, dropped a dead mouse at my feet, and scampered off towards the kitchen.

After tossing the dead mouse into the tall grass in our backyard where a lucky snake would eventually find it, I made my way towards the kitchen. Bacon sizzled and pancakes flew through the air as Russel manned the griddle, flooding the kitchen with delicious smells and warmth. Katsu was sitting at Russel's feet when I entered, his pink nose twitching at the scent of the bacon, but as soon as he saw me Katsu ran towards his food bowl and meowed loudly. I could practically hear him screaming, feed me! I've been hunting all night and I've worked up a big appetite!

Then why didn't you eat your mouse?, I replied in my head as I rolled my eyes at the cat's antics. Strolling to the kitchen cabinet, I pulled out a can of wet cat food and opened it. Katsu's golden eyes glowed as I approached him and emptied the can into his bowl. He meowed in thanks then began eating, licking the gravy off his chow before digging in with his teeth. While he ate, I carried his water bowl to the sink for a refill.

"Morning, Noodle-girl!" Russel greeted, gracing me with a broad smile before turning to catch an airborne pancake.

"Good morning, Russel!" I replied as I dumped the old water out of Katsu's bowl. "Are any of those pancakes for me?"

He laughed as he prodded the bacon with his pancake flipper. "Of course! There's enough for anyone who wants any, and it's just about done!"

I grinned. "Thanks, Russel! I'll set the table after I give Katsu his water."

Two minutes later, Russel and I were seated across from each other on a worn wooden table topped with a frayed, grease-stained white tablecloth and dishes of pancakes and bacon. I transferred some of the food to my plate as Russel did likewise.

"How was the opening last night?" I asked Russel. "Did the new record store live up to your expectations?"

Russel nodded, swallowing a mouthful of pancake before responding, "Yeah, it's a pretty cool place. They've stocked a decent selection of classic records up front, as well as some new, avant-garde ones on the shelves." He paused to bite a forkful of bacon, chewed it, then continued, "The best part, though, was the back of the shop. One of the owners is an artist himself, and he has his own record press where he produces his records, as well as anyone else's, for the right price. Considering how many indie artists there are in this city, I think they'll have pretty good business. I'm looking forward to seeing the independent work that the shop will help produce."

"That sounds really neat!" I said. I was glad that Russel had a nice evening, and that the arts were still thriving in this area.

"What about you?" Russel turned the conversation, regarding me inquisitively. "Did you manage to have that relaxing evening you were hoping for?"

I sighed. It had been so easy not to think about the events of last evening as the morning sunlight cascaded into the warm kitchen, brightening the quiet house on this calm, new day. However, I knew I couldn't avoid reality forever, and Russel should probably know what happened sooner rather than later. "Well, it started out nice. I hung out with Katsu in the sitting room, reading some articles. But then Murdoc got arrested."

"He got arrested?" Russel groaned, slapping a hand over his face. "What did he do this time, get in a bar fight? Paint inappropriate graffiti on a school?"

I shook my head. "Actually, he may not have done anything. The police have accused him of running an international drug ring."

"WHAT?!" Russel cried, the hand on his face becoming a fist on the table. "Muds wouldn't do something like that; he's too lazy!"

"I know; that's why I believed him when he said he didn't do it. He said he'd call back when he has more info on the situation, but until then, all we can do is wait."

Once more, Russel groaned, hanging his head as a frown crossed his face. "Great. Now we're really stuck. How are we going to pay the bills with the pickle in prison?"

"Murdoc said that 2D can sign the bank documents," I informed him. "Apparently, Murdoc had 2D set up as a co-owner of the bank account so that it wouldn't freeze if he got arrested. That way, he could buy things from jail by forging 2D's name on documents. 2D doesn't know about this."

Russel nodded. "Yeah, it's probably best if 'D doesn't know. Remember the time he tried to buy a warehouse full of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets?"

I laughed. "Yeah. I'm glad you and I made it there in time to drag him out of that auction and convince someone else to bid higher." I remembered the day fondly, me coaxing 2D away from the building with a shiny coin I found on the ground while Russel frantically chatted up a rich auctioneer accompanied by a young daughter wearing a dinosaur T-shirt. "2D nearly sent us into bankruptcy." I frowned. "How did he get into that building, anyway?"

