They came for me in my sleep. Unannounced and uninvited, the robed men gathered around my lifeless body and clapped their hands until Gabriel appeared and knelt down beside me. I felt his hand apply pressure to my chest and then check my wrist for a pulse before declaring me dead at 3:07am. I tried to move a finger or bat an eye to let him know I was very much alive, but my body was paralyzed. When the robed men dropped their hoods, brown paper bags appeared over their heads, and Gabriel now wore a paint-splattered mask with a long-exaggerated nose. Hypodermic needles poked out of his arms like a human cactus, and one of the robed men draped their arm across his shoulder and pulled him closer. I heard someone call my name, but my voice got lost in my throat. Gabriel dropped to his knees and began unbuttoning one of the men’s pants – I jerked awake.

“Ash, you okay?” Billy brushed back my hair and hovered over me with a concerned look on his face. Sluggishly, I sat halfway up and let my eyes focus on the morning-after. Sometime during the night, I must have pulled myself off the floor and crawled into the daybed in my office, though I didn’t remember doing so. As the room came into focus, I saw the pile of vomit on the floor next to Billy’s feet, and after glancing at the clock on the wall, panic set in.

“Oh shit, Gabriel!” I shot up from the bed as Billy attempted to calm me down, but I pushed past him and stumbled into the studio. My head pounded against my skull, and the smell of puke combined with stale cigarette smoke churned my stomach, but I put my hangover on the backburner. I’d left Gabriel alone all night without even a phone call. Worry consumed me as my mind raced with all the horrific possibilities that could have gone wrong in my absence, the main one being that someone kidnapped him. I felt around in my pocket for my keys and then raced for the door as Billy called out after me.

“Ashley! He’s at school, man, he’s fine. I dropped him off this morning.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to look at him. Smiling, he again assured me that Gabriel was fine and suggested I sit down. Looking around the studio, I suggested that might be a bad idea. Billy agreed.

“Yeah, you uh…wow,” he said, walking over to examine a large hole in the wall. “What happened?”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I rubbed my forehead and dragged my feet across the floor kicking debris out of my way. “Storm came through last night,” I said. “A very drunk and irate storm.”

We went into my office where I cleaned the vomit off the floor and Billy put on a pot of coffee. No matter the time or place, I always kept it on hand. After rummaging around my bottom drawer, I found some aspirin and downed two glasses of water. My body ached, and the water weighed heavy on my stomach, but the level of hatred I felt for myself burdened me more than the physical pain. I was unfit to be anyone’s parent. With everything that was going on, the phone calls, the video tape and the woman who gave it to him, and I up and left him alone and unprotected. I wanted to jump off a bridge and take Michael with me. I put the blame on him as much as myself.

“Did Gabriel call you or something?” I asked.

Billy nodded and handed me a cup of coffee. “Yeah, around nine last night. Told me you weren’t home, and he didn’t know where you were.”

I sighed and looked away. I was in no shape to have this conversation. Billy wouldn’t understand, and although I loved him like a brother, I kept up my guard around him. Billy was a good man from a good family, and I never knew how to feel about that. Druggies, whores and vagabonds don’t know how to act around normal people. Michael could attest to that.

“I came by last night, but you weren’t here,” he said. “Then I talked to Lisa.”

“Course you did,” I said. “Listen, Billy, I can’t really do this right now. Let me get my head on straight first.” I avoided his kind eyes. Billy’s eyes matched his face, friendly and pleasing to look at but intimidating to those not exactly pure of heart. Not to say he was a saint, but compared to Michael and myself, he was next in line to become pope. Billy was the perfect man to sit behind you on the drums. Trustworthy and dependable, he never lost the beat and kept in perfect rhythm every time. He kept you on track and never let you down, plus, he was blonde, tanned and muscular. Hell, I should have gone for Billy.

“She said she’d go along with the plan.”

“What plan?” I asked.

He lifted his eyebrows and reminded me about the plan to keep Michael at his house, presumably, against his will until we figured out what was going on with him.

“Right,” I said. “So, did he make it home last night?”

“Lisa called me at around four this morning,” Billy said, stretching out his long muscular arms toward the ceiling. “She told me he’d just made it in. That’s about all I know.”

I stood to refill my coffee and nearly toppled over from the dizziness. “Well,” I said, catching my balance, “you’ve been quite the busy body.”

Billy smiled and pushed himself off the desk. “That I have,” he said, “looks like you have too.”

