AN: Not much happens in this chapter; it's more like the aftermath of the murders. I know, I know, I'm extremely cruel, but I don't enjoy killing people off! It's kinda like the saying, you write what you know. Besides, over half of the HSM stories are happy ones. I'm joining the ranks of the authors who write tragedy, just because not all life is happy.

BTW I have, like, really emo chapter titles for this story. I got them all off the HP section. :)

Title: Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story
Rating: T
Author: MadiWillow
Summary: A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.
Genre: Drama/Tragedy
Chapter: Of the Hours

Of the Hours

The day after Gabriella and Isabella's murders, Maria and my parents both flew in. Maria arrived first and was escorted to my room by the manager, who promised to give her a free room as well. I wondered why the nicest hotel chain in the world were so willingly renting out their rooms for free, but I guess since the Hiltons had so much money they wouldn't even notice the difference if they let everyone stay in their hotels free for a year.

Maria and I embraced tightly when she arrived, and she sobbed in my shoulder. She was so hysterical that I grew worried; I'd never seen anyone so distraught before in my life. She kept wailing, "Not my Gabi... poor Isa..." Her cheeks were stained with the dried tears that had been pouring down them for the past 12 hours.

My parents arrived about two hours after Maria. They sat on my couch (after we were informed that they were given a room as well), my dad cradling my mom, and cried. We sat in my room for most of the morning, too upset and drained to do much. The air was thick with emotion, and I can vaguely remember the stench of salt-water tears floating around.

At around noon, my mother asked if we could see them.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea..." I remember mumbling, thinking about my own reaction after seeing them.

"I want to see my babies," Maria had said defiantly, standing up. My parents had stood up too. The three of them stared at me.

I sighed. "Okay. I'll give Captain Simpson a call." I remembered the card he'd given me the night before and took it out of my pocket to phone him. When he answered I told him why I was calling and he said he'd meet me at my house, where he warned there were detectives examining the scene.

We asked the concierge at the hotel to call us a cab, but instead they insisted on driving us in a limo. Although unnecessary, we agreed.

When we arrived at my house, I felt my stomach churn dangerously. Inside that house, my wife and daughter lay dead... in the house we'd called home.

Captain Simpson greeted us as the limo driver opened the door and we exited. I introduced him to my parents and Maria as he led us inside.

Before we entered my bedroom, which was filled with detectives making notes and taking photographs, Captain Simpson stopped my parents and Maria and said to them, "The sight ahead is extremely disturbing. I want to make absolutely sure that you're ready to see it."

The three of them nodded defiantly, blinking back tears. The Captain nodded and led them inside, where Gabriella and Isabella were still lying, naked and beaten. Maria screamed when she saw them and collapsed onto the ground, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. My mother turned and started to weep into my father's chest. He put his arms around her and held her close, tears dripping off his own face.

I let out a sob, but the sight didn't shock me as much as it had the night before. The tears still came out, though I was amazed I still had some left in me, before I turned to the Captain.

"Is there a murder weapon?" I asked, remembering I hadn't seen one the night before.

He sighed and shook his head. "We found none at the crime scene, although, after examining their injuries, we're pretty sure the weapon was a golf club, or some other thin, metal instrument."

"They were beaten to death..." I whispered, horrified, "...by a golf club?"

The Captain nodded grimly.

I swallowed, tasting salty tears. "Have they been examined to know if..." I trailed off, but Captain Simpson knew what I meant.

"Yes, they both were sexually assaulted," He nodded sadly. "There was semen found around both of their vaginal areas and..." He faltered before clearing his throat and continuing, "-and some on your daughter's mouth."

After hearing that, I felt some bile rise up in my throat. I managed to control myself before stuttering, my throat tight, "H-her mouth?"

He nodded gloomily. "Yes. We've collected some semen samples to test in the lab. Hopefully we can match it up with someone."

