Chapter 4

A thin layer of smoke hovered just below the ceiling of the dimly lit McKool's night club as the large crowd of teens and twenty-somethings eagerly awaited Green With Envy's set.
Ag and I watched from the photo pit as the crowd seemed to sway in unison as people shoved from the back in an effort to get a better view of the stage. I could tell people were already getting antsy, having sat through two less-than-stellar acts, and there was still one set before the headliners.
Roadies scurried to and from the stage setting up various pieces of musical equipment for The Mistake That Is You, an up-and-coming band I read about briefly in last month's issue of Alternative Press. I hadn't heard them yet, but judging from the masses sporting t-shirts purchased from merch tables along the back wall of the venue, they were obviously well-liked.
Lately I haven't been into music the way I once had. I'd catch a show here and there, but only if it was a band I was really interested in seeing, like Green With Envy.
My apathy toward the current scene is a polar opposite of when I was younger, when Ag and I would attend concerts practically every weekend. I remember the rush of adrenaline I'd get with the opening chord of a favorite band's set; the same adrenaline that sent bodies sailing on their journey to the stage, guided by thousands of arms of other fans waiting for their turn to do the same. Before I was able to obtain a photo pass I would use the reflection in my camera's viewfinder to dodge crowd surfers as to not get myself decapitated. I always carried a camera to shows hoping one day to somehow capture the invisible exchange of energy between a band and the fans that was almost overwhelming at times. I honestly never did. My photographs never gave justice to the feeling.
Music seemed somehow better then. More meaningful.
Then again, everything was far less meaningful now.
My reminiscing was interrupted by the low hum of a guitar and the thunderous applaud that followed.
While my mind drifted to the past, the roadies completed set-up. I hadn't even noticed the dimming of stage lights or the guitar player walk onto the stage and pick up his instrument, though he stood only a few feet in front of me.
I looked over at Ag and her camera was already drawn to her eye. We were given only the first three songs to shoot during, so every second was crucial.
I lifted my Canon DSLR to my eye and watched as the other members of The Mistake That Is You made their dramatic entrance on stage one by one, each adding their own instrument to the melodic opener. The blackness of the stage prevented me from getting a good look at any of them. I could only make out their slight frames, now silhouetted by rim lights.
It took several long seconds before the lead singer hopped on stage, microphone in one hand, bottled water in the other. His long anticipated presence was met with a loud cheer that half-startled me. I really was out of the loop. I wondered when this band became so well-known.
My lens was already focused in his direction when the lights came on, but the sight made me lower my camera. I could feel my eyes grow wider as he stepped into the spotlight.
He looked somewhat ethereal illuminated by the stage lights. His chin-length, brown hair was unkempt, like he just rolled out of bed. Carefree bangs swooped slightly over his left eye and light brown stubble circled his mouth and traced his jaw line. He wore a plain white t-shirt, familiar brown corduroy pants and a pair of tan moccasins. He was sloppy, yet somehow looked completely put together.
Rory.
Why didn't he mention the band during our long conversation last night? Why hadn't Gemma said anything about it? I wondered if Ag knew, but when I glanced over at her and watched as recognition flashed across her face, I knew she hadn't. She looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and continued shooting.
I was too dumbfounded to even think about taking photos. Though the heavy camera tugged at the back of my neck uncomfortably, I let the attached wide angle lens continue to point toward the ground, not at the stage where it should've been aimed.
His singing voice was significantly higher than I expected, but the quality and range was incredible. He sang with passion--his voice sometimes a low growl, sometimes a high-pitched squeal. He kept his eyes shut through most of the song almost like he was concentrating on summoning a deep pain from somewhere in the shallow depths of himself. His expression reflected the same and his body moved, possessed.
Watching him made me feel uncomfortable, like an intruder. There was something he gave off that made the scene seem so private, even though he was performing in front of hundreds of people. There was something so beautiful about his projected vulnerability.
When the song ended, it was like something inside of him was switched off, too. Like whatever was building up inside was laid to rest again. He opened his eyes, muttered a quick thanks to the crowd and smiled before turning around to grab a quick swig of water.
He hadn't noticed me yet. I felt like I should try to duck out before he did, but I couldn't bring myself to move. He sang the next two songs with the same intensity as the first and my eyes followed his every move, though I felt embarrassed by it.
At the end of the third song, Ag and I were tapped on the shoulder by the security guards signifying that our time was up in the photo pit. I glanced up one last time unable to help myself.
He was smiling at me.