"Murdoc was taking him for a walk; he put 'D there so that he could seduce some women at the park."

"Oh yeah."

Suddenly, Russel's eyebrows shot up with concern. "Say, where is 'D? The police didn't lock him up as an accomplice or anything, did they?"

"No, no, 2D's fine," I quickly assured, soothing Russel's worry. "He's still sleeping."

"Should I wake him up so he can have some breakfast?" Russel inquired. "I made plenty of food for all of us, and goodness knows that skinny man could use some meat on his bones."

I considered, then slowly shook my head. "No, I think we should just let him sleep as long as he can. He had a bad headache, and he got woken up by the phone when Murdoc called from prison. He's probably exhausted."

Russel nodded sympathetically. "Poor 'D, always getting those headaches." He sat in silence for a moment, his expression sinking into something grim and sad. "It's really not his fault, when he goes and does stupid stuff like buying dinosaur-nugget warehouses. He never asked for any brain damage. He spends so much time in pain, and the only way he can escape is by getting high as a kite…"

I nodded solemnly, repressing a brief flash of anger towards Murdoc as I dwelled upon the singer's condition. "Yeah… I never realized how much it got to him until last night." Russel looked at me curiously and I continued, "After I gave 'D his medicine, I chatted with him for a little while, to distract him while his pain dulled. He told me that he knew his mind used to be clearer, that he could vaguely remember a time when he wasn't in so much pain. He knows that he's not well now. He knows that there are things he can't remember, and… he was so sad when he talked about his lost memories." Like losing a life, I remembered him saying in that doleful whisper, his eyes dark and shining with unshed tears. The memory made my own eyes water.

Russel cursed. "Man, I get so used to assuming he has no clue what's going on… It must be painful, those times he realizes what he's lost… I can't imagine going through what he does when he manages to get halfway lucid."

I tried to imagine it for a moment: The mental fuzziness, the inability to think clearly, the distant throbbing that must exist at the back of 2D's brain, threatening to take over should he neglect to take his pills. I tried to imagine being hopelessly confused, knowing that there was a time when things were better, grieving over something lost that could never be regained. Knowing that the better times were gone for good. That I would never think clearly again. That I would never be far from pain. That my best memories were gone, and that they were never coming back. Just thinking about it sent shivers down my spine. "It's a wonder he keeps going," I said softly.

"Well," Russel intoned with a sigh, "I guess whenever his mood gets too bad, he can still find freedom in his meds. He can forget his mental pain as well as his physical pain if he takes enough pills, which he usually does."

I ran a hand through my hair, staring down at the stained tablecloth. It's depressing to know that 2D can only find freedom in his drugs, but that's the way things are, and that's not about to change. Speaking of which… "Oh, and Russ, now that Murdoc's away, we need to make sure 2D takes his pills regularly. He had two just before going to bed last night, so he should be fine until he wakes up naturally, as long as he doesn't sleep all day."

Russel's face eased into a small smirk. "I guess there's one good thing about Muds being jailed: 2D doesn't have to worry about getting hit. Maybe he'll be able to sleep easier for a while."

I smiled too. It would definitely be good for 2D to catch a break from Murdoc, and 2D seemed comforted last night when he heard that Murdoc would be absent. "There's a silver lining to every situation, I suppose."

Russel and I continued to eat breakfast, slowing down as our stomachs filled and the pancake stacks dwindled. When we finished all we could eat, Russel began loading the leftovers into Tupperware containers while I cleaned the dishes. The warm, soapy water was soothing on my hands, taking my mind off the early-spring chills which held the outskirts of Manchester in their grasp. As Russel handed me a pancake dish he had just emptied, we made brief eye contact, and the pale white shimmer of his eyes stirred a memory from the knight before.

"2D told me something interesting last night," I told Russel as I began to scrub the latest dish. "He said that he thought he used to be able to read people through their eyes. Not their feelings, like anyone could get if they saw someone smiling or frowning, but something else. He said it was like seeing a person's soul."