After my parents had seen enough, we went back to our hotel and found my seven oldest friends from high school exiting a couple cabs in front of the hotel. Two of my good friends, as I've previously mentioned, are Sharpay Baylor and Ryan Evans, the Tony-award winning Broadway performers, Sharpay's husband, Zeke Baylor, and their three-year-old son, Tony (no, that's not a coincidence). I'm also good friends with Chad Danforth, also previously mentioned, a member of the Sacramento Kings, his wife Taylor, and their son.

I led them all upstairs to my room, while Maria and my parents retreated to their own respective rooms. My friends Jason and Kelsi Cross, Kelsi then being four months pregnant, sat on my bed as Kelsi sobbed into Jason's chest. Gabriella and I had been Kelsi's first real, true friends, as she had always reminded us. Gabriella's death had definitely hit her hard.

Ryan sat on the couch, next to the window, with his then-fiancé, now wife, Riley, stroking her hair as she cried. Riley had not been a friend in high school, but Gabriella had met her while we were at USC; she was the one who'd introduced her to Ryan. They were very close. Everyone who knew Gabriella couldn't help but feel drawn to her.

They asked to see her and Isabella's bodies, but I pleaded with them to wait until the next day. I'd just seen them a few hours earlier – I couldn't bear to see them again.

We sat in my room for a while, silent, before we found ourselves talking about Gabriella. We were reminiscing about her; retelling our favorite memories.

"I remember when I first saw her with you," said Sharpay with a watery smile. Her son sat on her lap, patting her on the arm. "I was thinking, 'why is Troy Bolton showing around the new girl?' I wanted you all for myself." She let out a sob, and Tony looked up. He took her hand and brushed at her tears, saying, "Don't cry, mommy."

Sharpay didn't answer; she just shook her head and closed her eyes tight, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. Tony stood on her lap and hugged her, his dark skin and black curly hair brushing her tear-stained face. Zeke leaned over and rubbed his son on the back, encircling his other arm around Sharpay's waist.

"And we were so angry when we found out you two were auditioning for the musical," Ryan piped up, her voice cracking. Riley sat next to him, her hand on his knee. "We couldn't even stand to think about the possibility that we might not be in the next musical... now it seems so trivial that, back then, that was our biggest worry in the world."

Taylor choked out, "And remember what we did to them?" She said, looking around at her husband, Jason, and Zeke. "We tried to break them up by taping Troy saying those horrible things... I just can't believe we did that... I'm so sorry Troy."

I shook my head. "No, don't worry about it. We made up. Don't beat yourself up over that."

"Oh, I can't stand this!" Kelsi nearly screamed in agony. She picked up my TV remote and switched it on. The channel was still switched to ABC, much to our dismay, as the national news had just started.

We all stared at the TV, stunned, as the famous anchorwoman reported, "Last night, Troy Bolton fled the L.A. Lakers/New York Knicks game, much to the confusion and suspicion of sports fans everywhere. That is, until the news broke that his twenty-seven-year old wife, Gabriella Montez-Bolton, and their nine-month old daughter, Isabella Bolton, had been murdered. As Captain Simpson of the Los Angeles Police Department was leaving the station earlier today, he said this much."

The scene cut away from the red-haired anchorwoman to Captain Simpson, pushing through a crowd of reporters and paparazzi at the front of the L.A.P.D. He was saying, "The only thing I can confirm is that they died last night. Don't ask me anything else. When Mr. Bolton decides to release all the details to the public, you'll all be the first to know."

It switched back to the anchorwoman, who said, "All that's known is that Mrs. Bolton and their daughter were bludgeoned to death in their Los Angeles home sometime around 8:20 p.m. Reports that they were sexually assaulted remain unconfirmed."

"Can we please turn this off?" I remember asking weakly, feeling as if I were about to explode. There were so many emotions running around my head that I felt like I was going to pass out. Kelsi quickly turned it off and looked at me, her eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," I answered hoarsely, standing up. "I need to make a phone call," I announced, wanting to get away from their saddened expressions. Even though I didn't want to, I decided to call my coach, as I still had to work out what I was going to do for the rest of the basketball season.