Chapter 3

I felt like I was in a nightmare, but realized the pounding of my heart surely would've woken me out of even the deepest of REM sleeps.
Here I was lying helpless in a pitch black room, in a seedy apartment building, in an unfamiliar city, with a stranger staring at me through the darkness. I scanned the room for something I could use as a weapon, but didn't see anything promising within reach. I went to scream for help, but the sound just wouldn't escape my lips.
For the first time since Evan died I found myself wanting to live. There were things I still needed to do, wanted to do.
I had to live.
I finally managed to peel myself off the blue latex mattress, sticky with sweat from a combination of the overly warm apartment and my terror, but ended up tripping on the blanket that became twisted around me in the process.
"Are...you...okay?!...," a voice said between chuckles obviously directed at my grace, or lackthereof.
I froze. He was obviously toying with me, like a cat with a mouse before going for the kill, I thought.
He flipped on the lamp that sat on the end table beside the couch. He was smiling at me. Smirking, really.
"Hi," he said, still laughing. "I'm Rory. Gemma's cousin."
I watched him for a few moments, not really sure what I should do. If this was really Gemma's cousin, why didn't she say anything about him being here? Plus, he looked nothing like Gemma. He wasn't even Asian.
As if reading my mind, he said, "I was adopted."
I still didn't say anything.
"Look, I'll show you my license," he said reaching around his right side to the back pocket of his brown corduroy pants.
Finally snapping out of my trace, I mumbled that it wasn't necessary. That I believed him.
"I'm Garnet," I said awkwardly. "Gemma didn't tell me anyone else was staying here."
"Oh, yeah, well, she didn't know I'd be here. I told her I was going to spend the weekend over in Cherry Hill with some friends, but our plans fell through. She told me earlier this week she'd be having guests, so I tried to make plans to stay at another friend's house instead, but the few people I know around here are out of town for the holidays. So, I was forced to come back here," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I tried to be as quiet as possible."
"It's okay," I said looking at the clock. It was a little after 3 a.m., but I wasn't tired anymore. My adrenaline was still running and I knew it would be a while before I could relax again. Still, I sat back down on the latex mattress.
"I'm really sorry I scared you," he said.
"So, have you been staying here long?" I asked, changing the subject out of embarrassment.
"No, it's only been about two weeks. I'm from New York originally, but had been living in California for a while. I was looking for a reason to come back to the East Coast and the opportunity just happened to present itself, so I asked Gemma if I could stay here for a bit while I test the waters. I really like it. It feels like home to me, even after such a short time, so I think I'm going to look for a place of my own."
I never did fall back asleep. Rory kept me up the rest of the early morning, asking questions about my life, where I was from, etc. I found myself beating his ear off about Pittsburgh, my job as a photographer, my friends and, especially, about Evan. He didn't offer up as much about his own life, but every once in a while, he'd tell me a funny story about California.
There was something about him that I took comfort in. He was genuine and laid-back. He reminded me a little of Evan, even though he looked nothing like him with his messy, brown hair, scruffy face and slight build. He also didn't exude the same kind of joy Evan always had. Though he came off as a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, I saw sadness deep in his blue eyes.
"So, what are you doing here in Philly anyway?," he asked.
Before I could answer, Ag stumbled into the living room, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Rory and looked at me confused. Gemma followed a second later.
"I thought you were going to Cherry Hill?," she asked from behind Ag in the hallway.
Rory introduced himself to Ag and explained to Gemma about his plans before excusing himself to her bedroom to gather some clothes out of his suitcase and headed for the bathroom. I heard the spray of the shower beyond the living room wall.
"I'm sorry, Garnet. He said he wasn't going to be here. I hope he didn't scare the crap out of you!," Gemma said.
"Nah," I lied.
While Rory showered, the three of us decided to get dressed and go grab some breakfast at the small diner around the block. We had plans to visit some of the city's historical sights before the show at McKool's.
Before we headed out the door I called in to Rory to see if wanted us to stop by and pick him up after breakfast so he could come with us.
"Thanks, but I can't," he said, the water from the shower muffling his voice. "I have so much to do today."
"Okay, see you later!" I grabbed my wallet, cell phone and camera from the coffee table and ran to catch up with Ag and Gemma.