"Really?" Russel said with a small chuckle. "That sounds kinda cool."

"It does, but I'm not sure how seriously I can take his claim. You know what his memory is like; he gets mixed up all the time. This 'eye-reading' thing could just be something he saw on TV, or something his imagination fabricated. He has a very lively imagination, and I admit, I have trouble imagining him ever being insightful, let alone being able to see a person's essence through their eyes alone."

"Actually," Russel said, pausing for a moment to stare thoughtfully at the Tupperware-encased pancakes, "It wouldn't surprise me if he were an insightful person. Before his injury of, of course."

I tilted my head curiously, looking up at Russel. "What makes you say that?"

Russel turned away for a moment to open the fridge and shove the freshly filled Tupperware into a crowd of various ageing leftovers. When he turned back around, he made his way to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily and gazing at a blotchy purple stain with a deep expression on his face. Turning off the faucet, I set the last dish on the drying rack before joining Russel at the table, watching him expectantly. The drummer noted my curiosity with a brief grin before clearing his throat.

"There was an incident," Russel said, "many years ago, not long after we released our first album. We were spending the night in a hotel in Crawley, 2D's hometown. I decided to go out to a pub that night, just me and Del in my head, since 2D was too high to be safe outside of the hotel and Murdoc had already blacked out from too much tequila. You were already asleep, so I felt it was safe enough to leave you with them for the evening.

"I was walking down the road and Del was laughing at the names of the pubs we passed, trying to decide which one was the silliest. When we came across this one place… I think it was called the Tipsy Terrier… Del insisted on going inside.

"It was a nice local place, full of warm lights and happy patrons. They were having an open mic night, and there was a girl playing keyboard on a small stage at the back of the pub. She played well, not as good as 'D, but not bad at all, and it set a very pleasant atmosphere. I sat down at the bar, ordered a pint of brandy, and watched the girl play. After I had been drinking for a while, I noticed that the barkeep kept hanging around my section of counter, glancing at me every now and then. I got the feeling that he wanted to ask me something but was too unsure to move forward. Maybe I looked like someone he knew and he was wondering whether he should greet me. I didn't recognize him, so I ignored him, thinking that he'd stop staring once he realized I wasn't the person he thought I was. However, a minute later, he approached me, looking like he wanted to talk.

"He introduced himself first, told me his name. I can't remember what it was. We shook hands and I told him that I was Russel Hobbs. His eyes got wide, hopeful. He asked me if I was the Russel Hobbs from Gorillaz, and it struck me that he must be a fan. I wasn't sure if I should be pleased or uncomfortable about meeting a fan at a pub; I was glad that our band was gaining popularity, but I wasn't looking to spend the night being interviewed by obsessed followers. However, Del said that I should enjoy the limelight while I could, so I went ahead and told the barkeep that I was Russel Hobbs from Gorillaz.

"Then, the man surprised me again. He didn't tell me that he was a huge fan, or yak about his favorite song of ours, or even ask me anything about Gorillaz. Instead, he smiled and said, 'you must know Mr. Pot!'"

"I got a kick out of that. I knew that 2D's real name was Stuart Pot, but I hadn't heard anyone call him Stuart since Paula got kicked out, and I had never imagined anyone calling him 'Mr. Pot.' Apparently, however, the name was familiar to half of the people in the pub. In seconds, half the patrons in hearing distance were moving towards us, creating a small crowd around the bar. They looked excited and very curious, and in no time at all my ears were full of their questions. 'Mr. Pot? Stuart Pot?' 'You know our Stu?' 'Stuart! I haven't seen him in ages!' 'How's Stu doing these days?' 'I heard he joined a band!' 'Did Stu come out with you tonight?' 'Where's Stuart?'

"The barkeep noticed that I was overwhelmed by the onslaught of voices and he hushed the patrons. Silently, they watched and listened as he began to ask me questions about 'D. I realized that these pubgoers were all people who knew 'D, so I decided that it would only be right to satisfy their curiosity.

