Nick laid on his back on the comfortable posh hotel bed, his head resting wearily on the soft pillow, and he stared up towards the ceiling above his head. Any other day he would have given his right arm to still be laying in bed at 3:00 in the afternoon, listening to the radio, this comfortable... to be this alone in a world where he often felt constantly surrounded by friends and fans. Today though, it seemed like such a waste. An incredible waste of life and time and he felt like he should at the very least, not be laying in this bed doing nothing at all while two of his friends were suffering in the hospital and a murderer was somewhere running lose.
He'd tried to sleep, tried to at least get a small bit of rest, but his attempts at sleep and rest had been futile. His thoughts continued to race. Images of the dead man replayed constantly in his mind. Everytime he closed his eyes the blood and guts and gore awaited him. What had he missed? What had he remembered? What had he seen that morning that could be a clue to the mystery of this ordeal?
Nick had often considered himself an overanalyzer and for the most part anyone you asked who was close to him would agree. Trivial things stuck with him, small fights festered, words hurt, old wounds never healed and images and memories of things said and done could never be erased. The other guys had often told him to relax... to just 'let it go'... if only they realized how extremely difficult that was for him to do. He'd often thought the way he was had come from his childhood. He'd remembered every bad day, every fight. He'd remembered each harsh word said and the exact tone of voice with which they'd been thrown his way. He'd remembered the way his mother's hair fell in her eyes and the yellow shirt she was wearing and the way her eyebrows turned inward in anger the very first time she slapped him across the face... and he was only 15 then. He remembered the exact shape of the wound on his knee -- it looked just like a star to him -- the night his father shoved him down outside their house after he'd had a little too much to drink. He also remembered the smell of the drink on his breath -- tequila -- and the look of rage in his eyes and the fact that his father himself had a slight scratch above his left eye that Nick never bothered inquiring about.
He remembered all of these things and now there were so many more horrible images to add to his stock supply of agony. The man on the floor... the elaborate wounds. The people he'd met in the lobby that morning, the colors, the smiles, the things they held, the clothing. These were the things he would always remember. He'd told the detective, he'd let it all go... but now he laid here in this hotel room, on the comfortable bed and the thoughts still plagued his mind. He'd thought that letting go would help... it hadn't changed a thing.
Now all he wanted to do was go find his friends.
Howie laid on the couch across the room from Nick, watching silently as the young man stared up at the ceiling, humming quietly along with the Counting Crows on the bedside radio. Howie had remained by himself in the other hotel room for a while after his interview but the lonliness and the eerieness of it all had started to get to him. He'd gotten used to being with his brothers over the years and had to admit, he enjoyed the companionship. He'd honestly thought when he'd joined Nick the two of them would talk about the morning, the things they'd seen, what they'd experienced... but they hadn't done that at all.
He'd walked into the room a while ago and he'd taken a seat on the couch next to Nick and he'd watched as the young man contined to stare out the window and chew on his fingernails.
"You okay?" He'd asked, because really he had no idea what else to say.
Nick only shook his head. Of course not... he wasn't okay so why should he expect Nick to be?
"You want to talk about things?"
Nick shook his head again. Clearly he didn't and this was completely understandable. Howie had no idea what went on in the other hotel room. He'd stayed by Brian and Aj's sides as the mass of people had run in and out of the various rooms. He'd been too busy trying to stop the oozing of his best friend's blood to get up and go check out what was happening. He'd heard things though... this morning and in the hours following. How ungodly horrible the site in that room had been. How awful the murder, how brutal, and he knew that Nick had seen it firsthand. He couldn't imagine the pain the young man was going through.
"I just want to get out of this damn hotel," he'd been startled when Nick had spoken, jerking him away from his own thoughts. He'd nodded in agreement and reached out a tentative hand. "I know... they have to let us go soon."
He wanted to believe that was the truth, but he wasn't so sure. He'd seen the guards standing outside our doors... the police tape plastered throughout the hallways, the insane number of officers milling about the halls. He couldn't imagine they'd be letting the two of them go any time soon. Especially with the murderer still on the loose.
That was when Nick had stood and walked over to the bed. He'd collapsed in a heap there, not even bothering to turn down the covers. He laid there and stared up at the ceiling, flipping on the radio beside the bed. Music had always been Nick's escape from the world... Howie was thankful for that this time. He laid back on the couch myself and tried to relax.
He was staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts when they finally walked through the door.
"You are both free to go now," the female detective spoke with a warm smile, "I'm sorry we had to keep you so long... please understand this was standard procedure in a case like yours."
He nodded, not knowing any other appropriate response. This didn't seem a good time for 'thank yous.'
"This if officer Sullivan," the young detective who'd interviewed him earlier interupted, ushering another officer into the room, "he will escort you both to the hospital to see your friends. Please be warned we do not consider either of you out of danger at this point."
Nick had stood by then and joined them there in the doorway. He was nodding towards the detective, obviously eager for everyone to shut-up so they could leave.
The detectives continued with a few more warnings and some updates that amounted to nothing useful and which both Howie and Nick were ignoring as they gathered their belongings and followed officer Sullivan out the door of the hotel room and down the elevator 15 floors, through the lobby and out to the waiting cruiser.
The two of them had one thing on their minds...
Their brothers.
