Life on the Murder Scene

Gerard and Bert are both sitting on the couch when we get back. My older brother’s eyes are glazed over. I glance at the little LED microwave clock. It read 10:00. Sighing I squeeze Frank’s hand before dropping it. Seeing my brother like this makes me want to curl up and cry, but I know that I can’t. That wouldn’t help anyone. I need to keep it together.

“You have a nice walk?” Bert questions his eyes moving between Frank and I. Frank, noticing this scoots me behind him a little.

Mikey answers for us, “It was really nice. Today’s gonna be super hot though.”

“Good thing I’ve got a hotel for all of us then, huh,” Bert responds, the same ‘I’ve got three brain cells left’ look plastered across his face as usual. I wonder what other things he’s gotten Gerard into other than just the excessive drinking.

“All hail king Bert,” I answer before walking towards the back of the bus where Bob and Ray usually hide. Both have taken a don't ask, don't tell approach to my brother's drinking habits. Instead, they sit in the television room all the way in the back of the bus behind the bunks, working on creating backing tracks for the random lyrics Gerard sometimes leaves laying around. Eventually, the band will need to put out new music, even a single guitar riff or drum beat can lend itself useful in that process.

Flopping down next to Bob, I pick up the spare Xbox remote, fiddling with the controllers. My pills are starting to kick in, my ability to form coherent thoughts drifting away. Bob blinks at me, silently asking what's wrong. I don't usually venture back into Ray and Bob's cave and when I do it's usually for very short periods of time, Ray's disdain for me forcing me back into the main common area. "Gerard's plastered again. Bert's sitting up at the front of the bus like he owns the damn thing."

Bob nods slowly, "I know. Why do you think I'm back here? Whatever your brother and Bert want to do is their business. I'm just here for the music and the fans."

"He's going to drink himself to death." This is the first time I've ever said that out loud. While I've worried about my brother dropping over the edge of no return for some time now, I keep it to myself. Everyone else has things to deal with. Something about Bob's gentle demeanor, his ability to understand and know before I even say anything makes me feel comfortable voicing my fears.

Once again Bob nods, his kind knowing eyes staring right through me. "I know."

As I start to answer him, the sound of the ice chest opening draws my attention. I’m not going to sit here and let this happen. Throwing myself off the black leather couch, I hurry through the bunk's, snatching the already open beer can away from Gerard. Reaching back into the chest, I pull out a water, holding it out for my brother to take. He might be on the path to drinking himself to death, but I'm determined to steer his car in another direction. I won't lose my brother over this. “Why don’t we try that?”

“Hey!” a surprised Gerard exclaims, spinning around to face me. “Give me my beer back Makayla.”

“No Gerard. It’s hot out and you need to drink some water.”

My older brother reaches for his beer, but I move it out of his reach. “Give it to me. You can’t tell me what I can’t and can’t do." Gerard pauses for a second, realizing his error. "Shit, can and can’t do.”

“Gerard, it’s ten in the morning and you’re already shit faced! Just drink some damn water!” I answer back starting to get angry with him. Why the hell does he have to be so stubborn all the time? I’m just trying to help him. If he keeps drinking the way he is in the heat today he’s going to get sick The last thing we need is for fans or the press to recognize there is a problem.

“Just give me the fucking beer!” Gerard lunges at me. I lose my footing falling backward, smacking my head on the counter. The beer falls out of my hand, spilling all down my front. My brother just shakes his head, reaching into the ice chest to get another silver can.

Mikey, Ray, and Frank hurry over to me as my brother sits back down next to Bert. I try not to cry. I don’t want anyone to know how upset I am. My brother has never been violent before, not on purpose. He didn’t even care when I fell. I want to yell at him, tell him what a piece of shit he's being, and demand he get help, but the throbbing in my head prevents any words from escaping my lips.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mikey has my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “Makayla, are you hurt?”

Reaching around my head to where I hit it, my fingers make contact with a sticky wetness. I hold my fingers out in front of my face, trying to get them to come into focus so I can tell what's on them. Blood. Mikey frowns, his teeth working at his bottom lip as he tries to hold back his own tears. Frank looks like he’s ready to beat someone up. I reach for him with my non-bloody hand. He needs to calm down. The last thing we need is for the guys to be fighting amongst themselves. Brian would pull the tour for sure and we can't afford that right now.

“Guy, she needs to go to the hospital,” Ray, who is always the practical one, says. “I’m gonna find someone with a car and take her.”

“No, I’ll take her,” Frank says his eyes still set on Gerard. My oldest brother is sitting on the couch next to Bert, the two engaged in conversation as if nothing happened.