"The barkeep started by asking me how Stuart was doing these days. I'm afraid I couldn't give him a very positive answer on that one. While I told him about the drugs and the headaches, the crowd murmured among themselves, shaking their heads, looking sorrowful. I didn't tell them about the pain 2D got from confrontations with Murdoc; they were upset enough as it was. The barkeep looked particularly gloomy. He said it was a shame that such a bright young man had been reduced to such a state. The barkeep and the pubgoers fed me more questions, asked if 'D enjoyed being in a band, if I was good friends with him, if he was still with Paula. I got mixed reactions from the crowd when I told them that 'D and Paula had broken up. Some of the patrons offered their condolences for him; others said that 'that Cracker girl' was too mean for him anyway.

"Things got interesting when the pubgoers started reminiscing, sharing their own stories about 'D. They told me about how he used to come to the pub almost every night, either alone or with Paula. They spoke about how he used to play keyboard and sing on open mic night, and how they always knew he had the potential to go far with his musical talent. Those who had met him outside of the pub mentioned his job at a piano emporium. When she was done playing, the girl on stage with her keyboard approached us and the barkeep introduced me to her. Apparently, she was the barkeep's daughter and 2D had helped him discover the keyboard that the girl had just played on.

"Listening to them talk about 'D was like getting a glimpse into an alternate universe, one where 2D had never met Murdoc. They talked about how friendly and kind he was, which was no surprise. What got me was when they started talking about how intelligent he was. Apparently, 'D was a master keyboard salesman back in the day. He was known for being clever and persuasive, but never being a swindler; he used his skills only to help people. The pubgoers told stories about advice he had given them which always turned out to be solid. An engaged couple claimed that he had been the first to suggest that they start dating. Another woman spoke of how 'D had convinced her to leave her ex a year before the police discovered that the man had been married to seven different women at once. The people in the crowd went on and on about how 'D always seemed to know things about the people he met, how he would understand people in ways that no one else could understand. Whenever someone asked 'D about his people-reading talents, he would just shrug and say that an artist can always see the beauty in a canvas, whether that canvas be made of paper and wood or of human hearts and minds. I tried to imagine 'D saying something eloquent like that, but it was hard to connect the mindless 2D that I knew with the clever Stuart they were describing. That's when I realized that I was living with someone I didn't know. I knew 2D on drugs, 2D in pain, 2D hopelessly confused and unable to remember what he had for breakfast. But the people in that pub knew a different 2D entirely. You might even say that they knew the real 2D, the pure, unmedicated mind that the man was meant to be. They knew the original Stuart Pot, and the more they talked about him, the more I realized how much I wished I could meet this guy, the guy hidden behind the pills. It made me sad to know that I never got the chance to know him.

"The Barkeep kept the pub open two hours later than usual for the sake of his friend's memory, but eventually he and the other patrons had to go home. I was getting pretty tired myself. The barkeep shook my hand one last time before I left, thanked me for looking after Stuart, and asked me to bring Stu down to the pub if I got the chance before the band split town. I smiled and told him that I would try, but I knew that it wouldn't happen. I couldn't bring Stuart back to the pub because Stuart was gone. All that was left was 2D, and I didn't want to see the disappointed looks on Stuart's friends' faces when the blue-haired man didn't remember a single one of them."

. . .

I spent the rest of the day thinking about Russel's story. It crept into my mind while I was playing with Katsu, permeated my thoughts as I did boxing exercises at the gym, and distracted me as I collected groceries from a Tesco.

To be honest, if freaked me out a bit. I had always assumed that I knew 2D better than most people, especially people who hadn't seen the man in twenty years. Russel's tale was an uncomfortable reminder that the man I knew was merely a shadow of a man who once was, a cruel caricature of a person who had possessed intelligence, countless friends, and a whole life of his own. Yes, I knew 2D, but Stuart Pot, the man the singer wished so desperately to be once more, was a man I didn't know at all.

On the way home from Tesco's, I stopped at a Mongolian restaurant to pick up a few of our favorite stir-fries. I almost forgot not to order Murdoc's usual, the meat lover's meat fry with extra steak chunks. I did make sure to pick up an extra helping of 2D's favorite, the chicken & noodle fry with a fortune cookie. The singer would be hungry by the time I got back, having slept through both breakfast and lunch.