My coach told me I could have the rest of the season off, mostly because the owners of the team were afraid I wouldn't play my best. But I was grateful, since the last thing I wanted to do was play in tomorrow night's Florida game. I promised I'd be able to get back to the team come training in July.

The next morning, Officer Simpson called me and told me that they had collected a couple more DNA samples from the scene; some hairs and bits of skin they'd found under Gabriella's fingernails. He asked if it was okay if they sent the bodies down to the morgue, as they didn't need them anymore. I said okay; no longer would I have to see Gabriella and Isabella in that horrifying position.

I took my friends down there (in another limo) at around 10, after we'd all woken up and eaten a little. I didn't eat, however; I barely had since the murderers. Taylor tried to get me to have a slice of toast, but I just couldn't. The thought of eating when Gabriella was dead made my stomach resist food.

Gabriella and Isabella hadn't been cleaned up quite yet when we got there. They were still naked, with dried blood all over their bodies. The only thing different about them was their position; when we got there they were lying in coffins.

Taylor and Kelsi both broke down when they saw their bodies, which in turn caused Caleb, Taylor's son, to cry too. Chad comforted his wife and son while Jason soothed Kelsi. I swallowed my tears, surprised I even had some left.

Sharpay screamed at the sight of Isabella. Half of her face still looked as though it had been torn off, and my heart seemed to explode. 'Why didn't I just miss that game? Why did I have to go to work that day?' I was thinking.

It was then that I realized Isabella's coffin had to be a closed casket at the funeral. I didn't want it to be, but Sharpay had always been a fan of slasher movies. For her to scream at something like that would almost guarantee that most of the other guests would get sick looking at her. As much as I wanted people to be able to say good-bye to her properly, I knew it wouldn't work out that way. My nine-month-old daughter was going to have to be buried in a closed casket.

On our way back to the hotel, the three girls decided that they would go shopping to buy a nice dress for Gabriella and Isabella to be buried in. They asked if I wanted to go, but I knew I wouldn't be much help. I didn't care what they were buried in, as long as they didn't have to go down naked.

The limo dropped the guys, Tony, Caleb, and I off at the hotel while the three girls went to buy the dresses. We returned to my room, where my newspaper had been stuffed into the crack between the door and floor. I remember picking it up without looking and tossing it onto the couch. Ryan grabbed it and stared at the front page, his face pale, before saying, "Troy, you might wanna take a look at this."

He handed it to me, and I glanced at it, not knowing what was on there, where I saw the huge headline, "Basketball Star's Family Found Murdered." There was a picture of me and Gabriella on our wedding day, and an article about the killings.

I remember feeling light-headed after reading that. My world was spinning, and I vaguely remember sitting down. Why was this in the newspaper? I was thinking. Why is it on the national news? Why does everyone care so much? I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.

Later that afternoon, the Captain called me and told me that a cleaning service the police department had hired, free of charge, had completed fixing up my room and I could go back. So that night, I packed up the little stuff I'd brought with me to the hotel and moved back home.

It was strange standing in my room again, seeing the blankets sparkle at me, completely spotless. Looking around, I was happy to see that all of the blood had been cleaned up. However, it made me nauseous when I thought about how the Captain had informed me that they'd been there for six hours. It took six hours to clean up all the blood.

As I unpacked, I saw that one thing had been left behind. The small note with the vague writing of "I love you Troy" was sitting on my night table, along with a note from Captain Simpson. He wrote that he thought I might want to have it.

Feeling eternally grateful for Captain Simpson's thoughtfulness and generosity, I picked up the paper and cradled it in my hand. Even though my wife and daughter were dead, brutally murdered, with the killer not yet caught, I felt slightly better to know that I was the last thing on my wife's mind before she passed away.