Page 112 of Dirty Chorus

“Yeah, I got home around two this morning.”

“And the door was just wide open.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know if anything was stolen?” he asks.

I shrug. That was the least of my concerns. “I don’t know. I didn’t have time to look.”

“Do you have any security cameras we can review?”

“They haven’t worked in years, sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. I haven’t slept, and I’m starting to become delirious.

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you or your grandfather?” Him no, me yes. But he was at the concert, unless he bombarded my apartment before the concert even started. That thought – of Gramps laying on the floor for hours – makes me even sicker.

“The cameras aren’t working, so I'm not sure what good accusing someone is going to do.”

“Do you have any names, any leads?”

Yes, Brody Thomas and his band of merry assholes. I pause for a second, swallowing hard because I can’t accuse him without evidence. I think Charlie mentioned his dad is some hotshot lawyer or something. I shake my head, crestfallen.

“Well if anything comes to mind, let us know.”

“Thanks.”

The officer walks out with heavy steps. I decide to sit in the chair beside Gramps, hunched forward, elbows on my knees. My leg won’t stop bouncing. At some point a nurse came in and noticed my knuckles, offering me an ice pack and a wrap to cover it. I took the kind gesture, but at this point the pain in my head is worse than crushed bones in my hands.

Eventually I was able to speak to a doctor. It took them long enough to finally come in and run tests, but the second they say he indeed had a stroke my ears start to ring and the doctor's voice fades into nothing. I can’t hear a damn thing. He had a stroke before arriving, and another on the way here. It’s gnawing at my insides that if I was with him maybe I would've been able to get him help sooner. That I would've been home to stop someone from invading my house and hurting him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration cutting through the soft hiss of oxygen. I almost ignored it, but the name on the screen made me answer.

“Hey Omen,” I say.

“Hey, man. I didn’t wanna bother you, but this dude, Ryder, uhh he just stopped by the house… He’s looking for Charlie. Said she’s been missing since last night, doesn’t know where she's at.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know where she is.”

“You haven’t heard from her?”

“No.” My throat tightens. “After what she did last night, I want nothing to do with her. I’m done. Not after that. I’m one-hundred percent fucking done.”

The words taste like acid, but I force them out anyway.

Omen sighs softly. “Well… let’s just take it easy, and when you’re ready we can work on the demo.”

“Yeah,“ I trail off, glancing at Gramps. The machines beep quietly. There’s a long silence on the line.

“How’s he doing?” Omen asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Not good. He won’t wake up.” I just want someone else to take over my body and live my life so my soul can take a damn break. I can’t do this.

Omen exhales. “Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah.” I stare at Gramps’s face, the faint stubble on his jaw, the deep lines around his mouth that used to crease when he laughed. “Me too.”

“Can you do me one favor...” Omen says.

“What?”