Avery's Desire

Mikey looked out the window and frowned. He was starting to become slightly annoyed at this point.

"Someone here?" His father asked from the other side of the room. The old man was sitting in an arm chair, the television tuned in to one of those reality fishing shows. He was wearing his work pants and a dingy white undershirt that barely covered his beer gut. He had a can of brew in one hand and a half smoked cigarette in the other.

"Don't worry about it." Mikey grumbled. "I'll handle it."

He opened that front door and stood behind the screen, glaring angrily at the men who were coming up the front walk. The older guy was dressed in a simple suit and had pulled up to the house in a station wagon. He was older, had grey hair that was slightly bald on top, and a mustache that matched. He was short and pudgy and looked more like an accountant rather than a cop. If it wasn't for the police cruiser that had pulled in behind him, Mikey would have thought he was about to be audited.

"Mr. Doogan?" The plain clothed cop asked as he approached the house. "Mr. Michael Doogan?"

"Yeah," Mikey leaned against the door frame as he watched the cop moving closer to him. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Detective Omar Hanson. I'm investigating the Avery Duprey case."

"Yeah well, I already talked to your boys this morning." Mikey nodded in the direction of the two officers behind the man. "I don't know anything about Avery and I really don't care what the hell happened to him, so I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"Well that's fine..." Hanson said. He stopped outside the door, a few feet from the screen, staring in at Mikey. "But I'd like you to come down to the station and talk with me now."

"What for?" Mikey crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes angrily as he spoke. "I already told you I don't know anything. I ain't seen the little fucker since Halloween. I don't speak to him anymore, and I don't give two shits where he is. Like I told your buddies earlier, he probably took off with some dude. He's a little slut, there's no telling who he's with or who he's doing."

"For not knowing much about him you sure have a lot of opinions."

Mikey shrugged. "He was a passing phase but I got over him pretty quick."

"Yeah, it's sounds like it." Hanson glanced behind him as the two officers joined him. He looked back at Mikey, sizing him up. "So listen, why don't you grab your coat, we'll wait for you, and you come down to the station. I just have a few routine questions for you and if you really don't know anything then I'll have my boys bring you back home."

"And if I don't want to go?" Mikey raised an eye brow.

Hanson sighed. "How about this; you can come with us of your own free will, or I can read your rights and we'll drag in wearing cuffs."

"Yeah, you got nothing on me." Mikey sneered.

"I have probable cause." Hanson told him, his demeanor becoming a bit more stern. Mikey's cocky attitude was really starting to grate on his nerves and he didn't have the time nor patience to deal with it.

"Bullshit." Mikey looked passed Hanson to the two cops behind him. He glared angrily at both of them before diverting his attention back to the detective. "You ain't got shit. Hell you ain't even got a body. Your mind games ain't gonna work on me, so I suggest you get back in your car and go hunt down the real killer cause it ain't me."

Hanson raised an eye brow suddenly. His face lit up and a slight grin stretched across his mouth. He cocked his head to the side and stared Mikey down with a cool, hard, expression. "Five minutes ago you were so sure that Mr. Duprey had run off with, according to you, one of his many lovers; so why the change in opinion now?" He asked Mikey as he studied the expression on the younger man's face.

Mikey shifted from foot to foot uneasily. He narrowed his eyes shot the cop a look of pure hatred. "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about." He growled.

Hanson smiled. "You said a moment ago that I should hunt down the real killer. That would imply that I was looking for a suspect in a murder investigation as opposed to a missing person. So, what I want to know is what happened in the last five minutes to make you presume that Mr. Duprey is deceased rather than just...misplaced?"

Mikey's eyes widened as he stared at the cop. His brain suddenly went blank and he just stood there, frozen in place, unable to find the correct words to explain his previous statement. He'd fucked up, that was obvious, and Hanson had picked up on it immediately.

"Cat got your tongue?" Hanson smirked. "Or should I take your silence as an admission of guilt?"

"I'm not admitting to anything." Mikey sneered. "I already told you I have no idea where Avery is. I just figured this late in the game you'd be looking for a body. What'dya got, like 24 hours?"