Chapter 2

We arrived in Philly a little after 11 p.m. It would have taken us a lot less time to get there had we not stopped for dinner, took several pee breaks and got lost in the city looking for Ag's friend Gemma's apartment.
For being only an hour before Dick Clark counted down the seconds to drop the mirrored ball at Times Square, the streets surrounding Gemma's place were bare. I guess everyone had already made it to their destinations by that point.
Gemma's, where we'd be crashing for the weekend, was on the third floor of an old building mostly occupied by law students attending Drexel University located just a few blocks away. The muted green hallway carpeting was stained with dirt and worn in several places. The trim that lined what used to be white walls was chipped and dingy. I silently prayed Gemma's place was at least a little nicer inside.
We finally heard signs of life as we made our way to the third floor. We could hear television sets tuned into the festivities at Times Square and the faint sound of a few party whistles blown in an apartment down the dimly lit hall. As we reached #315, I was glad no commotion was coming from inside. I really wasn't in the mood to party.
I haven't been truly happy at all since Evan died. It was almost like I wouldn't allow myself to even smile. It sort of made me feel guilty inside, that I could still enjoy things. That I could go on living.
Agatha knocked loudly on the door, her arms weighed down by two duffel bags and a folded up air mattress she brought for me to sleep on. Between the two of us, we probably had enough luggage to stay in Philly for a month.
Gemma opened the door with a whoosh and immediately threw up her arms to hug Agatha.
"Oh my God, it's so great to see you!," she said.
For some reason, Gemma was nothing like I pictured her. Ag told me she was Asian, but that was the extent of what I knew to base a mental image on. She was tiny...a few inches shorter than Ag who I had a good four or five inches on. Her chocolate hair was up in a messy bun on top of her head and she wore gray sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt. She wore little makeup, but was gorgeous nonetheless.
"Hi Garnet, nice to finally meet you. Ag has told me a lot about you," she said grabbing some of our luggage to help haul it all inside.
"You too. Thanks for letting us stay here for a few days," I replied.
The apartment was on the small side, but was much nicer than I expected. Polished dark hardwood floors spanned the entire place and two comfy-looking couches filled most of the living room. Aside from that, there was only one bedroom, one bathroom and a tiny kitchen, but it beat staying in a hotel.
After we got ourselves situated, Ag and I plopped ourselves on the couch with Gemma. I half-watched the annual Rockin' New Year's Eve special as the two of them caught up for a while with gossip about mutual Philly friends.
"I wonder how old Dick Clark is now?," I said to myself. "He's gotta be a robot."
**********************************************************************************
I admit that at first I wasn't wild about sleeping on an air mattress for two days, but I was actually pleasantly surprised by its comfort. I was so tired at that point from driving all day anyway that I could've probably fallen asleep on hot magma.
I pried myself out of my clothes and stepped into a pair of sweatpants and pulled a tank top over my head. I grabbed my iPod to drown out the television on in Gemma's room and settled onto the blue latex mattress.
I fell fast asleep rather quickly, but only about two hours passed before I was woken up again.
The room was completely dark and silent when I opened my eyes, but I felt like I wasn't alone.
I turned on my side and waited a few moments for my eyes to adjust when I noticed piercing blue eyes staring at me.

