Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
For the rest of the pre-chapter comments please see Chapter 7….
THANKS SO MUCH to YvetteDel who helped so much to make this chapter work!
Oh, and so much for keeping the mood light...
Darkness, pierced by sparks of hot light. Damp basement. Acrid smoke. The smell of metal, mildew and blood. A new light appears in the distance- white and artificial. The form of a face approaches. Not a face. A Mask. And all goes dark…
Charles bolted up from the nightmare and had to suppress a wave of nausea. For a second he panicked upon opening his eyes to darkness, but was quick to recall, as he did every morning, that this was the way it now was. Unfamiliar, however, were the blankets that surrounded him and the slightly musky odor of sweat and alcohol that clung to the air. He wasn't in his own bed.
"Hello?" he called out softly. Even at a whisper, the sound of his voice was grating and he winced as the pounding in his head grew stronger. He looked around uselessly, then grasped at the bedding that he knew was not his own. Where was he and how did he end up here? Why was it all so fuzzy? He could kill for a glass of water. He strained to recall where he had gone to sleep last night. A cold chill went through his body. Had he been captured again? What would they do to him this time… what more would they take from him? Panic seized him, and he quickly got onto his knees, into a position that he could spring from if he needed to move fast. But where would he go? He felt out on either side of him and couldn't feel an edge to the bed he was on. Suddenly it occurred to him- was he being watched? He stood very still, held his breath and listened. He could hear no other breathing, but thought he heard the sound of running water, coming from beyond this room.
Slowly and as quietly as he could, he crawled over the blankets. He would do well to get off this giant bed. Giant bed. That seemed to almost trigger a memory, but it was swallowed up by the pain and grogginess before its significance could be recalled. He reached what seemed to be the edge of the bed, and, as his feet hit the cold floor another realization came to him. He was fully dressed, in his usual suit, but his tie had been loosened and his shoes removed. Suddenly the sound of running water stopped and was replaced by some quiet unidentifiable noises. Charles stood upright. Why did it feel like his head was in a vice? He stumbled forward, hand out in front of him, until he felt a wall. He was about to start following the wall to try and find an exit when he heard a door open and someone enter the large room he was in. Poising lightly on the balls of his feet he turned towards the person, ready for anything.
"Well look who's finally alive? I was about to contact the morgue and have you picked up. Guess you don't pass out drunk too often though, do you?"
"Nathan?" Charles asked, not needing an answer. Nathan's voice was unmistakable. "I passed out drunk? Where am I? And what are you…"
Oh my god. Several possible scenarios rapidly flashed through Charles's hung-over mind. He needed to tread carefully here until he figured out what had really happened. He had to admit, as potentially awkward as this situation might be, he was immensely relieved at the casual tone of Nathan's voice, telling him that he wasn't in any danger, wherever he was.
"Wow, total blackout, huh? Not surprised. You were on fire last night!"
"Ah, I was… ah, on fire?"
"Well, no, I mean, not literally! But, yeah, man, you can knock 'em back. Oh hey, this might help refresh your memory…" Charles heard him approach. "Here… "Hair of the dog…" Nathan said. Charles reached out to accept the open and mostly empty bottle of brandy.
The sweet aroma jogged his memory just enough for him to recall that he had been with the band… in Nathan's room… The booze-chamber party.
"Wait, so that was your bed…" That explained the size. "And, ah…. Why was I, ah, in…"
"Well I felt kind of bad leaving you on the floor where you passed out last night. It's a big bed, it's not like you're the first guy that's ever shared it with me."
"Ah, really?" Charles inquired, all other questions pushed aside.
"Well yeah, I mean, Pickles was passed out on that corner last night… and this morning I wake up to find fuckin' Skwisgaar spooning Toki and Toki spooning Deddy Bear, right over there… uh… other corner of the bed. I don't know what the fuck happened to Murderface, but there's like four bottles of Southern Comfort missing so I think I can guess where that went.
"Ohhhh. Right. Well, ah, where is everyone this morning?"
"Morning? Charles, it's like 3pm. But don't feel bad, you really probably really needed to sleep. And that meeting you were supposed to have with the therapists, they called in on your watch… I said you'd reschedule. It's all taken care of."
"Nathan, why didn't you wake me?! Where are my shoes? I need to get going. God! I had a schedule!"
"Well one, because you were out cold and two, I took them off before moving you into the bed because, uh, people don't normally sleep with shoes on. Although I'm starting to think that you usually sleep in a suit and tie. Do you even know or care that it's Sunday today?"
"I just woke up from a nightmare and didn't know where the hell I was or how I got here, or why my head felt like it was going to explode, so no, I have to say, I was not aware of what day the week it was!" Charles cupped a hand over his throbbing brow. It was then that he realized he wasn't wearing the sonar devices.
"Did you take them off too!?" he fumed. "Jesus Christ! I don't need you to cancel my meetings, undress me and put me to bed! Did I ask for your help?"
There was a pause, and then Nathan replied, with a sliver of hurt in his voice.
"No, Charles, you didn't ask for it. You didn't ask for it because you don't need it, because you're smart and you get stuff done and this blindness shit is just some tiny road block on your path to… whatever the hell it is that you actually want! So don't let me stop you. Your stuff is all by the door. I'll see you at the next meeting or whatever."
But Charles just turned away. After a few deep breaths he turned back, his sightless hazel eyes glistening slightly.
"I don't know what I want anymore, Nathan. But do know that I don't want my problems to be your problems. I shouldn't have let you get so involved with… with my life right now. It's not fair to drag you into all this." He started making his way towards the door, one hand brushing the wall as he went.
"You didn't drag me in to anything. Were you even listening to what I just said!? C'mon, stop. Stop and look at me."
Charles whipped around and wanted nothing more than to glare at Nathan. "How dare you!?"
"How dare I what, speak English? The language didn't change when you went blind so don't expect me to change the way I talk. It's hard enough to get the damn words out!"
Charles raised an eyebrow but resumed walking, his outstretched hand reaching towards the countertop next to the door. When he connected with it, he felt with a foot for his shoes, and bent to put them on.
Nathan continued, "Look, I know you're better than me at, like, probably everything that isn't singing in Dethklok, but then shit happens and then I have one thing that I can maybe offer you. Offer, cause I know you'd never ask for it. Cause I'm sure you don't need it- you'd find a way, you always do. But I want to help. Because when you were gone, when we thought you were dead for nine months, guess what? We were fucked! Because we needed you. So why is it so hard for you to need us too?"
Charles silently stood and felt on the counter, grasping the two sonar devices and placing them in a pocket. He then took the cane, which Nathan had folded, snapped it back together and turned back to the singer.
"Nathan," he paused, and took a breath. "We can, ah, talk more about this later, but what I need, right now, is to just keep doing my job." He found his folded glasses and slipped them on with one hand, then turned back to the singer.
"I will see you at tomorrow's band meeting, okay?" and with that, he opened the door and left, ignoring Nathan's soft, wounded reply.
"No you won't. But I'll be there."
Continued...