"There's a better chance of finding someone alive if they're located within the first forty-eight hours." Hanson corrected him. "It's only been eighteen."

"So why are you here harassing me? If you think I'm hiding him here you're full of it. The kid ain't here; I ain't seen him, so go look elsewhere!" Mikey took a step back and started to close the door when Hanson reached out and grabbed the screen door, pulling it open as he took a step towards Mikey.

Mikey glared at the guy in disbelief. He was dangerously close to punching a cop in the face consequences be damned. The dude was encroaching on his territory now and he didn't like it one bit.

"What the fuck!" Mikey shouted, "Just who the fuck do you think you are?" The two officers standing behind the detective moved their hands to the hilt of their weapons, ready to draw on Mikey if he got out of line.

Hanson moved back to a safe distance but he didn't take his eyes off the man in front of him.

"Sir, I advise you to lower your voice." Hanson's tone was more stern, and less playful as he watched Mikey, his eyes bearing down on him. The other officers moved to either side of their superior, and Mikey realized that if he didn't control his temper, the two officers would take him down without a moment's hesitation.

"Now, once again, I would like for you to accompany me to the station and answer a few questions, or I'll have you cuffed and brought in by force."

Mikey raised an eye brow, he was starting to get nervous but there was no way in hell he'd let Hanson or his officers see him sweat. "I am under arrest?" Mikey demanded.

"Not yet," Hanson said simply. "But if it comes to that I have enough on you right now to hold you for at least twenty-four hours. So, how we proceed is entirely up to you but it will go much more smoothly for both of us if you cooperate."

Mikey pursed his lips as he considered his options. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding hard. He was more pissed than scared, but even he had to admit that the fear of being discovered was there, in the back of his mind. Finally he looked to Hanson and nodded slowly, his mouth twisted into an ugly scowl. "Do I need to call my lawyer?" He asked.

"That might be a good idea." Hanson told him.

Mikey sneered. "Let me grab my coat."

Mikey turned and headed back into the house. Hanson stepped in behind him and stood in the small foyer area as he waited for him. Mikey's dad saw the cop standing there and immediately got nervous.

"What the fuck is going on?" The old man asked, rising from his seat and taking a few steps towards the door. "What the hell's my kid done now? Michael I can't afford to keep bailing you out every time you fuck up!"

"Cool it dad." Mikey barked as he returned with his coat. "Just call Jackson and have him meet me at the police station. I'll be back as soon as we get this shit sorted out."

Hanson pushed the door open and Mikey walked passed him. The two officers waiting outside escorted him to the cruiser and Hanson returned to his vehicle, then both cars pulled out of the drive and headed down the road.

Mikey's dad cursed under his breath as he staggered across the room and picked up the phone. "Fucking stupid ass kid," He grumbled as he started dialing. "Steve Jackson." He said when the line was picked up. "Tell him it's Chuck Doogan. Yeah, I'll hold."

____________________________________________________

A terrible rage had taken seed deep in Rick's soul. For days it had sat there, festering, gnawing at his insides, and desperately trying to claw its way to freedom. If not for the constant support of his friends, the rage would have taken over entirely. This terrified Rick because he seriously had no idea at this point of what he was actually capable of doing, but he knew it wasn't anything good.

There was now no doubt in his mind that Mikey had been behind the attack on Avery. There was no one else that hated him enough to do to him what had been done, and no one insane enough for that matter either. And Mikey was insane. Anyone who could be so cruel, so vile, and so evil had to be insane.

Mikey had once claimed to love Avery, though Rick wasn't entirely sure that Mikey even knew how to love, but even so, Mikey and Avery had been close, intimate, and at one time Mickey had shown the boy real affection. So how could it have come to this, Rick wondered. How could Mikey have gone from being a loving, and caring partner to attempted murder?

Nothing about the situation made sense. Rick began to realize that as he sat next to Avery's bed going over the fact again and again in his head. Mikey had snapped. That's all Rick could come up with. He literally had just snapped. Losing Avery and then losing his place with the band, it had been too much for him. It was true that Mikey himself had chosen to leave the band but Rick figured that it was more of an angry outburst than an actual threat.

