Another short chapter, and I'm sorry y'all waited so long for itAs always, mad props and love for my Beta/PR Agent/Bodyguard, Erik.
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So it is to be war between us?
From "The Phantom Of The Opera" by Gaston Leroux
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Darren watched Mandi from the corner of his eye as she read the morning paper. A full day after the events at the Roxy and she didn't seem to remember a thing; he hadn't been able to really talk with her because Erik still needed so much of his attention.
He glanced back down the hall towards Erik's room as he carried his cup of tea over to the table to sit with Mandi. It had been around 4am in the morning that Erik had stopped the near continual retching and collapsed back into an uneasy sleep. Darren hadn't slept after that, needing to totally clean the bathroom and as much of Erik's bedroom as he could.
"Holy crow!" He jumped violently at Mandi's outburst and then swore softly as he upset some of the still scalding tea onto his hand.
"What is it?" he asked quickly, fearing she was suddenly experiencing a flashback.
Mandi took another bite from her toast and pointed to a small article in the paper. "Some kid was killed just outside the Roxy night before last," she answered, her eyes scanning the paper. "Says here that he was found garroted by some kinda wire and left out back."
Darren felt his blood run cold as he rubbed a hand over his scalp and examined the contents of his teacup. "Does it say anything about suspects?"
Mandi shook her head and answered through a bite of toast. "Nope; no witnesses and no murder weapon. The cozzers don't care about some dead punk."
He let himself exhale slowly with relief before he stood. "Think I'll go check on Erik."
She looked up from the paper, her face lined with worry. "How is he?"
"He's going through withdrawal," Darren called back softly as he moved down the hall. "He's peachy keen."
The only light in Erik's room were the few beams of sunlight that managed to push their way through the tightly drawn blinds, and Darren crept silently towards the bed. Thankfully, Erik was still asleep, curled into a tight ball beneath the comforter. He was also grateful to see that the level of water in the pitcher next to the bed was considerably lower. Between the scotch and the near continual razzing, Erik had become badly dehydrated last night, and to know that he could now keep down some water was reassuring.
Darren knelt next to the bed and began sifting through the scattered clothes. He was jumping to conclusions, he knew that. But still, he had to know. He felt his heart skip a beat and then race forward as he found the coiled guitar string beneath the kilt on the floor. Lifting it into the half-light, he squinted as he examined its length.
"What do you think ye'll find, Daisy Mae?"
He jumped violently at the sound of the raw whisper, the guitar string slipping from his fingers and back to the shadowy floor. Turning, Darren fought down a shiver when he caught Erik's gaze peering out from beneath the blanket; even in the low light, his mismatched eyes managed to catch a glimmer of light and glow eerily. Darren hated when his eyes did that.
He swallowed and tried to shrugged nonchalantly. "Dirty clothes; I figured I'd take a load down to the laundry mat."
Erik's eyes narrowed a fraction before closing with a soft sigh. Darren heard a muffled "Thanks Mum" as Erik pulled the edge of the comforter back down and turned away.
Shoulders sagging slightly in relief, Darren congratulated himself for being cool as a cucumber; until he realized he was now forced to do said load of laundry. He muttered a few emphatic swears as he gathered up Erik's dirty clothes and tucked them under his arm as he left.
Dropping the clothes in a pile just outside the door, he looked up to see Mandi walking past him to her room, a distasteful look on her face. Behind her, Jules Bucket openly leered as her retreating form as he leaned on the kitchen door frame. He fought down a sneer as he walked forward to address the crooked weasel. "What do you want, Bucket?"
"It's Boo-kay," the scrawny man snapped in reply before looking over Darren's shoulder to watch Mandi disappear through her door. "An' about ten minutes with that little tart would do me jus' fine," he muttered.
Fighting the urge to throttle him outright, Darren leaned against the entrance of the hall protectively. "Get to the point Jules."
With a laugh that would have made a hyena shudder, Jules clapped his hands together one and rubbed his palms eagerly. "Never muckin' 'round the bush are ye, Darren? Well, I've come into possession of some really primo Charlie, and I thought ta meself 'Oo's got a nose fer the good stuff? Why me ol' mate Erik Carver o'course!' and so I comes straight over."
"Sorry, Jules, he's quit," Darren replied with a curt shake of his head. And it was about time too; it was obvious that Bucket loved keeping a leash Erik by controlling his coke supply.
The weasel's face crumpled a moment and then grew suspicious. "Ye better not be tellin' me porkie pies, mate," he warned softly.
"He's not," The voice appeared out of nowhere, and both Jules and Darren flinched in surprise. Turning slightly, Darren watched Erik exit his room, dressed some faded linen pants and a form-fitting t-shirt. He moved smoothly, and even with the raw edge to his voice it would be nearly impossible to guess that he was going through withdrawal.
Bucket's lips pulled back in a crooked-toothed sneer, but Erik cut him off. "Bugger off, Jules; we'll see you at the gig next week and not before." A coward at heart, Bucket tucked tail and left the flat quickly, swearing and muttering to himself.
Once the weasel had left, Erik collapsed against the wall and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. Darren frowned in concern and watched him closely. "How you feel?"
Erik shot him a withering look. "Like I've been eaten by the dog that bit me and then shat out, you bent fuckwit," he growled. When Darren didn't rise to the bait, he sighed and pressed his thumb and two fingers through his mask to rub his eyes. "But better than yesterday."
Darren nodded silently and moved into his own room to continue gathering laundry, leaving Erik to mentally kick himself once again for being an ass.
He staggered into the kitchen. Being able to hold liquids down only meant one thing to him, and he reached for the liquor cabinet. It was time to start drinking again.
