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PT.12
“Stop the car!” Mike suddenly shouted. Chad jumped and pounded down on the brakes, and the van squealed to a halt. They’d probably left a thirty-foot skid mark on the pavement. Mike opened the door and leaped out of the car. Tré had no idea where his friend was going, but he followed anyway.
Mike dashed to the edge of the bridge and leaned over the cement wall, looking down at the swirling waters. He felt sick and stood up, averting his eyes. He glanced up and down the bridge, but no one was in sight. He stood rigidly still for a few moments, staring into the darkness sightlessly, the wind whipping at his blond hair.
“Why did you stop the car?” Tré asked softly, breaking the heavy silence.
Mike didn’t answer. The four of them had driven all over town, searching for Billie, but there had been no successful results. And then Mike had struck upon an idea.
He remembered a day when they were both twelve. They had been going on a walk and came to the bridge, where Billie Joe hopped up and sat on the wall. He’d leaned back a little, gazing down at the rushing river, then said,
“I wonder what it’s like to die.” His eyes were glued to the water.
“Why are you saying that?” Mike asked, leaning against the cement and looking at his friend strangely. Billie shrugged, kicking his heels against the wall.
“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I was thinking about my dad. It was the anniversary of his death last night, and it got me thinking, you know? I was wondering if he felt any pain. I wondered what he was thinking when it happened, and what it felt like…to die.”
Mike stared at the ground beneath his worn sneakers. “Well…it must feel good,” he said suddenly. “I mean, it’s going to happen to all of us. It might be some sort of…relief, probably.”
Thinking back on it, Mike wished he’d never said that.
The very spot Billie Joe had questioned the concept of death could have been where he succumbed to it possibly an hour ago, a minute…who knows how long?
“He’s not here,” Mike whispered, his breath catching. Tré looked around them, looking crestfallen, his normally sparkling blue eyes shadowed.
“No,” he drummer clarified, “he’s not.” There was a painful silence, and the two boys forgot all about the adults waiting in the van, watching them. Mike sank back against the wall, breathing hard, and slid down until he was sitting on the ground. He wrapped his arms around his knees.
“Sh-should we keep looking?” Tré asked softly.
“No,” Mike said, and that completely shocked the other boy. “No, we shouldn’t. Billie’s gone.” Tré’s mind stumbled back and forth, trying to think of something to say. Mike couldn’t have just given up on his friend, could he?
“You―you can’t just quit,” Tré said, raising his voice in anger. “Billie might still be out there. We will find him, Mike―”
“No we won’t, Tré!” the bassist snapped, getting to his feet. He was a pretty intimidating sight, but Tré held his ground. “We won’t find him. He’s gone. Dead.”
“How do you know?” Tré asked, his voice deceptively soft and wavering.
“He jumped,” Mike stated. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it. Why would he continue living, with the sucky existence he has? He’s tortured on a regular basis. He’s given pain. His insides were torn to pieces, Tré. I saw it happen, even though I tried to prevent it. It happened anyway, and now…” Mike gestured blindly at the cement wall and the roaring river beneath. “It’s a way out, Tré. It’s an escape. And I’m sure he’s taken it. Whether he jumped off a bridge or shot himself in the fucking head.”
That was the last straw. Mike broke down completely. He collapsed against the wall, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Tears streamed down his face, his stomach convulsed in ragged spasms that caused his abs to hurt. Tré sucked in a breath at the sight of Mike, normally so calm and in control, absolutely let his emotions take over him. It was heart-breaking.
“Why―why di-didn’t I see this com-coming?” Mike gasped, struggling for breath. “I…I sh-should have seen it….He was so miserable…I should h-have known…” Tré slowly approached the trembling Mike and wrapped and arm around his friend’s heaving shoulders.
“No one can really predict these things, Mike,” he whispered, feeling his throat tighten. “Please don’t think it’s your fault…it really isn’t…” Tré felt tears coursing down his face.
Mike shook his head, not even bothering to waste what little breath he could get past his gut-wrenching sobs.
The two remained where they were, weeping bitterly. Ollie, inside the car, watched the two of them and felt her own tears. They care so much for Billie, she thought. And we’re not even sure we’re going to find him.
She felt a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Chad offering her consolation and support. He gave her a small smile, and she returned it, meeting his eyes. Tré had obviously inherited his own sparkling blue eyes from his father.
Ollie then looked back out the window. And gasped.
Mike glanced up when he heard footsteps, and saw someone approaching. Tré followed his gaze to the slender figure making its way down the bridge towards them, taking its time. When the person entered the light, however, Mike choked on his own air and felt his eyes go wide.
Without hesitation, he leapt up and sprinted straight towards the tired, worried-looking Billie Joe, standing there in all his haggard glory. Mike nearly tackled him to the ground. He threw his arms around his best friend and buried his face into Billie’s shoulder, crying new tears of relief. Billie Joe returned the embrace, guilty for all of the pain he’d obviously caused the boy in his arms.
Tré arrived only two seconds after Mike, and he joined in on suffocating Billie, who actually opened an arm in invitation. The three stood there silently, rocking, Mike and Tré clenching Billie Joe’s jacket in their fists with all of their strength, as if afraid the eldest boy would vanish if they let go of him.
They had to let go, though, for then Ollie was running over the pavement with full expectations of having her son back.
Mike and Tré backed off as she gathered Billie into her arms and held him close, starting to weep herself. She kissed his temple, his black spiky hair, his face, all the while keeping a death-grip around his waist. Finally she just held him tightly and wouldn’t let go.
“Don’t do that to me, baby,” she whispered in his ear, and he buried his face into her chest, hearing the rapid pumping of her heart. “Please don’t scare me like that, Billie.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I just…wanted to get away. I didn’t mean to scare anybody.” He pulled away and gazed at Mike and Tré, who were standing close together, their eyes wide and glistening. “But apparently I did.”
“No shit, jackass,” Tré said, attempting a smile, eyes watery. Billie smiled anyway, and, tugging himself out of his mother’s embrace, he pulled both of his best friends into his arms. They clung to him as if their life―or his―depended on it.
“We thought you were dead,” Mike whispered. Billie Joe didn’t respond, only held the trembling bassist tighter in a way of apology.
That night, both Mike and Tré slept over Billie’s house. They stuck by his side the entire time, as if frightened he would run again or disappear, and Billie saw just how much his actions had effected them. His mother, too, would poke her head into the living room (where they were lying on the floor, watching TV) every five minutes, possibly to check if he was still there.
Billie Joe didn’t catch a glimpse of Steve once. His stepfather was probably holing himself up in the basement, agonizing over the fact that he couldn’t get his evening beating in. And Billie was happy, if only for that night. He didn’t have to worry about torture or pain, and could enjoy his time with his friends, who he now knew were there for him.
He actually felt normal.
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Yes, things are actually looking up. Just wait, though...And GUESS WHAT?? We're actually nearing the end. Can you believe it? It's gonna be this post, then the next one...and it shall be climax time. Followed by a little cleaning up. It might not be pretty, though...
And there will also be a sequal! Yay!