Glancing at the studio, I sipped my coffee and sank back down on the bed. I told him to go ahead and let me have it. Get it out of the way, tell me how badly I messed up and then move on, but that was never Billy’s style. He never judged, chastised, or reamed anyone other than the government, and his wife. Billy was a good man, and when he talked I usually listened, unless I was hung-over and guilty of violence and neglect. I stared off to my left, tuning Billy out but not completely, and focused on the window frame face down on the floor. Flashes from last night’s meltdown disturbed me on some level, but not as much as my complete disregard for Gabriel. He never once entered my mind last night, and I hated myself for it, but Billy supplied the icing.

“Did you ransack Gabriel’s room yesterday?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Yes,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face. “That was me. Shit! I guess he saw it?”

Billy nodded and scratched the light brown stubble around his chin, “Scared the hell out of him, Ash, he thought someone broke in and took you.”

I explained to him that I had been searching for something, though I couldn’t say exactly what, only that I suspected someone might be after him and that there was something he wasn’t telling me. I told him I thought they were after Michael too, whoever they were. Billy looked out at my studio and then turned to me with a look that said, well bless your heart, but he was more cunning than that. He pretended to believe me.

“Well, if that’s the case,” he said, “maybe Gabriel should come stay with me for a while.”

I sneered my lips and stood from the bed. “Is that what the two of you talked about last night in my absence?” I asked. “Did anyone even bother looking for me, or was it too perfect having me out of the picture?” I knew how I sounded, but Billy and his parents were always trying to take Gabriel. Since the days we were street bound, his parents had sought custody, and Billy supported them on the idea. I understood their position, but I rescued Gabriel. He called me “Dad” and they couldn’t have him. He was mine. I needed him too much. I needed Michael and Gabriel. That’s it.

Billy stood in the doorway with crossed arms and a calm face, “I knew you were here,” he said. “I’m the one who helped you off the floor.”

I set down my coffee and slid past him into the studio. “I don’t need any favors,” I said, shutting off the light, “and Gabriel’s fine where he’s at.”

Billy followed behind and offered to take me to breakfast, his tone pleasant but guarded as he skirted around my blatant stab. I declined the offer but told him he could drive me home. It wasn’t that I held anything against Billy or disliked him because he was responsible and well-adjusted, those things irritated me, but I felt like lesser of a human in his presence, and I hated that he cleaned up my mess. It reaffirmed all of my childhood insecurities. Taking one last look at my destroyed studio, I locked the door behind us and considered torching the place later.

During the short drive to my townhome, Billy took the opportunity to explain the plan to me in better detail. Friday night he would be throwing a party at his parents’ farm outside of Austin. Lisa agreed to make sure Michael attended and then we’d have an intervention of sorts. I didn’t like it, and the three-hour trip out to his parents’ place didn’t bode well with me either. “Why the farm?” I asked. “And what about the show Saturday? That’s a long drive to New Orleans.”

Billy looked stunned. “Ashley,” he said, quickly turning his head, “there won’t be a show Saturday, and frankly, I refuse to keep touring until he gets some help. To hell with the band, man.”

“We’ll see how that works out,” I said, the curve in the road making me nauseas.

“Are you in or not?” he asked.

“I’m in,” I said, burping into my hand, “but I don’t like it. Are the freaks still there?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “they’re still there.”

Billy’s parents took in everyone. Any vagabond, outcast, or sad and pathetic soul that happened to stumble by, they fed, clothed and provided shelter. The farm was actually an old hippie commune, abandoned by most of its inhabitants when the drugs wore off and they realized how much it actually sucked. I was never a huge fan of his parents and saw them as a couple of burnouts who cared more about appearances than their own son. Michael, Gabriel and I stayed with them on and off during our teen years, and in that time period we witnessed five overdoses, two of which died, two suicides, and three attempted murders. Like I said, they took in anyone. His parents had since moved to New Orleans leaving Billy with the burden of caring for the remaining inhabitants as well as the twenty acres of land.

“Only a few of them are left,” he continued. “Naked dude’s still there, and a few of the acid casualties, but they’re harmless.”

“Can’t wait,” I said.

We pulled in next to my building and I told Billy I’d see him Friday as I quickly jumped from the van and onto the curb.

“Hey, Ash,” he yelled, “I’m always here for you, bro, but I can’t see in the dark.” He shot me the peace sign, rolled up his window and drove away, his old white van in need of a serious bath. I smiled for the first time that morning when I read the words, Dirty Girl, finger-painted into the layer of dirt on the back door as he pulled out into traffic. Gabriel left his mark. I’d seen it before on my new black sports car, though not nearly as legible. As for Billy’s closing statement, well, perhaps he should invest in a nightlight.