By the time I arrived back at the house with the takeout, the sun had set and the air was stinging with a nighttime chill. I quickly ran the food into the house, shutting the door firmly on the brisk outdoors. Making my way across the foyer, I paused to scratch Katsu between the ears as he napped with his back against a heating duct before I entered the kitchen. "Russel, 2D, I bought dinner!" I shouted to the house. The steady boom of Russel's footsteps approached from the sitting room and soon enough the man was entering the kitchen, breathing deeply through his nose as a broad smile spread across his face.

"Smells good! Stir fry night?"

"Yep," I replied. "I got you the pork & rice dish with extra bourbon sauce."

"My favorite!" He said, accepting the Styrofoam container gratefully. I pulled out my own container of shrimp lo mein with oysters and sat across from Russel at the table.

I listened for the sound of 2D's airy footsteps but heard nothing, which concerned me. "Russel, has 2D been downstairs yet today?"

Russel shook his head, mumbling around a mouthful of rice, "No, haven't seen him. Must still be resting."

As glad as I was that the man was getting some needed rest, I was worried. It was getting late, 2D probably hadn't had food in 24 hours at this point and he probably ought to have taken another dose of his medicine sometime in the afternoon. "I'm going to wake him up in a few minutes," I decided out loud. "He's got to eat sometime today, and take his pills before his headache returns."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Russel replied, continuing to dig into his meal.

Ten minutes later, I tossed out my empty takeout box and began to tread upstairs. I came to a stop in front of the door to 2D's room. Not wanting to make any abrupt, loud noises, I called softly, "2D, are you awake? There's dinner downstairs; you should eat something."

There was no response. Reasoning that D was probably still asleep and that a bit of extra noise wouldn't hurt, I knocked firmly on his door, announcing, "Hey, 'D, wake up. I bought us dinner. Come down and eat."

Still, there was no response. Bemused, I pressed my ear to the door, trying to make out any sign that the singer was moving around the room, or at least crawling out of his bed.

At first, I heard nothing. Then, I made out a soft noise… Many soft noises… high-pitched, rhythmic noises which sent my ears tingling with unease. It sounded like whimpering.

Unwilling to stay in the dark, I opened the door. Almost instantly I was hit by a sour smell that made me gag, then filled my guts with sickening dread. 2D's room smelled like vomit.

Panic rising, I flipped on 2D's light switch. A bright lamp cast its glow over the figure of the singer curled up onto his side, his back facing me so that I could see the ridge of his spine molded into the thin, white fabric of his T-shirt. I could hear his whimpering more clearly now, and I could see the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck as well as the tension in his tightly curled body.

I ran to his bedside. When I set my hand on his shoulder, I was shocked at the moisture I could feel even through his shirt and dismayed by the way he cringed, his arms tightening their grip around his knees. There was a puddle of clearish vomit on the sheets inches away from his head, and I could make out some sticky spots on the front of his shirt. I leaned over him slightly to observe his face. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed and his jaw was clenched and rigid, whimpers hissing out from between his painfully bared teeth.

This was bad. I was used to the headaches, I had seen him with the mild colds his weak body seemed prone to catching, but this was something different, something worse.

"2D," I said, trying to control the tremor in my voice, "'D, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

One black eye opened, fixing me with a stare of unrepressed agony. "N-Noo… Noodle…" He groaned, his voice rasping as if speaking caused him great pain.

"'D, can you tell me what's wrong? Did something happen? Do you know why you're sick?" I asked, focusing on keeping my voice level, determined not to scare him with my fear.

2D's eyelids twitched and a shrill whimper escaped his lips. "Th-the p-pills," he uttered, his voice shaky, "All… the pills… need them… but… can't have… had to… no more… no more…"

I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I remembered 2D seeing me with the cereal box full of pills the night before, his eyes lingering on the box as I put it away… I had the feeling that I knew why 2D was sick.

"Russel!" I shouted, not bothering to keep the urgency out of my voice.

The drummer must have noticed my distress, because seconds later he was thundering up the stairs. "Noodle-girl, what's- oh, gosh…" He took in the sights and smells of the room, his eyes going wide as he saw me standing next to the prone singer.