Chapter 1

"Garnet?! Slow down!!"
"Huh?...oh..."
I barely heard Agatha as she yelled at me to ease up on my lead foot. My body was on autopilot, but my mind took off in several different directions as I sped east on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Glancing at the speedometer, I knew I was going too fast for the wintry road conditions outside, but my mind was elsewhere.
It was New Year's Eve and I was so thankful to be rid of 2004 in less than 24 hours. It was a terrible year for me, at least toward the end, so Ag and myself decided to head to Philadelphia to ring in the new year with my favorite band, Green With Envy. They had a show tomorrow at a place called McKool's and we abused our press credentials and convinced the band's tour manager to allow us access to the photo pit, like we've done at least a dozen times before when we wanted to be up close and personal with one of our favs. It was only a matter of time, I guessed, before we would be caught red-handed and left in a boatload of trouble.
2004 started off good, actually. It was almost exactly a year ago when I saw Evan at that show at Club Castle. I remember scanning the crowd for Ag when his familiar face caught my eye. He was a friend of mine in high school. More of an acquaintance really. A hockey player. A friend of some of the neighborhood guys and an ex-boyfriend of my good friend, Marlyn. He was a year younger than me and two grades behind, so we didn't have classes together, but we talked enough for me to know that I truly liked him.
He had a way about him. He was fun-loving and charming in a way that instantly attracted people to him and he possessed a smile that could light up a room, as cliched as that sounds. He radiated joy and happiness. Always.
When I saw him at the concert that night, I could tell from all the way across the room it was him just by his smile. He didn't look all that different, actually. He still wore the same cab-driver looking hat he always wore back then and his notable black "chops" were still carved perfectly on the sides of his face. He wore a black The Clash t-shirt and green camo shorts that were obviously cut from pants as noted by the frays.
I fought my way over to him through a sea of girls with multi-colored hair and guys wearing studded black leather jackets, all dancing to the quasi-Irish band on stage. I intended just to say hi and continue looking for Ag, but that didn't happen. I guess I was a fool to believe getting away from Evan would be that easy, but I didn't mind. We made our way to the bar area and talked for the rest of the show about life in general since high school. He told me about a girl that recently broke his heart and about a job he was taking out in Vegas–in two days.
After the show, he invited me out to a going away party some of his friends were throwing for him, but I declined because I had to work early the next day. We ended up departing with promises to keep in touch through exchanged phone numbers, email addresses and AIM screen names.
It was only maybe a week before the square text box popped up on my computer screen one night.
"How's it going?," it said.
Even though the screen name was a vague mixture of numbers and letters, I knew it was Evan. We chatted quite a while that night. He was so easy to talk to—like a friend I've known my whole life.
Over the course of the next few months we talked more and more and I found myself looking forward to our chats. Despite the three-hour time difference, we always made time for each other.
We talked about everything and nothing at all. He was my shoulder to cry on when I had a rough day and I was a friend unconditionally as well as his connection to home. He loved his job, but was homesick. He didn't know many people in the city and expressed his loneliness often.
"When are you going to come see me?," he'd always ask.
A few weeks before his birthday in November he came back to Pittsburgh to visit his family and friends. His old bandmate was playing at a bar on the South Side one of the evenings he was here, so I tagged along to keep him company.
When he dropped me back off that night, he kissed me. It caught me so off guard that I quickly muttered goodnight and took off out of the car and into my house like a bolt of lightening.
I knew how I felt about him, but I also knew long-distance relationships just do not work.
After that, our talks online became less and less frequent and I guess it was my fault, even though I missed him a lot. I took a picture of the two of us at the bar when he was in town and I found myself looking at it often.
It would be the last picture I would ever get to take with Evan.
I got the call on a Sunday afternoon.
"Hello?," I asked into the receiver at Marlyn. I already knew it was her from the caller ID.
"I...have...to tell...you something..." she sobbed into the phone.
"Evan's...dead," she finally managed to get out.
I stood in silence as she told me he was in a car accident on his way home from a night out with friends the evening before. He was ejected through the windshield of the vehicle from the back seat and died on impact. He was the only one in the car who didn't survive.
After hanging up with Marlyn, I collapsed in overwhelming grief. I felt so cheated and so alone...
Not Evan.
A loud honk from a Buick whizzing down the left lane snapped me back into reality. I had to fight back tears as they stung the back of my eyeballs, trying to squeeze their way out.
"Garnet!!," Ag exclaimed.
"Are you trying to get us killed?!"
"Ah, no...I'm, I'm sorry," I stammered.
She gave me a dirty look as she lifted her headphones back to her dirty blonde hair then slowly closed her eyes and adjusted the passenger seat to a reclining position, tapping her fingertips on her other arm to the rhythm of whatever she had playing on her iPod at the moment.
I spent the remaining two hours trying as best as I could to concentrate on the increasingly snow-covered road.
Not on Evan.

Prologue

I've never felt as manic as I do in this moment. My chest feels like it's housing a 6-piece hardcore band and my lungs ache like I've just finished smoking Lucky Strikes one after the other for 20 years straight. I'm gasping for air, violently rolling down the window of my black Scion xB in an effort to entice Jack Frost himself to give me CPR. The air temperature is chilled, but my body feels like it's on fire from the inside out.
The roads over in Moonside are as slick and wet as the vinyl covered steering wheel before me, now dotted with countless tears. Mother Nature follows my lead and now my windshield is completely saturated with rain. Even on the highest setting, the wipers can't seem to catch up. They continue to sway across the smooth glass in time with MCR's first album playing on my iPod. The tree-lined stretch of Redwood Drive looks like an abstract painting through the smeared windshield.
By now my head is spinning like a top, but I'm unnaturally aware. Panic attacks, like the one I'm in the throes of right now, always heighten my sense of awareness like that. Everything is more vibrant, more saturated, and seemingly more alive, even as it feels like I'm dying on the inside.
With every few feet, a new set of streetlights beam across my face like single frames in a motion picture. Here and gone in a flash.
Just like your face. Just like your entire being.
Gone in a flash.
My legs feel both wobbly and like they are weighted down with sandbags. I'm near numb. I don't notice the needle of the speedometer inching its way further and further across the semi-circle. I don't notice what's in front of me. I never hear the screeches, the shattering glass. I never see the blood or feel it drip down the bridge of my nose.
Darkness seems to seep through the glistening asphalt roadway to envelope the world around me.
Everything is still except for the spinning of the front driver's side tire which turns and turns as Gerard Way continues to belt out tunes from my speakers.
"Until the end, until this pool of blood
Until this, I mean this, I mean this
Until the end of..."