Fat cat greeted me at the door and tried to pull a fast one by finagling a second breakfast. He meowed and rubbed against my leg as if I didn’t notice the empty can on the floor, but at the risk of getting swatted and bitten, I gave him a couple of tuna treats. He purred and scoffed them down while I put on a pot of coffee. I wanted to collapse into bed and forget that I existed, but after drinking a cup of very strong and very black coffee, I smoked a cigarette on the porch and worked up the nerve to call Lisa and Michael’s house. I hung up when I got the answering machine.

Eventually I would talk to Michael. Either Friday at the party or perhaps I would just knock on his door later today, but I wanted to talk to him privately before the intervention. I felt the need to warn him and feared I was breaking some sort of best friend rule by not giving him a head’s up. He needed help, of course, I was well aware of that fact, but holding him against his will at an old hippie commune seemed like the wrong way to go about doing things, but perhaps I was just reluctant to bear the brunt of his wrath. Michael wasn’t ready to admit that something was seriously wrong, that much I knew. I also knew no one could force him to do anything against his will.

Seeing him leave the gay bar last night with the three men proved to me that he was leading somewhat of a double life, but it also made me question our relationship. Michael was my best friend. We weren’t lovers, he wasn’t my boyfriend, and no vows of commitment were ever spoken. I didn’t know where I stood. We never talked about it, though I wrongfully assumed that I was the only man he engaged with sexually. Jealousy took me over the edge last night. A part of me feared for his well-being, but the jealousy drove me stark-raving mad. I wanted to hurt him, but in the same breath, I wanted to lick his wounds. Michael was my best friend, but last night I begrudgingly realized he meant more to me than that. We always shared a unique relationship, closer than most and bonded by our past, but last night I realized I was in love with him, and I think Lisa knew it all along.

I couldn’t blame her for hating me. My goal remained the same since high school when they first started dating, and that was to destroy their relationship. Lisa inspired a different kind of jealousy in me that went beyond sex. I feared she would replace me, and this fear wasn’t without merit. Lisa and Michael also shared quite a close bond, and not to give her too much credit, but she did put up with a whole hell of a lot. The drug use, the lying and cheating, the many nights spent alone while the band toured for months on end, but she stuck by him. I gave credit where credit was due, but Lisa was in way over her head. She might have loved him as much as I did, but if her biggest concern was whether or not her husband was gay, she might as well throw in the towel, forfeit the game and admit defeat.

My headache threatened to make a comeback and my body felt as though I’d spent the last twenty-four hours breaking a sweat at the gym. No rest for the weary, I had a mess to clean up – make that plural. Pouring myself another cup of coffee, I prioritized which one needed to be dealt with first. Gabriel’s room, my studio, Michael – I quickly became overwhelmed and without too much coercion, talked myself into raiding the medicine cabinet. It’s that old adage, hair of the dog, and while I didn’t really need them last night, muscle relaxers were exactly what I needed the morning after. I popped a couple in my mouth and headed upstairs to Gabriel’s room.

The hallway smelled like Billy. As I reached the top step and turned the corner toward Gabriel’s room, patchouli and sandalwood (his two favorite scents) mingled in the air reminding me of younger days. Growing up, Billy’s room always carried the aroma of incense and marijuana. We’d burn candles, light incense and toke the night away until one of us passed out and fell victim to some childish prank like sticking a hand in hot water or shaving cream in the face. I loved those nights. No masked men to kneel before, no whips, chains or dingy hotel rooms, just the three of us acting like normal teenagers. Sometimes we’d break into a jam session with Michael and me on guitar and Billy on the bongos, other times we’d just hang out. I missed it, but that’s what I wanted for Gabriel, to be a normal teenager. And he was.

Gabriel was my little skater kid, made good grades, stayed out of trouble, played video games, listened to music, hung out after school at the skate park, but something else was there. I saw it on his face and in his eyes, the way he talked, moved and breathed, the way the universe reacted to him. I sensed he was destined for tragedy. You can see it on some people, the special ones, the ones that stick out in your head and make you smile, those are the ones in trouble. Those are the ones that get snuffed out and trampled on. Only the good die young, and Gabriel fit the bill, but he had more than one strike against him. He was being raised by me.