What Mikey hadn't figured on was the other members agreeing with him that he should leave. He blamed Avery for this but it wasn't Avery's fault. Mikey just couldn't see that. He had the kind of attitude that led him to honestly believe that the world was against him and everything that happened to him was a personal slight against him instead of something that he himself had caused. In Mikey's mind, he could do no wrong and everyone but him was to blame.

Mikey's narcissistic, self-important, arrogance had gotten him into trouble more than once, but this time he had taken things to the extreme. Even Rick had never once thought Mikey capable of doing something so terrible, yet the proof was there, lying in a hospital bed, and fighting for his life.

Rick was nervous when he first arrived at the hospital. So many scenarios had been going through his mind. Endless images of what Avery looked like, and most of them were bad, really bad, but none of them were even close to what he actually found when he walked into that room.

Rick had imagined Avery sitting in the bed, probably in pain, but alert. When Rick walked into the room Avery would look up, tears in his eyes, but happy to see Rick. They would embrace and then break into tears as they cried against each other. He was ready to provide Avery with as much comfort as he possibly could. He just wanted to feel the boys arms wrapped around him again, knowing that he was back, and safe, among family.

His imagined reunion soon cracked, breaking to pieces as it tumbled to the floor into a mass of broken dreams. Avery was laying in the bed, not alert, his eyes closed, and his face badly bruised and swollen. Both of his eyes were black. There was a cut across his forehead, and his lips were cracked and swollen. He looked pale, more so than usual, and he was unnaturally still. It was eerie how still he was. Rick knew that he was breathing. He could see the rise and fall of his chest and he could hear each labored and raspy breath escaping his mouth, but it seemed artificial somehow.

He didn't look like Avery either. More like a failed attempt at creating an Avery mask, but far from the genuine article. His head was bandaged with a huge gauze pad stuck to one side. His normally long, beautiful hair was chopped short, and plastered with dried blood. Many different tubes were protruding from his body, one coming from his mouth, another in his arm, while a double prong nasal cannula was inserted into his nose. The constant hum of the oxygen machine in the room was partially drowned out by the chirping of a heart monitor and the grinding buzz of an IV machine.

Rick's heart sunk when he saw Avery laying there. It was just all too much to take in, too much to accept. It had to be a nightmare, a terrible nightmare and any minute he would wake up and find Avery, safe and sound, sleeping beside him in their own bed back in their apartment.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them again. He was still there, in the cold, crisp, hospital room. The clean, sterile smell of the hospital assaulted his senses; the starch white sheets along with all of the chaotic background noises of a busy institution were enough to tell him that it was real. The nightmare was real, and this was really happening.

"That son of a bitch!" Rick suddenly cried out, "How could he do this? How could anyone be this evil?"

Boomer placed his hand on Rick's shoulder and sighed. "I don't know." He said softly. "I really don't know son."

"He's going to pay for this." Rick hissed under his breath. "I swear to God I'll make him pay."

"You just need to focus on Avery right now." Boomer walked around the bed and sat in the chair on the opposite side of Rick. "That's what's important. It won't do either of you any good if you run off and go after Mikey. Avery needs to know that you're here and that you care. He needs to know he's not alone."

"Avery doesn't know anything." Rick touched the boys hand softly. He'd been fighting back tears since he'd first arrived at the hospital and now he just couldn't hold them back anymore. As he looked at Avery small, still, form in the bed, the tears fell as all of the emotions Rick had been suppressing finally came out. "He's in a coma; he doesn't even know we're here."

"He knows." Boomer said softly, "Trust me son, he knows."

______________________________________________________

Trash squeezed Kat's hand gently. "It's gonna be okay." He assured her.

"I know." She nodded, "I just don't know that I can do this. I'm not great with hospitals and sick people and stuff."

Trash smiled sadly, "Just take a deep breath." He said. "Try not to look too shocked when we go in. Boomer said he's pretty messed up."

Kat did as instructed and sucked in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before finally breathing again. She was shaking all over, in part from fear of what she would find when walked into that room and in part from the anger she felt at the bastard that had done this to Avery.

