"Where is he, why the hell can't those worthless fucking cops get it through their thick skulls that he didn't just fucking run off?" Murdoc yelled angrily, he slammed his fist into the wall immediately regretting the decision as a sharp throbbing pain shot through his hand.
He jumped back cradling his now sore hand against his chest.
"Fuck!"
"Calm down you aren't helping anything by acting like a complete jackass." Russel said from his position on the couch.
Murdoc hated the way his band mates could act calmly about this; pretend that they weren't losing it on the inside. Murdoc had never truly been one for holding in frustration and rage especially when he felt scared and helpless.
"What and just sit around like you two?"
He gestured to Noodle and Russel who had spent the past three minutes sitting patiently while he ranted on about how the police weren't trying hard enough.
"Maybe he did just run off, you do treat him badly sometimes." Noodle said her voice soft, calm.
"He didn't run off, I told you two that already. I didn't, I didn't do anything to make him do that; I don't think that I did, I called his cell phone and it just goes to the voice mail. He never leaves his phone off; something had to happen to him."
Nearly an hour ago the police had been back at their home to discuss what was going on. They were looking into suspicious activity in the area and nearby towns and cities just in case there was anything, but they still clung to the idea that maybe 2D had just run off for whatever reasons. Murdoc knew better, he felt something was fucking wrong and nobody would listen. It was driving him completely insane, if he even had the slightest clue of where to look or what to look for then he'd go and do it.
"I know, we all know, but we've got to let the police do their thing. There really isn't much that we can do until they actually find something." Russel explained calmly.
"I'm going to my room, I need a damn drink."
That's another thing; he'd been somehow drinking more than he normally did. The stress, depression, and the frustration with this whole situation.
He stopped off in his Winnebago long enough to grab three bottles of beer, and a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels then went off to 2D's room. He closed and locked the door behind him; he went and sat down on the singer's bed and began drinking.
2D's room always smelled like candy and cigarettes, it was a really odd smell. Fuck he missed him, this had to be his entire fault; it was selfish to make this about himself but it was sort of the butterfly effect. If he hadn't rejected him, if he'd just told him that he loved him then none of this would be happening. He would do anything to have 2D back; he would tell their band mates they were dating even though Russel already knew, he would tell everybody in the world, he'd never hurt him or insult him, or make him feel bad about himself. He would give him everything in the world, he would tell him how much he loved him and how this was driving him insane.
There were so many possibilities about what could have happened and each one was worse. He sometimes imagined the police coming to Kong and telling him they found 2D's body in a ditch or an alleyway, that there had been a car accident, a random mugging gone wrong, or some pointlessly cruel murder. He awaited the worst possible scenarios and each one haunted him with annoying vivid images. He didn't want that, he wanted him her in bed with him; he wanted to hold him and apologize until Hell froze over.
"I'm sorry, alright? I fucking love you, just come home already." He muttered to himself.