“You hate hospitals, Frank,” I mumble, trying to keep my thoughts present. The fog has fully enveloped my brain, making it hard to remember what I want or need to say. “I don’t need to go to the hospital...I’ll be fine.”

“Please just let Ray take you to the hospital, Mak,” Mikey answers back. I flick my eyes back to his face. It sways before my vision before becoming a solid object. I'd really love to just lay down and take a nap. I'm sure I'd feel better if I could just close my eyes for a few minutes.

“He’s gonna miss the – ” I can’t seem to remember the word. Just as quickly as it forms it is turned to vapor and lost forever. “The….”

“It’s not important. We’ll let him know when we play.”

“The show,” I mumble unable to remember where I was going with that comment.

“It’s fine,” my brother answers as Ray comes back into the bus.

“I’ve got a car. Can you guys get her out to it?”

Mikey helps me up off the bus floor. I look at Gerard as we pass. His eyes are yellow, surrounded by rings of purple left by endless nights of passing out too late and waking up too early. Even though I want to believe he'll apologize, I know in my heart that he won’t remember any of this in a few hours. For the first time in my life, I feel genuine hatred for my older brother. His habit has made him cold and uncaring. Gerard's only goal is to get drunk and he doesn't care who he hurts, physically or mentally, in that process. He's turned into a monster that, up until a few weeks ago, I only ever had nightmares about. How do you fight a demon who's dressed up in your loved one's clothes?

It’s almost a forty-minute drive to the nearest hospital. I ask Ray where we are going three times. Each time he rolls his eyes a little, but answers calmly. I feel bad for being such a burden. He doesn’t even like me.

The doctors look over my head and confirm that I’m totally fine and that it’s just a flesh wound.I guess when you hit your head you just bleed a lot more than usual. The tiredness and fog I complained about were explained away by my ingestion of the anti-anxiety medication. Apparently, I've been right all along, the doctor recommending I get my pills switched as soon as I'm able. Loss of memory and the ability to think straight is not supposed to occur. I’m kept for observation, the hours ticking slowly by. Ray sits with me the whole time, reading a comic book with his feet popped up on the end of my bed. He looks surprisingly content despite the circumstances.

“Sorry I made you take me to the hospital,” I mumble, rolling over to face him. I’m tired of this bed and really just want to get back to the bus. I have things that need to get done today and this trip really messed up my timeline.

“Not a big deal,” Ray answers, not taking his eyes off he colorful pages of his book.

I swallow. “Maybe I should just go home. I could book a flight and leave tomorrow. I bet the school would give me my job back. I’ve not been gone for too long.”

“I don’t think you should leave,” Ray answers, putting his comic book down and scooting his chair closer to me. “I think you’re brother’s gonna sober up a little and feel like shit for what he did. Honestly, I think you might be the only reason he's still hanging on. The rest of us would have stopped babying him a while ago.”

I blink back at him, not really knowing how to respond to his comment. While Ray has never been outright mean to me, I wasn't expecting him to be so willing to offer advice or ask me to stay. I’m still angry at Gerard for earlier. I guess I’m going to have to get over that. You can’t be angry at someone for doing something that they don’t remember doing. Sighing, I sit up, pulling my knees up to my chin.

“You’re supposed to stay lying down.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

Ray smirks a little, “You’re just as stubborn as your brother.”

I laugh a little, realizing that his statement is true. “I just can’t sit and watch him do that to himself. He’s been bad before, but never like this.”

“If you leave he’s not going to have anyone to remind him to take his pills or buy him a toothbrush or take his shoes off when he passes out at the end of the day. I think you should give it a few more days and see if you still feel this way.”

“Why? You didn’t even want me to come on this tour with you guys anyway.”

Ray smirks again, “You’re good at reading people. I just didn’t want any extra weight. You haven’t been on tour before. I didn’t know if you could hack it,” Ray answers, ensuring that he's making eye contact with me.

“Well, can I?”

The guitarist shrugs, “Ehh, I’ve not decided yet. So far, you've been pulling your own weight.”

“I respect you for that, Toro.”

He nods as his phone starts to ring. Digging it out of his pocket, he flips it open before pressing it to his ear. “Yellow.”

I try to listen to who is on the other end but can't make out the voice clearly.

“Okay. I think she’s got another fifteen minutes or something. Yeah. Okay.”

I give Ray a quizzical look as he hangs up, shoving the phone into his jeans pocket. He gathers up his comic book and a few other papers that the doctor gave us. “That was your brother. He was just letting me know when we were playing. I’m gonna make it back in plenty of time. Frank’s worried about you. He’s got the biggest damn crush on you. It’s annoying as all hell if I’m being honest.”

I laugh. “Why be anything else?”

Notes