She gripped Trash's hand tighter, pulling him close to her as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest and for a moment she felt as if all of the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. She walked into an invisible wall of pressure that made her head swim. She wanted to turn and run suddenly but Trash was holding her so close that she couldn't move away from him.

She forced herself to move forward, fighting back the tears and panic that she felt, and stepped into the room.

She was a little girl again. Scared and worried as the nice nurse in the bright white dress walked her down the hallway, holding her tiny hand. Kat's golden curls were pulled back into pig tails that bounced and swirled around with each eager step she took.

They neared the door and the nurse pushed it open. Kat looked in and her eyes grew wide and bright. "Mommy!" She shouted as she bound into the room, racing towards the bed and her mother's arms. She was stopped dead in her tracks though by the look on her mother's face and fear suddenly gripped the small child.

"Out!" Her mother cried suddenly. "Get her out of here!"

Kat began to shake as she looked at the woman in the bed. On one hand she looked like her Mommy and on the other hand she didn't; but Kat was almost certain that that woman was not her Mommy!

Her Mommy was beautiful. She always had her hair fixed perfectly, her make-up flawless, and she was always dressed in the most fashionable outfits. That was very important to her. Outward appearance was everything her mommy told her. People only respect those who look smart. If you look like trash, people will treat you like trash.

That's how Kat knew that this was not her Mommy. This woman was ugly, old, and worn down. Her hair was a mess of tangles that had been piled up on her head and secured with a clip. It badly was in need of a wash and a combing. Kat's Mommy would never have allowed her hair to be in such a state. Then there was the make-up, or lack thereof. Most of her foundation, rouge and lip gloss had been scrubbed away, and her eye liner was smeared in lines down her pale white cheeks, probably from crying.

Now it was Kat's turn to cry. Her eyes welled up with tears as she backed up against the horrified nurse.

"Miss Dollinger?" The nurse gasped. "I've brought your daughter in to see you."

"I don't want to see her." Kat's Mother said. Her voice was low, angry. She turned her head away from the child and stared out the window. "Just take her away." The woman told the nurse. "Give her away for all I care. She'd be better off without me."

Kat remembered that day like it had happened only yesterday. She looked up at the huge hospital building, tears streaming down her face, as the woman from social services pulled her across the parking lot. Kat cried for her Mommy, wondering if she was still looking out the window, wondering if she saw her, or heard her cry out for her.

The woman from social services put Kat into the back of a van, strapped her in, and shut the door as Kat stared out the window, hoping any minute to see her mother running towards her, but she never did. Kat's heart broke as the van pulled out and onto the road, driving her further and further away from the warmth and safety of her mother's arms. It would be another four years before Kat saw her mother again.

Rick was already in the room of course. He was seated beside Avery, holding his hand. Worry and fatigue masked his face. He didn't seem to notice the two entering the room at first but then slowly looked up and acknowledged them. His hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck but it was still unruly and wild and in need of combing. He also hadn't shaved since coming home from work and discovering that Avery was missing. He hadn't really eaten anything since then either for that matter.

Trash could tell that he was worn down from the dark circles under his blood shot eyes. He could also tell that he'd been crying... a lot. Trash's heart went out to him but he had no idea what to do or say, to ease his mind. There really wasn't much that he could say. How do you tell someone that everything is going to be alright when you yourself had no idea if it was true?

Kat touched Trash's shoulder and nodded towards the two empty chairs against the wall. He smiled weakly at her then followed her over and sat down. Boomer was there, seated quietly in front of the window. His had his right leg resting on his knee and his arm propped up on the thin wooden arm of the chair, his hand rested against the side of his head. He too looked as though he were about to fall asleep at any moment but he looked up and nodded at the two as they entered the room.

Trash leaned over closer to Boomer. "Any change?" He asked him, almost in a whisper.

Boomer shook his head. "Rick's been by his side for hours, talking to him, holding his hand, but he hasn't shown so much as a flinch. Hanson stopped in earlier. They took Mikey in for questioning. Their holding him for twenty-four hours but unless they get some hard evidence against him, they'll have to let him go."