Call it intuition, a sixth sense, or good ole-fashion clairvoyance, but I knew Gabriel was in trouble. I knew it since the day I found him. It haunted me. It didn’t make sense, the pentagram with him placed in the center and the dead cat by his side. Why not sacrifice the child instead of the cat? Wouldn’t the average Satanist find that more appealing? But they didn’t. The robed men left him unharmed, wrapped up on the floor waiting to be found. Michael and I had talked about it before, and we both believed the two of us were meant to find him. We delivered the gold leaf that Gabriel had been wrapped in, I remembered seeing the brown paper bag on the floor by the door, and I was meant to see it. Everything had been planned. They were playing with us, conducting some sort of experiment, waiting for something to happen like a signal or a date. They were plotting a kidnapping or planning to force Gabriel into their sick cult. Billy would call me paranoid, but I knew better. I saw the writing on the wall fourteen years ago. The past doesn’t go away. It hangs around like a wayward ghost desperate for attention. The past will forever keep me awake at night with visions of what ifs.

It was love at first sight the minute I rescued him from that floor. His bright green eyes widened and stared at me in wonderment, and a smile instantly replaced his cries. I was smitten. His innocence touched my soul, and as he aged, his kindness redeemed my faith in humanity. He restored me, and Michael too. He was our beacon as children, the one thing to keep fighting for, a reason to better ourselves and resist the lure of suicide. We protected him with our lives, and by the time he turned seven, we were off the streets thanks to Michael’s success with Limbo Diver, but the drugs hung around for a while. As much as I tried to hide it, Gabriel caught me with a needle in my arm more than once. The strikes against him were plentiful, and as much as I feared the robed men taking him from me, I was more afraid he might become me.

I hesitated before opening his bedroom door. If it was clean, I’d know that Billy took care of another mess for me. If it was still trashed, I’d have to face myself in the mirror, suffer the onslaught of more guilt and clean up my own mess. Turn the knob, here we go…clean, but I didn’t shut the door. I stood in the entryway and scanned over his room, the books neatly put away on the shelf and his clothes picked up off the floor. I imagined housekeeping took care of the closet as well. Kurt Cobain stared back at me with a sad mouth and angry red eyes. I got the message. Maybe that’s why he topped himself. He saw himself becoming what he hated. Turning away from the poster, I shut off the light, closed the door and dragged myself downstairs.

Those were the heroes of my generation. The drug addicts, the self-indulgent rock stars and the airbrushed starlets replaced inventors, writers and explorers. Our youth, my Gabriel, they don’t hang up posters of Hemmingway or Thomas Jefferson. They admire celebrities and magazine centerfolds. It’s toxic. It makes heroin look cool and promotes the dim-witted slacker as some sort of anti-hero. Even as I write this, the new generation has an updated version of the same rhetoric from the 1960’s and beyond – turn on, tune in, drop out… with the lights out, it’s less dangerous, here we are now entertain us. Everyone sells out though. Timothy Leary knew it. Cobain knew it. Michael most certainly knew it.

The pills took the edge off. I sat down on my bed and leaned back against the pillows. Just thirty minutes, I’d give myself thirty minutes to relax before I showered and headed back to the studio to conquer my second mess on the list. Fat cat purred into the room and meowed at the edge of the bed, but I told him he was on his own. I knew he could do it. He was just being lazy. After five more unanswered meows, a heavy thump shook the bed and a warm body curled up next to me. It was all I needed. Sleep came to me with the same hidden agenda it always carried, to expose my weaknesses and play off my fears. I could never escape my nightmares, but after a two-hour cat nap, I awoke with the notion that everyone I knew hated me. They were all against me. Every single last one of them. I shook off my insecurities and checked the time – three hours till Gabriel arrived home from school. Fat cat opened his eyes, yawned and jerked his head toward the door. “I know,” I said, “I should make myself useful.” Maybe then people will like me. He licked his paw in agreement.

I put off cleaning the studio and busied myself around the house until it was time to meet Gabriel at school. With about twenty minutes left before I needed to leave, I decided to put on a load of laundry, unless Billy had already taken care of that too. My dishes were clean, my floors were swept, and my glass coffee table sparkled under the living room lights, but a basket of dirty laundry must have gone unnoticed. I sorted through Gabriel’s clothes, pulling out the towels and checking the pockets of his jeans for loose change or tissue, but when I came to his favorite pair, I pulled out a small red balloon turned inside out. My blood ran cold. I held it up and tasted it with the tip of my tongue, rubbery and bitter, but it was there, that old familiar taste.

The front door opened and closed, and I heard Gabriel throw his bag down and cue at fat cat while raiding the fridge. Stuffing the balloon into my pocket, I became the person I hated in one gratifying instant. I declared war on pop culture. To hell with them all. Rock-and- roll. The devil’s music. I blamed David Bowie, Kurt Cobain, Hollywood, Michael and myself. I blamed the two of us more than anyone. Gabriel had too many strikes against him, and I had another mess to clean up. I had no business raising a kid.