"Russel, I need you to check the kitchen cabinet and tell me if 'D's pills are still there."

His face paled as he realized what I thought was going on. He was down the stairs in an instant. I could hear the cabinets crashing as they were flung open and I could hear the frustration in Russel's voice when he swore. "Noodle, the box is gone! There's nothing in here!"

"Took it…" 2D muttered, his eyes squeezing closed once more. "had to… I… I had to do it…"

2D had seen the pills last night. Come to think of it, I don't remember having seen the pill box when I had retrieved Katsu's canned food earlier that morning. The singer must have taken the box sometime in the night, before he could forget about it. He had spent nearly a whole day alone with his pills, and judging by his current condition, he hadn't taken them responsibly.

It looked like we were dealing with an overdose.

I could hear Russel re-entering the room as I felt tears prick at my eyes. Suddenly, 2-D let out a loud, long moan. "Gonna be sick…"

"Russel, help me get him to his toilet, before he vomits on himself again!" Together, Russel and I pulled the trembling singer out of his bed, throwing his arms over our shoulder as we half-led, half-carried him towards the bathroom connected to his bedroom.

As we entered 2D's bathroom, I took note of the whale-adorned cereal box sitting on his sink. I continued to stare at the box, feeling a combination of horror, anger, and helplessness as we unloaded 2D next to his toilet. I could hear him dry heaving as I moved away from him, towards the sink, and picked up the light, now-empty cereal box. My sock-adorned toes bumped against the empty, plastic pill bottles littering the floor as I moved. I took a deep, shaky breath.

"Russel, will you stay here with 2D while I call for an ambulance?" I requested.

For a long moment, the drummer didn't respond. Feeling a painful flash of fear and irritation, I turned towards Russel, who was staring down at 2D as the singer gagged over the toilet bowl, failing to force anything out of his already-empty stomach. "Noodle…" Russel uttered slowly, his expression unreadable. "Come look at this."

I felt my anger flare. Why did Russel want me to look into 2D's toilet bowl? The singer had overdosed! If we didn't do something immediately, he would start to lose feeling, go unconscious, slip into a coma, and die! This was a waste of time!

However, I quickly tempered the strong emotion. Russel was my bandmate, he cared about both me and 2D, and he wouldn't ask me to look at something at a time like this if it weren't important. With an unsteady step I moved close to 2D and looked over his shoulder, into the toilet bowl.

Had I been thinking clearly, I might have noticed that the toilet, unlike 2D's bed, did not smell like vomit. As it was, I spent a long moment staring confused into the porcelain bowl before I registered what I was seeing. There was no vomit in the toilet bowl. Instead, the water had turned dark green, the same shade as 2D's pills. Half-melted pill casings could be seen sticking to the edge of the waterline, and a fine powder could dimly be made out at the bottom of the bowl of cloudy water.

I quickly compared the clear color of the vomit I had seen in 2D's bed to the sickly green hue of the dissolved pills in the toilet bowl.

"He didn't take his pills…" Russel said softly, his eyes fixed on the contents of the bowl. "They went in here, into the water. I think he dissolved all of them."

My eyes caught the movement as the shaking singer slowly raised his head, his gagging pausing long enough for him to bring his quivering, dark eyes to meet mine. The singer's lips trembled as he whispered, "h-had to… had to get rid of them… M-Murdoc gone… it was… my only chance…"

Then I understood. Somewhere in that confused mind, amid the pain of wanting his old self back and the unexpected freedom brought on by Murdoc's absence, 2D had made the drastic decision to get rid of his pills. The man wasn't overdosing. He was in withdrawal.

. . .

Much thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! I love hearing back from the people reading this, so keep it up!

Coming Up Next: 2D is in withdrawal! How will the band try to help him? Will they try to get him more pills, or will they let him go cold turkey? Will 2D stay strong with the decision he has made, or will he find himself crying out for the drugs he craves? Will the time away from his meds help 2D, or will it only make his condition worse? Stay tuned to find out!

by the way, I feel like I should mention that I don't know much about drug withdrawals and that I can't guarantee an accurate portrayal. I don't intend to offend anyone if my portrayal ends up being unrealistic.