I remember the day I left like it was yesterday but then I suppose I think about it every day, wondering if there was anything I could have done to have things turn out differently. It was a Friday night, no different from any other. We were at the Velvet Onion and he was having a blast. He had just done a set with whatever his latest band was called (it seems awful that I can't remember their name, but back then he was in so many bands that it was impossible to keep track) and, as usual, the crowd had loved him. He had been throwing shapes as though his life depended on it, his clothes clinging to his thin frame, leaving nothing to the imagination. The little tart! The audience had loved it, and I had loved it. In that moment, I was so proud of him. Sure, he could be a little titbox when he wanted to but there, up on stage, he was finally showing the world 'Vince Noir, Rock n Roll Star', as he had always promised. And then, all too soon, it was over. Once offstage, he had worked the room, flirting with anyone that made eye contact with him, and plenty who hadn't. He drank the endless drinks put in his hands, kissed the eager lips, pouted for photos, and stole the attention of everyone in the room.
Some time later, I had found him in the bathroom. He was staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror, although from the way his eyes rolled in his head, I doubted he was seeing very much. His eyeliner was smudged and someone's lipstick was smeared across his face, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Come on little man, time to go home."
He had shaken his head stubbornly, reaching for the half empty drink which was balanced precariously on the side of the sink, at the last moment changing his mind and darting into the nearest toilet stall, emptying the contents of his stomach into the dirty porcelain bowl. Holding him close to keep him upright, I had guided him through the club and out into the cold night air, hoping it might sober him up a bit. Instead it just made him shiver, his thin silver t-shirt offering little protection from the biting breeze. The twenty minute walk home was going to take hours, each step forward accompanied by a rock back and a lurch to the side and I had contemplated leaving him outside the venue while I ran home to fetch the van, but decided I couldn't trust him to stay where he was and not go wandering (well, staggering) off.
It was at that moment that a taxi screeched around the corner (in retrospect, this wasn't exactly a good sign), the passengers jumping out right next to us. Somehow escaping my grasp, Vince slid onto the now empty back seat of the cab, earning himself a filthy look from the sullen driver.
"Are you getting in or not? I'm not taking him alone, he can barely sit up, how's he gonna give directions?" he had snapped impatiently.
"M'fine, just wan' go home," slurred Vince, really not helping his case at all.
Stupidly I had agreed, having to take the front seat as Vince had already fallen asleep sprawled across the back. I was pleased to note, however, that somehow he had managed to fasten his seatbelt prior to passing out, clearly my constant lectures on the importance of being safe had registered with him.
The next thing I knew, we were rounding a corner far too fast, the back end of the car flicking out, the driver wrestling with the steering wheel, trying to regain control, sending us directly into the path of an oncoming bus. And then there was nothing.